Shock?
Oh.
That shock.
“It’s okay,” he says hurriedly, putting one hand on my leg, the covers between us. “They found a selection of prints. I heard half an hour ago that your family, Bek, Alison, Amelia, and I have been ruled out. They think they got a palm print from the door that doesn’t match any of us.”
“I guess that’s something,” I mutter, picking at a loose thread on the duvet cover. “And the boots?”
“Nothing yet. If one of them matches the print picked up at Tracey’s, then we’ll get in contact with the companies we have on file to see if we can get a brand match on the sole.”
Standard procedure.
I nod again and look at my hands. “It was the killers, wasn’t it?”
Drake takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Everything adds up, so it looks like it.”
I swing my legs out of bed and walk toward his bathroom. Then I close the door behind me, lock it, and lean back against it.
That settles it. Someone really did try to kill me—and they tried to get me at my weakest. When I was sleeping.
What if Bek wasn’t there? What if she didn’t wake me up? What if neither of us had heard a thing—where would we be now? Lying somewhere in a field? Cut open, raped, runes carved into our skin?
Bile rises in my throat, and I clap my hand over my mouth as though that’ll hold it down.
Did they even know what happened to them? Toni? Melissa? Annabelle? Tracey? Did they have any idea what was happening, or were they blindsided?
What if they didn’t? What if they all just did their thing—went to school, got on a plane, went to the fair, went to work, then never ended up where they were meant to? What if a simple part of their day turned out to be the last thing they ever did?
What if going to bed with Bek after a bottle of wine, a pizza, and half a season of Empire was the last thing we ever did?
What if we’d had our dignity and then, ultimately, our lives ripped away from us so brutally and violently that we never took another breath and had a chance to consider what could have been?
Then what?
Would I ever have told Amelia that she made the right choice? Would I ever have told Alison that I was always glad Trent chose her, that I never judged her for getting pregnant so young? Would I ever have told Nonna that her crazy obsession with love was cute?
Would I ever have told Grecia that I don’t really mind if she dates Mike? Would I have told Silvio that he can steal every cookie off the cooling rack because, as long as the chocolate chips melt around his mouth, I’ll always pretend to believe him when he denies it?
No.
No, I wouldn’t have.
Oh my God.
I could have died, and so many people… So many people never would have known how I really feel.
Would I have died mad at Drake?
Yes. Yes, I would have. Undoubtedly. I would have died with so much anger in my heart that my soul would have carried it off to wherever souls go when the body goes bye-byes.
But I’m not dead. I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m scared and I’m angry.
I force myself up onto shaky legs and tug at the door handle. The lock jams it, so I hiss a curse and unlock it before I pull it open again. The door slams against the frame and almost hits me as it doubles back. Drake’s eyes find mine with a sharp twist of his head, and he frowns, his dark eyebrows pulling together.
“Why didn’t you tell me? About Alex? Or Jason. Whatever his name is? Why did you hide that from me? Why did you never tell me this isn’t the first string of murders like this? Why? Why would you keep that from me?” I rush my hands through my hair, tugging roughly. I welcome the sting snaking across my scalp.
“I don’t know,” he answer softly. “I guess… I guess I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to panic.”
“Didn’t want me to panic?” My voice goes up a notch. “I’m panicking, Drake. I’m panicking like hell because I could have died tonight. I was mad at you and deliberately ignored your orders to keep me safe because I didn’t know how much danger I was potentially in.”
He stands up. “What do you want me to say, Noelle? That I’m sorry? That I was wrong for trying to protect you?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to do!”
“Then I’m sorry!” he yells, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I did what I thought was best. I’m sorry for trying to fucking protect you. But you know what else I’m sorry for? You.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He comes closer to me until he’s right in front of me, towering over me. His eyes sear into mine, holding my gaze so compellingly that I can’t look away despite my best efforts. “It means that my telling you wouldn’t have changed a thing. You still would have insisted you could protect yourself.”
“I can. My window didn’t shoot itself out to scare off murderers.”
He presses two fingers to my lips. “You still would have insisted you could protect yourself, and you still would have ignored me yesterday. You still would have done your own thing in your special little brand of fucking independent defiance just to piss me off. It wouldn’t have mattered a damn bit.”
I push his hand away, but he’s stronger and replaces his fingers over my mouth.
“You want me to tell you everything? The case files are all in my office. Go ahead. You’ll be here enough to find plenty of time to read them.”
“I’ll be here enough?”
This time, he lets me shove his hand away.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says slowly, quietly, almost threateningly, like I’d be stupid to argue with him, “that you’re staying here until this case is solved. You’re safe here with me.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Am I really hearing this right? “You’re forcing me to live with you?”
“Forcing, convincing—same thing.”
I push past him and take a deep breath before turning back. “You’re insane. You’re totally fucking insane.”
“I couldn’t keep you safe!” His voice cracks, and he covers his eyes with his hand. “I tried, Noelle. I tried so fucking hard, but you made it impossible because you’re so damn independent.”
“You have no idea why!” I point at him, my stomach tightening.
“So tell me!” He drops his hand. “It’s Dallas, isn’t it? It’s what happened that made you come back home.”
I lick my lips, the ball of anxiety in my stomach as heavy as lead.
“The one thing you won’t tell me. The one thing you and your whole family have kept secret.” He holds one finger up. “So think about that before you stand there and criticize me for hiding something from you. I did it to protect you. You’re doing it because you’re so afraid of being weak.”
He walks past me, his steps thundering across the wooden floor of his landing. I take a deep breath and it burns. It burns as it fills my lungs, and it burns as the oxygen filters its way through my bloodstream.
“You’re right,” I admit, my voice shaking. “I am afraid of being weak. But I have a lot to make up for. I don’t want anyone to be responsible for me, and I don’t want to be responsible for anyone.”
“Newsflash, Noelle,” Drake growls, turning back to face me. “When you’re in a relationship with someone, you’re responsible for each other. You’re responsible for each other’s safety and happiness and even weakness. You’re responsible for mine, but you won’t let me be for yours because you continue to keep this from me. And now? When it matters? You still won’t tell me, will you?”
“It has nothing to do with this case.”
“But it has everything to do with you!” He stops in front of me and frames my face, tilting it back.
I drop my eyes and look at the slightly frayed collar of his T-shirt instead.
“I forget how fierce you are. I forget how goddamn stubborn and frustrating you are. But I love that. I love your independence until you take it to the point of stupidity. I should have told you about Jason and the cases. I’ll admit that. But you…” He laughs hopelessly and drops his hands, taking a few steps back.