by Frankie Rose
A joke. He’d thought girls starting a hate campaign against me on campus was a joke. And the posters calling me that name? On what planet was any of that funny? I slip the phone down the side of Luke’s leather sofa and go rifling for the blankets he used to make up a bed for himself the last few times I stayed here. They’re folded neatly in a cupboard at the end of the hallway opposite his bedroom door, along with stacks of white towels and fresh bedding. I’ve never seen a cupboard so organized. I drag the blankets back to the sofa and curl up, determined to get my crying done before Luke comes home so I won’t embarrass myself any further. No tears come, though. I’m still dry-eyed and hollow when the door knocks, and I freeze, wondering if I’m supposed to answer it. Then I remember Luke gave me his keys and won’t be able to let himself in. I go and open the door, and there he is back in his jeans and a leather jacket looking as exhausted as I feel.
“Hey,” he says, cupping his hand over the back of his neck. I give him a tight smile and go back to the sofa. He comes and sits next to me, and we remain there in silence for a drawn out moment. He’s brought the smell of winter with him, fresh and bright, and I just sit there and breathe it in. Eventually he takes a deep breath and says, “Casey and Maggie were given warnings and released. If you want to get a retraining order against them, I can help you with that.”
“Are they going to come back to campus?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Casey’s mom came to get her and reamed her out in front of everyone. That’s just about the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to her. Plus there’s the fact that her mom threatened to cut her off if she disgraced herself again.”
“And what about Maggie?”
Luke lets out a sigh and slumps back against the sofa, stacking his hands on his stomach. “I don’t think she’ll come back. She’s studying in Florida. She came all the way up here to…” He pauses and puffs out his checks. “I have no idea why she came up here. I have a sneaking suspicion she might be slightly unbalanced.”
“Your father being murdered will have that effect,” I mumble, pulling the blankets up over me. Luke turns his head to look at me, frowning.
“Don’t defend her actions. You don’t deserve this.” I look away and study my fingernails. Luke reaches over and hooks a finger under my chin. He lifts it so that our eyes meet again. “Listen to me, you’ve done nothing wrong. We’re going to prove your dad didn’t either, and then all this is going to go away.”
The absolute belief on his face is what finally tips me over the edge. I clench my jaw, furious at the tears that are welling in my eyes. “We might be able to prove he didn’t kill those girls, Luke, but he’s still going to have killed Maggie’s dad. That’s not going to change.”
“I don’t think he did,” Luke breathes.
“What?” I tense, my eyes roving from his, rimmed with those long, dark lashes, to his high cheekbones and full lips. His facial features are blank, his shoulders drawn up an inch like he’s holding his breath.
“I don’t think he killed anyone,” he whispers. My heart is thudding when he says, “I’ve never believed he did. This whole time I’ve always believed he was innocent.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snap. I recoil so he’s no longer touching me. Luke reacts and pulls back, too, flinching. I twist in my seat to face him and tuck my knees up under my chin, wanting to put a barrier between us. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. There are things you don’t know about me. Things…” He trails off and swallows hard, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “That doesn’t matter, though. I think your dad took the fall for something he didn’t do.”
“The room was locked from the inside, Luke. You told me that yourself five years ago. No one could have gotten in or out. Those men were bound, and my dad had the gun that killed them in his hand. Hell, it was the gun he killed himself with, too!” My voice cracks and my throat throbs, dangerously close to closing up. Why is he doing this? Why would he tempt me with the hope that my dad is innocent? It’s cruel and unbearable, especially after everything that has happened today. I bury my face into my knees and focus on my breathing.
“Avery. Avery…” Luke takes hold of one of my hands and I try to pull it back, but he grips on tighter. “I’m not letting you go,” he says. “I’m not trying to hurt you. This is just what I believe. There’s something you weren’t told before. There were certain things the police kept back from the press.” I look up to find him biting his lip. “Max wasn’t dead when we found him, Avery. He was dying but…he was still conscious.”
Luke slides across the sofa and grabs hold of the tops of my arms at the same time I lose it, like he knows exactly how I will react. I kick out at him, trying to push him away, but he’s too close for me to get any leverage. A broken wail echoes around the room—mine—and I start hyperventilating.
