In her.
In myself.
In the fact that when she finally has her chance, she panics. Who is she protecting? “Lilah, where does your dad work?”
Her eyes dart to the left and then back up to mine before she lifts her chin and whispers, “He’s the dean.”
“The dean,” I repeat. Must have missed that. “Of?”
“The business school, he just got another promotion.”
“He’s here.” I shake my head. “And you what? Go have lunch with him when you have free time? Golf on the weekends? Did you have to even lift a finger to get into school?”
She glares. “I worked my ass off!”
“Just checking, since you like to lie, Lilah.”
“You don’t know why I did shit!” She pushes back. “And I never see my dad! My parents got divorced right after everythinghappened. I lived with my mom and my dad has some sort of existential crisis or midlife crisis, he buys cars and dates women half his age. I highly doubt he’s the monster you’ve made him out to be in the last few minutes.”
“Then why did he fucking tell you I died? That’s not a white lie, Lilah, it’s life and death, which means he was scared enough to make you stop asking questions. Makes you wonder what he knew, what my dad knows, and what my mom knew before she was murdered but she sure as hell didn’t take her own life with prescription pills with the housekeepers name on them, alright?” I’m angry. Too angry to do this now. “When you’re ready to try honesty…” I shrug. “You know where to find me.”
She says nothing.
I storm out of the room.
I can’t even look at her.
But at last, I know more now than I did before. So why do I feel so hollow inside?
Why does the truth no longer matter if I don’t have her on my side?
Why does it have to be her?
Shit.
I stomp all the way to my office and sit. I’m there for God knows how long, staring up at the computer screen when a knock suddenly comes out of nowhere.
It’s Lilah. She shuffles in and closes the door behind her. It’s quiet. Tense. Her eyes dart to my mouth and back up again.
“No.” I say.
“No?”
“I’m not Evans, I’m not bending you over this desk, that’s low, even for you.”
She clenches her fists at her sides and stares me down. “They said you would get a slap on the wrist. They told me what to say.They coached me. They said it would be fine and if I didn’t, my dad would go to prison. There. Happy?”
“Happy? No, I’m sure as hell not happy, Lilah, I’m not happy he’s involved, I’m not happy you lied, and now I’m really unhappy I’m not the type of guy Evans is because I think the only thing that would make me fucking happy is having you naked beneath me. Leave.”
“But—”
“Leave!” I roar.
She scurries out of the room, and I’m left there feeling equal parts relieved and aroused wondering what the hell I’m going to do about it.
Explains why my mom hated her in the end, not because of the trial but because she blamed her the same way I blamed her. The same way everyone blamed her. The realization makes me physically sick.
I reach out toward the door. She’s still standing there, breathing on the other side, staring like she’s willing to face my wrath just to say sorry again. That’s Lilah, though. How could I forget? She hates when people are upset with her, she can’t leave it alone.
