Wynter's Horizon (19 page)

“Please … not … my room. Don’t … want … see … anyone.” She hid her face in my chest, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Fuck danger. I swung the passenger door open to the Jeep, and maneuvered into the back with her.

Quinn hopped into the driver’s seat, articulating my thoughts as he drove off campus. “What the hell was she doing out there at night?”

I grunted at him. The pounding fury in my head made it difficult to speak. I didn’t know how she’d ended up in the woods, but I had a good idea what had happened previous to that—and who else was involved.

Quinn gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, I can smell him from here. That and Bud Light. And maybe puke.” Then he must have seen my expression. “Beck, it won’t do her any good right now. You know that.”

I grabbed the side roll bar of the Jeep to steady myself and took a deep breath, using all my will to calm my pounding heart. Trying to find the right words, I prodded her gently. “Wynter? Did something happen with…?” I trailed off, unable to say his name for fear of completely losing it.

She struggled to get words out between sobs. “No … Yes … I don’t know … first, it was just the mall and then he wanted … and I didn’t stop him. Didn’t say no… and …then … I couldn’t … and we … he told … me to … leave.” Her voice sounded full of defeat, or disgust, or both. The roll bar bent under my hand. So much for fucking control.

“Well—” I didn’t know what to discern from her incomprehensible stream of words, but for someone who hadn’t been forced to do something, she was a wreck.

“Whatever he did to her really fucked her up.” Quinn had stopped watching the road and was watching us.

“Turn around,” I growled at him. It was hard enough getting this out of her without him involved. Wynter’s fingers were curled tightly around my jacket. Her hair, wet from the fog and her tears, clung to her face. She pulled me closer, as if she could crawl inside my jacket and disappear. Quinn, who had turned around at my insistence, glanced at us in the rearview mirror, raising his eyebrows.

I shrugged in response and tightened my arms around her. She would tell me when she was ready. If anyone knew about secrets, it was me. For her sake, I breathed slowly and evenly, and eventually her own breathing leveled out. As we crossed over the bridge, her hands relaxed slightly, and by the time we pulled down the driveway, she was asleep. I carried her inside and to my room, laying her on the bed.

Quinn followed and stood in the doorway. “You should take her clothes off.”

I looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“What? I don’t mean it that way. Her clothes look wet. She’s probably cold, you know.” They were wet. My own clothes were soaked from her. But I had no idea how to undress her without it being some kind of violation. Obviously, there had been enough of that.

“I’m just going to cover her with a blanket and wait.” I settled into the chair at the foot of the bed and watched her sleep.

Quinn came back periodically to check on us. “We should get some food and drinks here that she likes. She might be hungry when she wakes up, and beef jerky and potato chips are probably not her favorite meal.”

I moved the shade aside. The sky was still dark. “Can you take care of it?”

“Sure.” He left just as she stirred and opened her eyes.

I stood up and walked closer. “Hey, how do you feel?”

She stretched a little, and I could see her shaking under the covers. “I’m freezing … and really thirsty.”

Quinn cleared his throat in triumph from the other room.

“Do you want a t-shirt?” She nodded.

I tossed her a black t-shirt I had lying by the bed and moved to leave the room.

“Beck?” I paused in the doorway, averting my eyes. Her fragile state was almost more than I could bear. “Will you come back?”

“Yeah. I’m just going to get you some water.”

Quinn was leaving when I came down the stairs. “How is she?”

“Shaking like a leaf.” I bit the words off, barely able to get past the anger roiling in my gut. It made me want to throw the furniture through the wall.

“You should offer her something warm, like tea. You are English, after all.”

“I’m English, but she’s American.” I pointed out.

“Thanks for the nationality lesson. She’s in a crisis. Americans drink tea when they’re upset.” I wondered absently when and where he had learned all this stuff. As if reading my mind, he added, “Soap operas.”

“I’m taking advice from you based on soap operas?” I asked, exasperated, annoyed that I hadn’t thought of tea sooner. It was my custom, after all.