“Calm down,” he growls, drawing me to him so that my face is pressed into his chest. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I shove against him, struggling to breathe through my sobbing, but he’s holding me too tight. I try again and again but it’s useless; he has me. Without thinking I let my body take control and I sink my teeth into his chest, biting down hard. Luke grunts and lets go, and suddenly he’s standing up, clenching his fists.
He looks furious. I edge into the corner of the sofa and glare at him, choking on my tears. Luke sinks into a crouch in front of me and laces his hands behind his head, his anger turning to pain, written into the planes of his face. “For fuck’s sake, let me hold you,” he grinds out.
“You should have told me! You shouldn’t have kept that from me!”
“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t have any choice. Please…”
I clench my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears. “No. No, you said he died quickly.”
I sense his movement again, and Luke’s hands take hold of my wrists, gently this time, trying to get me to lower them. I kick out and strike him square in the chest, but he just grunts and leans closer. “I’m not letting you go,” he repeats. He manages to pull my hands down and climbs up onto the sofa again, kneeling over me. I open my eyes and try to fill them with as much anger and hatred as I can. He doesn’t back off; he grabs hold of my hips and yanks me towards him so that I slide onto my back, and then he straddles me and pins my wrists above my head.
“You can be mad at me, Iris. You can hate me and that’s fine. I should have told you. I wanted to. Every time I asked you to meet me back in Break, it was because I told myself you needed to know. But you were still so broken, and I didn’t want to hurt you any more.” He clenches his jaw and stares down at me, every single angle of him a study in determination. I buck and writhe, trying to unseat him.
“Get the fuck off me, Luke,” I hiss.
“No. Not until you hear this. Your dad didn’t die quick, okay? He died slow and I held his hand while he went. His throat was torn to shreds. He could barely speak but he did, okay? He did speak. Look at me, Iris. Look at me!” I turn away, resolved on not listening. Not strong enough to hear what he’s saying. He gathers my wrists together and holds them in one of his hands, sliding the other palm underneath my cheek so I can’t look away. “He said two things before he died. He said, ‘the trade’. Do you know what he meant by that? Does that mean anything to you?”
I struggle against him but it’s no use. He is far stronger than me, and I don’t have a hope in hell of getting out from underneath him while he’s sitting on top of me. “No,” I growl. “Now get off.”
“Breathe, Beautiful. Come on, breathe.”
“Don’t you fucking call me that!” I scream.
He ignores me. “Breathe.” He focuses his steady gaze on me and the power behind it is devastating. He blows out a sharp breath of his own. “Think about it. Just stop fighting and think about it for two seconds. Does ‘the trade’ mean anything to you?”
My cries hitch in my throat and I still a little.
; “That’s it. Just breathe. Think.”
I can barely see past the fact that he’s holding me down and I need to be free, but Luke’s words finally penetrate my panic. I inhale, long and deep, and try to make my muscles go limp. I am trembling with adrenalin and grief when I say, “No. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Luke’s head slumps forward, his disappointment evident. “I’m going to let you up, okay? Don’t freak out.” His hand loosens around my wrists and he carefully lets go, sitting back on his heels. He’s still straddling me but he leans back to give me some space. I flex my hands and then prop myself up on my elbows, trying to calm my frantic heartbeat.
“You said there was something else. That he spoke twice,” I say, refusing to look at him, instead focusing on his scuffed metal belt buckle at my eye level.
“He did.” Luke shifts back when he realizes I’m not going to try kicking him again. He swings his leg over me and sinks back onto the sofa, sighing raggedly. “It doesn’t make any sense, though. He was barely alive by that point. I’ve played it over a thousand times in my head, trying to figure out if I heard him wrong.”
“Just tell me,” I whisper, bracing myself.
He bows his head into his chest and purses his lips. I don’t fight him when he takes my hand again. He stares down at it in his lap, tracing small circles across the tender skin where he restrained me, apologizing with his fingertips. A ball of pent up anticipation threatens to explode in my chest when he turns those deep brown eyes on me and says it.
“Fly high, Icarus.”
Eighteen
Need