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One thing I’d deduced was that even if her brother was a millionaire many times over by now, she hadn’t taken a cent. Or he hadn’t given her any of his money. Although the latter didn’t really match the boy I’d known growing up.
Of course, who the fuck knew what fame and fortune would do to someone. My brother Nolan was mostly the same guy despite being the current in-demand movie hero, but then Nolan hadn’t enjoyed and embraced his fame like Rafe had. At least according to the papers and tabloids I’d seen.
Emmy looked out over the lake, watching some birds fly in the distance. Eventually she answered, “The cattle reminded me of my parents. And I couldn’t handle it, West. Because the constant reminders only added to my guilt.” She paused, but I waited. She finally met my gaze and continued, “And I carry enough as it is, and any more will break me.”
Her voice cracked at the last word, and her eyes turned bright, as if she were about to cry. I moved to crouch in front of her, wondering if I should touch her or not—she might break down if I did. For now, I focused on her eyes. “Why do you feel guilty, Emmy?” She looked down at her hands, twisting them, and I put my hand over hers and squeezed. “You can tell me. After all, you could threaten to blackmail me for my car karaoke choices, and I’d never hear the end of it from my brothers.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Weston Wolfe.”
I squeezed her hands again. “Sometimes. But I know what it’s like to hold so much inside, to the point you feel like all you want to do is rage and scream and break things to try and feel better. I won’t judge, Emmy. I promise.”
“How can you promise that? I’m a murderer, West. I killed my parents.”
I took a second to process her words, careful not to show any emotion. Surely she couldn’t believe that, could she? She’d only been ten years old, for fuck’s sake, when they died in a car crash. My family had told me that a drunk driver had hit the Mendoza car and instantly killed Mateo and Kim.
“I think there’s more to that story. Tell me so I can be my own judge.”
After glancing up, she searched my gaze, as if trying to decide something.
In this moment, she looked lost and broken and afraid. More than afraid—terrified.
And I didn’t like it. For a second, I wanted to be the one to ease her terror and help fight her battles.
Maybe I couldn’t do it forever, but for now, I could help lighten the mood a little. If she were a little more comfortable with me, she might finally unload some of the burden she carried.
So I wiggled and groaned. “Can these old knees get up from this crouching position before you say more? They’re going to give out at any time now.”
The corners of her mouth lifted a fraction. “Can’t have that happening, can we? Because there’s no way I’d be able to carry your heavy ass down that trail.”
I grinned, exaggerated getting up with difficulty, and sat next to her on the rock.
For a while, we both stared out over the water. I didn’t know how much time passed, our lunch long forgotten, before she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you. But just, well, just don’t interrupt me. Otherwise, I might not be able to finish.”
I nodded. She must’ve seen it from the corner of her eye because she sighed and said, “Well, I was ten…”
Her voice trailed off, but I did as she asked and kept quiet.
ChapterNineteen
Emilia
Ididn’t know how West got me to this point, to where I agreed to talk about the crash.
Maybe it was being far away from Starry Hills and all the memories there. Or maybe because he’d been so, well, nice and funny and even a little corny during the car ride here.
Or maybe I just wanted him to know, hoping he wouldn’t think the worst of me.
Which, of course, was stupid. But there it was.
As I stared out over the water, I tried again. “I was ten when it happened. Rafe had finally worked his way up and became one of the starting strikers for his team in England at the time, Stonelake FC.
“He wanted us to fly to the UK to watch him play in person, and my parents scheduled our trip during summer vacation. When they told me about it, I barely slept, excited to watch my big brother play in person. I didn’t quite understand all the rules for soccer back then, but I still knew my brother was amazing and talented and always in the papers in the UK or on the sports channels.”
I paused, needing a moment to gather the courage to keep doing this.
Not only because of what was to come but also because remembering how much I’d loved my brother was painful. Like how he’d always sent me clippings and jerseys. And even a little tea set he said was very English with little flowers on it and even a little knitted thing called a cozy to put over the teapot to keep it warm. He had always spoiled me.
Until it all stopped. I’ve never admitted it, but I still missed my brother so much it hurt.
