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ELLIE
It’s the strangest thing to accept condolences on behalf of a man who isn’t truly dead.
A man who the world believes to be dead.
A man who is currently hiding away in a half-constructed hotel owned by your estranged uncle.
A man who you love with the entirety of your heart, body, and soul.
I move through school in a perpetual daze, unable to focus on anyone or anything in particular. Whispered words barely penetrate the numb barrier I’ve erected around myself. They go through one ear and immediately out the other. Still, a few hit their targets, like arrows being notched and then set free. I can feel the penetrating slice of each accusation cutting at my chest until the organ contained within it bleeds anew.
“I heard he killed himself.”
“Didn’t you hear? It was a house fire.”
“Wasn’t Ellie with him?”
“Do you think she did it?”
“Everyone knows he’s in love with her. Sorry. Was in love with her.”
By the end of the day, my jaw is clenched so tightly, I’m afraid I’ve broken a tooth. Crescent-shaped indents have embedded themselves into my palms from all the times I’ve balled my hands into tight fists to keep from punching someone.
The weeks following winter break have been… Well, to say they have been chaotic would be an understatement if I ever heard one. I feel as if I’m stuck inside a typhoon, being blown around wildly, cast from side to side, unable to resist the currents that pull me in every direction and then rip me apart.
Christmas was a somber affair, but that could be because it preceded Ryker’s funeral.
His…funeral.
God, it hurts to even think those words. The pain is so unbearable, it’s like spikes set against my soul.
I know he isn’t actually dead, yet I sobbed that day as if he were. As if my heart had been cleaved from my body and was being examined by a butcher.
I still remember standing in that cold, snow-covered graveyard, staring down at the tombstone Landon paid for. Ryker’s name glared at me from the gray surface, chiseled into the center.
Ryker Nolan.
Loving son and friend.
It took all my effort to force air into my spasming lungs. For a long moment, I just stood there, staring, the wind blowing at my face and the cold of the air seeping into my skin and settling into the hollow of my bones. My chest tightened, and I realized I felt…broken. Each jagged piece of my heart cried out for Ryker.
What made matters even worse was the fact that Fischer couldn’t return from his senate meeting in time for the holidays, forcing me to endure all that pain and misery alone. Then again, it wasn’t as if he knew about Ryker’s apparent death.
He still doesn’t know, even after all these weeks.
I don’t allow myself to look too closely at why that is. Landon and the others don’t trust my older brother, but I know Fischer. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone his own sister. And yet…
Why haven’t I told him about Ryker?
Why don’t I want him to return home?
Why does the mere thought of seeing him cause my stomach to do a backflip?
I squeeze my eyelids shut, but it does very little to quell the sudden queasiness taking root in my stomach. It seems as if every horrible moment over the last few months has been painted onto the skin of my eyelids, reminding me of my shortcomings and failures time and time again. Whenever I close my eyes, I see the worst days of my life on repeat.
Blair’s murder.
