But what am I supposed to do?
Let investigators handle it?
They’re strangers, they’re not invested in the outcome of this situation at all, but I’m the one that knew Whitney and Phillip best. I’m the one that she handed the journals to because she had suspicions. She left me in charge of getting to the bottom of anything odd that might happen, and now it has.
If I just sit on this and do nothing what kind of friend would that make me?
Especially after everything we’ve gone through together?
No, I won’t be able to sleep at night until I know what Whitney’s final moments looked like. I don’t care if it ruins me.
Whitney saved me from certain ruin that night at the debutante ball, all I can do is my best to repay the favor now, even if it kills me.
Chapter Thirty-One
“So how was your day, babe?” Bennett asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head as he comes up behind me.
I’m stretched out by the pool with a romance novel open in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other, the pages unread for the last several minutes as my thoughts drift somewhere darker. Bennett lowers himself into the lounger beside me with the easy grace of a man who belongs anywhere he sits, crossing one ankle over the other and folding his hands behind his head as he leans back into the cushion. I pause, letting myself look at him properly. My husband is beautiful in that polished, old-money way, all clean lines and composed charm, with the kind of sharply cut jaw that would make a Kennedy jealous and bright blue eyes that rarely give more away than he intends. There are times, even now, when the sight of him still catches me off guard.
“My day was eventful,” I say at last, my tone light even though I can feel the strain beneath it.
“Why so?” His eyes stay closed, his face turned toward thesun as though this is nothing more than a lazy evening and not the aftermath of the most destabilizing weeks of my life.
“I stopped by the market, visited the venue for the charity brunch, talked to my brother.” I swirl the wine in my glass and watch the pale liquid catch the light. “It only took a few minutes for me to remember that blood is definitely not thicker than water.”
“That sounds promising,” Bennett says dryly.
“Exactly.” I let out a short breath, unsure how much of this I want to share. He already thinks I’m fixating. I can feel it in the way he watches me now, in the careful suggestions about grief counseling, in the soft caution beneath his voice whenever Whitney comes up. He mentioned it again last night before bed, the idea that talking to someone might help, but I can already imagine how that would go. Some bland office, some gentle-eyed woman telling me there’s no right way to grieve while I nod along and waste an hour I do not have. I do not need a stranger guiding me through the stages of loss when I am trying to solve a murder.
“Maverick wants me to visit the reservation,” I continue, my gaze fixed out on the shimmering water. “Apparently our father is struggling with medical bills, the elders are making his life hell, and God knows what else. The second Mav brought it up, my chest started tightening. They were never there for me, not once, and somehow I’m still supposed to show up now because it would make everyone feel better.”
Bennett opens one eye then, glancing at me. “Do they want money?”
I hum in confirmation and leave it at that, because the truth is I do not want to talk about them any more than absolutely necessary. The guilt is there, of course it is. It cuts deep enough that I can feel it even now, but seeing them, hearing the same old pleas, looking into eyes that only soften when they needsomething from me feels like a more intimate kind of misery than distance ever has.
“I can write them a check,” Bennett says after a moment. “If that would make this easier for you.”
“Honestly, having as little to do with them as possible feels easiest.” I take another sip of wine and stare down at the condensation on the stem of the glass. “But I also know that probably makes me the asshole.”
“Well,” he says with a quiet chuckle, “to them, maybe. But the only thing that matters to me is how you feel. It sounds like they only reach out when they want something anyway.”
“That’s what I thought.” My voice softens despite myself. “They chose to stay there. They chose to give me up. Why does any of this become my responsibility now?”
“It doesn’t,” Bennett replies simply. “But you may have to make peace with being the villain in their version of the story.”
“And in Maverick’s too.” I look down at the label on my wineglass, tracing the edge of it with my thumb. “His account is always overdrawn, he’s always scraping by, and still he never asks me for anything. That’s why I try to spoil him when I can. Gift cards on his birthday, Christmas, things like that. He makes a point of being part of my life. He calls because he cares. He drives down here to meet me for tacos. He came to our wedding.”
The memory catches unexpectedly, bright and painful. Whitney at my side as maid of honor, laughing into the wind on the beach, her dress whipping around her legs while she held my bouquet and told me not to cry before I’d even started. So many good memories now carry the same bitter aftertaste, as if grief has reached back and stained them all.
I press my lips together and keep going. “He told me he’s already lent them some money. He knows he’ll never see it again, and he doesn’t even have the money to be lending.”
“I’m still happy to write him a check,” Bennett says. “Maybe give it to him and let him decide what to do.”
My face falls before I can stop it. The problem is, I do know exactly what he would do. Maverick’s heart has always been bigger than his judgment where they’re concerned, and I can already picture the money disappearing into that same black hole of need and guilt and obligation.
“He just…” I stop, searching for the right words. “He surrounds himself with so many toxic people that I’m afraid it’s going to sink him, and if I get too close, I’m afraid it’ll pull us under too.”
Bennett turns his head fully then, studying me. “I wouldn’t let that happen. And I think your brother is smarter than you’re giving him credit for.”
