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“Oh.”
“But then, after he was exonerated, a ton of teams were suddenly interested in him again,” Michaela interjected, raising her brows.
“And he picked Worthington?”
“Uh-huh.” Tate nodded. “They offered him a full ride if he played for the Blades. Like I told you earlier, they’re an NCAA team, and the NHL draft selects from them as well as high school players and free agents for the lottery. So he was in the draft last year, in his freshman year here at Worthington. One of the top picks, too. He’s unsigned but committed to the Capitals now. Once he finishes his business degree, he’ll play for them.”
“So his dream came true after all,” I muttered. “He’ll be playing in the NHL.”
“Yeah.” Michaela’s lips tugged downward. “Like I said before, I honestly thought you knew all of this already.”
“Nope.”
Tate furrowed his brows. “So was tonight the first time you’ve seen him since…”
I nodded as he trailed off. “Yes. The last time I saw him was that night.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t know. But I really should have.”
Michaela reached across the table again. “I guess we just don’t talk about this stuff anymore,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I honestly thought you were over it.”
I yanked my hand back like I’d been scalded. “Over it?” I asked, eyes widening. “Are you over what happened that night?”
She grimaced. “No. Fuck. Sorry. I worded that so badly,” she said. “I just meant… I thought you were over your suspicion of Paxton. That’s all.”
“Why would I be?” I asked, narrowing your eyes.
“Well, you spent all that time in New Zealand reflecting on everything and healing. At least that’s what you told us. So when you said you were ready to be back here, I assumed that meant you’d accepted the truth and moved on.”
“The truth?” My eyes flickered between her and Tate’s faces. “I already know the truth.”
“So you still think it was him?” Michaela asked. “Even after all this time?”
“No, I don’t think it was him,” I said through clenched teeth. “I know it was him.”
Tate sighed. “Sienna, he was exonerated.”
“Okay, Tate, please don’t hate me for saying this,” I said, lifting my palms. “But you have no way of knowing. You slept through the entire thing. You didn’t see or hear anything. Not like me.”
“Yes, but… never mind,” he muttered. Red splotches were creeping up his neck and cheeks.
Michaela slowly shook her head. “Babe. We’ve literally been over this a hundred times. Paxton was fully exonerated during the investigation. All charges dropped.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s innocent.” My nostrils flared. “I know what I saw that night. What I heard. I know everyone thinks I was just drunk and misremembering everything. Or that I’m a crazy liar. But I didn’t realize you did too.”
“We don’t think you’re lying. We never, ever thought that,” she said. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “What we went through that night… it was one of the worst things that can happen to anyone. We were all terrified. Hurt. In shock.”
“Except me, apparently,” Tate interjected in a sour voice, picking at the edge of a napkin.
I winced. I really shouldn’t have made that heated comment to him a minute ago. He was just as much of a victim as the rest of us.
Michaela ignored his remark. “I know what you think you saw and heard,” she went on. “But some of it was definitely a misunderstanding. Paxton was covered in blood that night, but that’s only because he found Troy bleeding out on the floor. And he had that knife for self-defense because he realized there was a killer in the house.”
My shoulders sagged. “It wasn’t just that,” I muttered. “There was so much more. It wasn’t a misunderstanding.”
“It can all be explained. That’s why they let him go.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,” I said. “He just got really, really lucky. You even told the police that you thought Paxton was the one who attacked you in your bed.”
