“You don’t think—”
“I know, Kiera. Whoever made us write that book back in college did it for one reason only. To control us in the future. And now—”
“Listen,” I say, shaking his arm. “We didn’t do this. It was them, OK? Not us. Whoever published that book had permission.”
“Don’t be naive,” he says, shaking off my grip. “I can take a lot of shit from people, Kiera. I can listen to a lot of lies. But not from you. Not when you know the truth.”
CHAPTER THREE – CONNOR
And the truth is… the truth is that we did do all those things in that book. I feel time rewinding as I stand in Kiera’s bedroom. I feel it like a person feels a haunting. Like bad luck following in your footsteps or a mistake catching up to you.
We did this.
“Just… calm down and stay here tonight, OK?”
The fear she didn’t have when I arrived flows out now like a rushing stream of snowmelt in the spring.
It wasn’t Kiera, I know that for sure. She has no idea what’s been happening all these years. So that only leaves two other possibilities. Sofia or Camille. And I had no idea they were writing… trash. None.
Why would they do that?
“Where were you coming from?” Kiera asks.
“Montreal,” I remind her. “I had a business meeting this morning and was flying home this afternoon. But I saw two women fighting over the last copy of the book just before I boarded and then I rented a car and came straight here.”
“So you have clothes?” she asks. “Out in your car?”
I nod. “An overnight bag.”
“Let’s go get it before the storm gets worse. You can’t go anywhere tonight. It’s just not possible. You’re stuck here. And you can make a call,” she adds. Like I need some kind of motivation to snap out of the sudden despair I feel.
“Who will I call?”
“I dunno. One of them. All of them? I don’t know. Do you have a wife?”
I shoot her a look that makes her put up her hands, palms out. Like she’s backing off.
“Look, I just don’t know you anymore, OK? I have no clue what you’ve been up to. I’ve just been living out here writing books since I left school. That’s all I do. So I don’t know who you’d call, but someone has to have noticed you didn’t make it back to New York, right?”
I sigh, glancing down at my watch. “Believe me, everyone has noticed by now.”
“So call them. Tell them you’re staying with an old friend and you’re caught in the storm. You’ll be back as soon as you can.”
“That driveway,” I say. “Why the fuck don’t you plow your damn driveway?”
“Sorry,” she says. “I’ll go get your bag. Give me the keys.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t be dumb. I’m not sending you out into a storm to get my fucking carry-on.”
She smiles at me and I realize I’ve missed that smile. And now I just feel bad for so many things. For not following up with her. For not making sure she was OK. For not saying goodbye.
But mostly for not saying thank you.
She didn’t have to help us. They had nothing on her before she met us.
But she did help. She played her part and did what she was told.
Just like us.
“We’ll go together then. Buddy system, right?” She smiles again, but it’s not the same.
Or it is the same, I’m not sure. Because this smile is sad and a little bit afraid. And I hate that. I fucking hate it so much. Why did I come here? Why did I drag her back in? Why did I suspect her right away?
Because they planned it that way, Connor. They knew she was always the outsider and if anything went wrong, she’d always be there to get blamed.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“You didn’t do this.”
“I did. I came here. I blamed you, just like I was supposed to. I fell into the trap and now you’re caught in it with me. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it,” she whispers. “If they wanted me back, they knew where to find me. My freedom was always an illusion. I knew that.”
“Yeah, but I should’ve known better. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve thought clearly and worked shit out. I mean, goddamn it. I had two hours in the car to get my shit together and work out the puzzle and I didn’t. I just reacted the way…”
“The way they knew you would,” she finishes for me. “You’re just being you, Con. That’s all.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess I didn’t change much over the last ten years.”
She smiles again. And again, it’s that old smile. The one filled with sadness and fear. “Let me get my coat and we’ll walk to the car together.”
“Buddy system,” I say, remembering how much we relied on it back in school.