Then she turns to leave. But I can’t let her. I can’t fucking stop. I can’t keep it buried anymore, everything swirling in the air around us, hot and stifling.

“I know your mom’s dead, Remi.”

She freezes, and I step in front of her again, waiting until she looks up at me. Light reflects off the tears welling in her eyes as they bounce between mine. I stare down into them.

“When you stopped answering, I went after you. I tracked down your stepdad’s house,” I tell her. “I know you ran off with that guy. Your mom’s ex. Your friend.” I swallow past the bite, and now I’m imploring her. “I need to understand, Remi. I saw the SD card in your camera bag, but … why is Xander talking about your dad spending Christmas with you?”

Her chest rises slowly, inhale shaky, and she lowers her gaze. “My dad died when I was eleven. Xander was talking about Roman.”

I stare at her, silence encasing us while I struggle with her words. The past rearranges between us, certainties vanish, and doubts reemerge.

“Remi,” I say, fucking lost. But she looks it too, sad eyes, panicked eyes, the broken girl. It all feels wrong again. Like when I stood in the house that wasn’t her home.

“I need the truth—from you.” I step closer. Of all the whys I’ve wanted to ask, this wasn’t one. I didn’t need to ask because I knew. But now, I need to really know. “Why did you disappear on me?”

She blinks up at me, right before changing everything. “Because he killed her.”

29

REMI

Before…

The thrum of my pulse intensifies as I hit send on the picture to Foster. The all-of-me picture.

And he promised to send his back.

I smile, clutching my phone and closing my eyes.

Yeah, it’s over for me. I’m done for him.

The flutters and tingles carry me up the trellis. I toss my bag by the bed, strip off my coat, and fall back on the mattress. While waiting for his reply, I scroll through our messages as a distraction. One stands out from the rest.

Foster

You’re dangerous, Remi Saint.

Shit. He still thinks it’s Saint and not Sinner. I blame him, though. It’s his own fault for distracting me with everything him the past few weeks. I could forget the whole world with how he takes over my mind.

Returning to my picture at the bottom, I consider whether to clear it up now or wait for his text. Before I decide, I hear a noise from downstairs. My gaze trains on the door as I wait for another.

Shouting breaches the pillows.

My gut twists, overshadowing the Foster high, and I sit up, listening for more. Only nothing else breaks through.