“Don’t be such a fucking snot. Daytime television can be very educational. They have a lot of problems.” He left then, slamming the door behind him. As I passed back by on the way from the kitchen, I noticed the crushed doorframe in the shape of his fingerprints. He controlled his emotions better than I did, but even he had a breaking point.

We would be lucky if the house was standing by tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Wynter—Confession

My hands shook from the cold. I undid the buttons on my shirt, sliding it slowly off each shoulder. My wet hair slapped against my collarbone, making me shiver even more. My eyes were dry and scratchy, and my stomach kept doing somersaults. I slipped Beck’s t-shirt over my head. It smelled like him. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my shivers. I shed my wet jeans, pulling my phone from the back pocket. I didn’t bother to look at it. I didn’t care. I felt sore all over but didn’t know if it was from drinking, the sex, or being out in the woods. I pulled the covers up as far as they would go, willing my legs to stop shaking and my teeth to stop chattering. He knocked lightly and pushed the door open. I half sat up, still shivering.

“Come in.”

He held out a glass of water to me. His jacket was off, and he wore just a t-shirt and jeans. I tried to smile up at him to show him I was okay, but I couldn’t stop my shakes. From his face, I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“Do you want tea? I can make you some hot tea.” I took the glass of water, swallowing half before setting it on the night table.

“Tea sounds good.” He left instantly. I settled back down, looking around the room. Painted a dark taupe with white trim, built-in bookcases lined one wall and a large picture window with a wooden desk made up the other. The brown leather chair Beck had sat in was pushed close to the foot of the bed. I closed my eyes, trying to breathe slowly and calm my stomach while trying not to think of what had happened.

He reappeared with tea that smelled like chamomile. I sat up in bed, holding the cup with both hands in an effort to warm up and stop shaking.

“Thanks.” I moved over on the bed to make room for him. My legs still quaked, but I had gained some control over the rest. He sat awkwardly on the side. The minutes dragged. I took some sips of tea and debated what to say.

“I’m … sorry.” I stared into my cup.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For making such a scene. For making you bring me back here. For crying all over you and your car. Usually, I save that stuff for Julia and Annie.” When I looked up, he was watching me intently, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Wynter, I don’t know what happened, and I understand if you don’t want to tell me. I don’t care. I’m just glad I found you.”

I drank more tea. “I didn’t call you because I felt bad. I felt like maybe you were mad at me for that last night.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Mad for what?”

I didn’t know how to express it. “Because I hesitated.”

He shook his head as if in disbelief. “You thought I was mad because—”

“Yes,” I cut him off, not wanting to think about that night. “You left and then you told me you were going away. I didn’t know what to think.” I studied my hands to avoid his eyes. “Most guys like me for my looks. They don’t want to date me, they just want me. And when you left, I thought I’d screwed it up, I thought that’s why you left, and then Jason kept calling … and I can’t say no to him.”

“Why not?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

I gulped, thinking of the truth. “Jason’s girlfriend, before me, was my friend Abby. Abby and I … well, we grew up together, you know? And we roomed together freshman year. Jason asked me out first, more than once, too, but I always turned him down because … well, I’d heard the stories. But Abby didn’t turn him down. She got him and, as much as it shouldn’t have bothered me, it did.”

My voice shook, hearing the words out loud for the first time, but I kept going. “Last spring, there was a lacrosse tournament for some new national team. Abby asked me to go with her. We drove up together, but we were on different teams. Jason was there helping to coach. Abby told me after her game she was going to break up with him. I didn’t tell her that he had started pursuing me again. I hadn’t given in. We had kissed and stuff, but nothing really happened. Well, Abby left and got dinner with Tiernan and then came back to get me.”

I paused, half laughing but close to tears. “I thought maybe she had been drinking, but she seemed okay so I let her drive. Then she got this text—I don’t know from whom—but it was a picture of Jason and I kissing. She was so mad and distracted, before I knew it, she … we crashed. We ran into the back of that eighteen-wheeler. I didn’t see and neither did she.”

