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“No!” I grab his hand, pulling him back down beside me. “We can’t. Not yet.” His expression darkens, and I shake my head. “I don’t like it either; I fucking hate it. We said there would be no more secrets between us. But we can’t tell him yet.”
River wraps my hand in both of his, running his fingers over the contours of my knuckles, and I let that touch soothe me a little, just like I think he means for it to.
“We’re still in essentially the same boat we’ve been in,” I say quietly, keeping my head tilted toward him. “We don’t have enough evidence to make a convincing case to Dunagan if we tell him about this. And if we move too soon, and Mr. Black figures out what we know, it only gives him time to destroy evidence and cover his tracks even more.”
“If it’s really him,” River murmurs.
“Right. If it’s him. We don’t know that yet. But even if we’re wrong, if we tell Lincoln about this now, you know he’s gonna flip out. He’s got enough weirdness with his dad as it is.”
“I don’t like lying to Linc.”
“It wouldn’t be lying,” I plead, although I know I’m skirting a gray area here. “Just hold off on telling him for a little while. Just give me a little more time.”
River blinks slowly.
I’ve played poker with him, and he can keep his face completely impassive when he wants to, but right now, I feel like I can read every thought in his head. I can see him judging the pros and cons of each course of action, weighing them against each other.
I’m glad I told him. I’m glad he and the others are on my side. I’m glad I don’t have to make these fucking choices alone.
My fingers are still locked with his, and I rest our joined hands on my knees as I watch him, giving him time to think.
Finally, he dips his chin once. “Okay. Just for a little while though. Just for a few days. Then, whether we know more or not, we tell him.”
“Okay.” I nod vigorously.
That buys me a little time. Hopefully it’ll be enough time to dig deeper and see if this insane hunch actually means anything, or if I’m just grasping at straws, desperate for some kind of resolution.
What I know, you’ll know.
Those words filter through my head, and a twinge of guilt burns through my stomach. I was so fucking pissed at Lincoln when I thought he and the other kings had betrayed me, had hung me out to dry, alone and desperate.
But he had a reason. A good one.
And I do too.
Hopefully, he’ll forgive me like I did him.
No more secrets.
Except one.
12
River and I stay in the stairwell talking for a while longer after he agrees not to tell Linc or the other two boys about my suspicions regarding Mr. Black.
He doesn’t have a car on campus, so we use a ride share app to get a lift back to the Black family mansion. Lincoln is waiting for us, on edge and a little suspicious after I turned down my usual ride home with him. But I’m sure he has no idea what River and I talked about, the true reason I’d asked River to stay.
The three of us end up downstairs in one of the rec rooms, and Linc pulls me onto his lap on the big, plush couch set against one wall. His hands settle possessively on my waist, and I see his gaze dart between me and River a couple times.
Does he think something happened between us?
If he does, he doesn’t seem mad about it. He isn’t glaring at his friend or looking at me with anger or suspicion. His touch is definitely proprietary though, as if he wants to remind both me and River that, no matter what might’ve gone on between us, Lincoln hasn’t relinquished his claim on me.
That he might share, but he’ll never let go entirely.
Nothing did happen between me and River—well, nothing more intimate than sitting close together, heads bent and fingers interlaced—but I find myself almost regretting that fact. He kissed me once, the night I was attacked outside the poker game at the warehouse, and it was a good fucking kiss.
He looked at Lincoln right before he did it, some silent communication passing between them, and it occurs to me that maybe he was staking a claim on me too in that moment.
