There was a beat of silence. Trevor opened his mouth to speak; Connor cut in first.
“Are you going to invite us in or not?”
Peter stopped gnawing at his lip ring. “Yeah.”
He stayed blocking the doorway. Despite the irritation that bloomed at the mere sight of Peter, Connor kept his calm. All of Peter’s bruises had healed, leaving his skin unmarred and unblemished. There was a greyness to his skin that frequent visits to Europe usually kept tanned.
“Let’s go up to your room.” Connor stepped into the house. He broke free of Trevor but looked over his shoulder. “Trevor’s going to talk to your mom.”
“Okay.” Peter was still gnawing.
Connor stared at him at length. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he hadn’t beaten up Peter. Whatever had happened that night, it hadn’t been him that hurt him. However, Peter’s nerves were clear. “Or I can just talk to your mom instead,” Connor said.
Peter’s gaze jumped to his face.
“If I’m making you nervous.”
Peter glanced between Connor and Trevor, then settled his eyes on Connor. He swallowed, and his shoulders dropped an inch as he relaxed them. “No, I want to talk.” He looked at Trevor. “Mom is making you fresh coffee. Just in there.” He pointed.
“Call if you need me,” Trevor said to Connor before crossing the entranceway and disappearing into the next room.
Connor stood in silence with Peter as he eyed him. Was he skinnier than a few months ago? “I can just talk to your Mom,” he said again. “You’re looking a little flighty. I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of coming here to antagonise my victim.”
“You didn’t beat me up.”
“I know.”
Peter’s bottom lip was white and marred with teeth marks as he released it. His gaze darted around, landing on anything but Connor. “I’m sorry.”
Connor licked his lips as he fought the urge to squeeze the truth out of Peter all at once. “Let’s go sit down. And you don’t need to be so nervous, Peter. Whatever happened wasn’t your fault.”
Peter’s shoulders had crept up again. He glanced toward the stairs, and Connor could see that this wasn’t going to work. He’d be wringing the truth out of a scared Peter. “You’ve told your mom what happened?”
Peter nodded.
“Let’s go sit with them,” Connor said, and he walked into the kitchen where Trevor and Tracy sat at the kitchen table.
Connor went to Trevor’s side and sat down. “So what happened?” he asked Tracy. She didn’t look scared of him, and he didn’t care about how she felt about him. Not that he’d ever particularly cared about what Peter thought of him, either. Peter had always been irritating at school. Flirty, loud-mouthed, and vexing. He picked fights with everyone. He didn’t scrunch his shoulders, nibble at his lip, and stare at the ground between his feet.
“You saw the post about the two guards? Peter say if those are the two guys that were there that night?” Connor led.
Peter slid into the seat next to his mom. “It was them.” His voice came out a little louder, more normal now. He seemed more comfortable now that he was next to his mom. “Do you remember any of it?”
“No.”
“We believe that Connor was drugged that night,” Trevor said.
“Oh yeah, he was totally fucked,” Peter said. “Um.” He cleared his throat, and his cheeks reddened. “Sorry, I mean—one of the men jabbed a needle into his—your—neck. And you were just gone, you know? In seconds.”
Chills went down Connor’s spine. When he thought about being drugged, he thought of someone slipping something into his drink. Not of being physically injected with a needle. Trevor tensed up beside him.
“The shorter one stomped on your hand.” Peter’s gaze dipped down to Connor’s right hand. He stared at his knuckles as he spoke. “And then he beat me up. They threatened me. They said if I told anyone, they’d—”
Tracy’s hand covered her son’s, silencing him. “Threats were made,” she said. “But that is not keeping Peter silent any longer. I promise you, Connor, that we will speak with the investigators and clear up your situation. I have already started my own investigation and am more than willing to share everything I’ve found with the guards. And your lawyer.”
“I think my assault charge is the least of what needs to be cleared up,” Connor said absently. He was drugged. Framed. The guards at his dad’s workplace did the dirty work. Cessair paid off the judge for a light punishment. His lawyer made him plead guilty. “What about Austin?” he asked Peter.
“He was there. He watched.”