I choked back a sob. “It was too late. When I looked back it was too late.” I could still hear the screech of the tires, the ripping of the metal.

I took a gulp of tea before continuing. “I didn’t tell anyone about it, except Jason. He came to the hospital after I woke up, and I told him because it was my fault, my fault we had that accident and my fault she ran into the truck. She died because of that picture. It’s like we’ve been connected by this awful secret ever since, both knowing why she died. And, after her funeral, he kept coming back to me, and everyone just assumed it started then. I never told anyone how long we’d
had a thing. Now it’s too late to tell the truth. I’ve lied to them for so long.”

I took a deep breath, then the rest of the words tumbled out of me. “Jason loves to tell me how much he misses Abby, and how only I understand, and how only I make him feel better, and so I give in and keep letting him in because I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, if we can get it right, get back together, it would somehow justify her dying. But nothing can change what I did.” I drained the rest of the tea but kept my attention focused on the edge of the cup.

“Wynter, you didn’t cause her death.”

“Yes I did. That text was sent because of me, because of what we were doing. She wouldn’t have driven into that truck. She would have been watching the road. It’s all my fault. Jason treats me horribly. I know that, but why not? I deserve it. I killed her.”

“You didn’t kill her. You don’t even know if she was drunk. Maybe she shouldn’t have been driving at all. Have you thought of that?”

I shook my head, staring at my tea.

I finally looked up at him, and he nodded as if willing me to keep going. “When you showed up, I finally had something else. But then you left, after that awful night, and I thought, I thought you didn’t want me. Last weekend, Jason said all this stuff about how much he missed me and all the great times we had together, and how much he missed Abby, and how Leslie doesn’t understand. I needed that … needed someone … it’s pathetic I know but I just felt so bad about everything so I gave in. And it was actually better than it had been in a really long time. We had fun. Jason was nice … like he used to be.”

This was the part I really didn’t want to admit, but I rushed on. “I couldn’t tell anyone. My friends would be so pissed at me. Then you called, and I couldn’t call you back because of what I’d done.

“It all just got so fucked. And, last night, I let it happen again. I don’t even know how it happened. He got carried away, joking around … he wanted to do all this stuff, and I … I let him. Afterward, he just kicked me out. He told me he loved Leslie and how he was ticked off I was even there. He told me to stop coming around—to stop stalking him.” My voice broke. I tried to continue, tried not to cry, but the tears streamed down my face now. I was so ashamed.

He stood and walked across the room, retrieving a blanket from the closet, then came back, sitting gently as he wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm around me, too.

“I let him tie me up,” I whispered. “I let him do all these things … I kept thinking that if I let him do what he wanted, if I gave him what he wanted, he saw what I was willing to do for him. Maybe he’d finally … be happy, love me back …” I didn’t even try to stop from sobbing now. He didn’t say anything, just held me tight.

“I’m so ashamed. I’m so ashamed.” I could feel him pushing my wet hair back from my cheek, and then he put his finger under my chin and lifted my face.

His eyes seemed to burn as he held my gaze. “Wynter, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But I do. I do,” I whispered back. Dropping my head into his chest, I mumbled the rest of what had happened. He didn’t move. He just held me tight, and I cried until there was nothing left. I lifted my head and looked at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

He wiped my hair off my forehead and stared intently at me. His eyes were kind now, concerned. “There is nothing wrong with you. Wynter, people go through bad times and do things they normally wouldn’t. It doesn’t make them bad or mean they’re wrong. Sometimes, life has a way of turning you upside down, and it just takes a while to turn around. But it’s going to be okay. Sometimes, you have to go way down before you can come back up. But you do come back up. You just have to give yourself a chance. You had a really bad accident. You lost someone, and that’s nothing easy to get over. And blaming yourself only makes it worse.”