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“Would I tell you what?” Phoenix prompts, voice carefully empty.
“If you…” God, it would be so easy to just derail my thoughts and make a joke out of this. But one look at Phoenix’s face, at the shrewdness of his gaze and the serious set of his lips, makes me realize he wouldn’t let me get away with it.
“Sometimes I’m afraid Angleson is right,” I explain in a rush. “Or my mom, or whoever. That you’re going to kill me, too. That you don’t actually like me, or I’m just here until you’re bored. You haveRory,” I remind him, watching him reach across the table to gently, ever so gently, wrap his fingers around one of my wrists and pull my hand toward him across the table.
“Rory is definitely hard to say no to,” Phoenix agrees, humming lightly as he runs his nails up my fingers, making them twitch. “And Angleson can be convincing, I guess. But she wouldn’t be half as intimidating if she clearly didn’t spend four hours a day spraying her hair to look like that.”
The corners of my mouth twitch upward, but I fight the smile that threatens to appear.
“The easy one first, I think. Have I ever given you any indication I blame you for my sister’s death?” he asks, eyes pinning mine and keeping me frozen. Not that I could move anywhere, since he has custody of my legs and one of my hands. It’s so distracting that he’s still touching me, and I try to remember my well thought out arguments.
“It’s just that Ava said—”
“Ava said a lot of things last night,” Phoenix whispers, leaning closer to me. “And only a few of them were true. It was not your job to talk Daisy off of the ice after what they’d done to get her on to it. Do you understand me?” His grip tightens and my fingers curl, just for him to flick my index finger pointedly, making me straighten them again so he can run his nails over my skin just the way I like.
“I guess.” Relenting at last, I look away. “But it’s hard sometimes. You don’t know how I’ve felt all this time.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” he remarks in a mutter. “You think I don’t blame myself? When I knew something was going on with the two of you that Daisy wasn’t telling me. Look at me, Bailey.” As much as I don’t want to, it’s impossible not to, and his eyes, his gorgeous, dark blue eyes that glitter like sapphires, are more open and honest than I’ve ever seen. “It isnotyour fault. It hasneverbeen your fault. And I have never, not once, lumped you in with the others in any capacity. Do you understand me?”
When I nod, he looks at least a little satisfied, and his grip loosens, though he doesn’t let go of my wrist. “And for your second concern. IloveRory.” The words twist in my stomach in a way I hadn’t expected, but he still doesn’t let me pull away or retreat from him. “But you know what I’ve learned in the past few weeks since this all started and I saw you again?” As I watch, he draws my palm to his face, lips brushing over my pulse point before he says, “I am more than capable of loving more than one person in this life, Bailey. And I promise neither of you will suffer for it.”
If he hadn’t already melted just about every line of resistance, that would’ve done it. It’s so hard not to launch myself across the table and kiss him or cry with relief. I don’t doubt him for one moment, though I do find myself saying, “And Rory knows that? He’s okay with it?”
“He’s a little obsessed, I think. In a positive way.” He’s quick to add the second part, though I can tell he’s worried about how I’ll take it, by the way he searches my face for answers.
“There’s a positive way when a serial killer is obsessed with you?” I ask softly, teasingly, after making sure there’s no one around to hear.
“Uh, yeah. He was obsessed with me and look at me. I’m fine,” Phoenix laughs, finally letting go of me.
“Debatable,” I reply, not shocked by the small pinch to my knee I feel under the table that nearly makes me yelp.
“Mouthy,” he teases, settling back in his seat.
“Hey, umm…” A thought strikes me like painless lightning, and I tap my knuckles against the table under me. “Can I tell you something?”
“I’d be insulted if you weren’t spilling your weirdest secrets to me by lunch,” Phoenix replies lazily, leaning back in his booth. “What’s up?”
“I thought I knew who the killer was.” My words are soft, and I lean towards him when I say them. “Well, before I knew it was you and Rory. There was this guy at the fairgrounds on the first night you saw me there? When Rory was stalking me in the woods?” He nods, waiting for me to go on.
“He ran into me that night, and it creeped me out. Then after we talked in the park for the first time. He was there too, but—”
“Ernie McMann,” Phoenix sighs, resting his hands on the table. “Yeah, he’s a creepy guy.”
Shock ripples through me, and it takes a few moments for me to say, “Wait, you know who he is?”
“That is who we’re thinking about dumping suspicion onto,” he explains. “Ernie isn’t that nice of a guy. Rory called his brother in Montana—it’s a long story. His brother is an investigator or something and looked into him. Ernie has problems keeping his hands to himself. Especially around women.” His head tilts to the side as he waits for my reaction, expression neutral.
“Oh…” I mutter, shocked. “That’s not what I was expecting.”
“He’s just a drifter. A violent, handsy drifter with a bad record. Please don’t end up alone with him, okay, Bailey? But by now the cops are interested in him, from what I can tell. So I can’t really wish he wasn’t in Hollow Bridge this year.” Phoenix rolls his shoulders in a shrug, some of the tension ebbing out of the conversation.
“That’s fair,” I agree at last, tapping my knuckles on the fake wood of the table one more time before relaxing back into my seat. “Creepy, though. Since when do violent drifters show up in Hollow Bridge?”
“Since we needed one for an alibi?” Phoenix chuckles. He picks up his straw paper, folding it between dexterous fingers before saying, “So catch me up. What’s it been like in Hollow Bridge since I’ve been gone, and how haven’t you perished from boredom by now, hmm? Clearly, there has to be a secret.”
After our meal and taking up more time in the diner than is probably polite, Phoenix holds the door open for me when we leave. I brush by him, purposefully letting my hand graze his hip, only to hear the catch in his breath that’s oh so satisfying. His hand tightens on the bag of Rory’s breakfast, plastic crinkling under his fingers, and he’s quick to lean down, just in time to whisper in my ear, “We are leaving the public eye, you know. I could pull over and repay you for all the times you’ve done that today.”
“Do it,” I dare, already on my way to his SUV. “Then you get to explain to Rory why his breakfast is cold.”
