Frowning, he dunks the cloth into the bowl, tinging the water red. “No. I told you I never hooked up with Faye.”

“Why don’t you tell me the truth, then?”

He takes a deep breath. “I suppose I owe you that much.” Pressing the cloth against my face, he cups my cheek. “Our mission was to steal you, but everything went wrong. It was my fault. The bomb was supposed to be a distraction—there would be an explosion on the yacht, and Faye would spread a rumor you were on it. Meanwhile, I’d take you to Allard. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”

His words reverberate through me, refusing to penetrate. “You planted the bomb?” I whisper, realization seeping in. “You killed my friends.” Dizzy, I push him away. Covering my mouth and nose with my hands, I breathe into them, trying to comprehend.

For once, he’s speechless. His lower lip trembles as his eyes search my face, and I sense his helplessness, but that night comes flooding back with a vengeance. My breath catches in my throat, the staccato bubbles rumbling past my ears. I close my eyes, thrashing in the deep, drowning. Lost at sea, I’m hunting for connection—for a lifeline—for someone who gets me.

And I’d thought I found it.

But there is no one. I’m utterly alone in this world.

Still.

Darkness descends, and the endless wanting for someone true cracks open. My sinuses burn, and tears prick my eyes.

When I open them, I find Garrett’s haven’t left my face.

Infinite apology is reflected in his glassy stare, a sorrow that cuts through to my core, that understands me maybe better than anyone—because that night is his to bear, too—but I can’t look at him. I bury my face in my hands, tears leaking down my cheeks.

My friends…my so-called friends…Adam…Nash… I swallow, trying to catch my breath. But he was never real. Everything was a lie… And what do I know now? More lies… But this means my parents didn’t set the bomb… Maybe they did love me. Worthless hope buoys me before reality crashes in. You know better. That night was the end—the end of my life. The end of the lie…

Disgust that I’m so stupid, so starved for affection I’ll throw everything away to get it, descends, pinching the nerves in my neck. Maybe I’m not worthy of love. Or maybe love doesn’t exist. I sit, paralyzed in a black void, hate for myself—for this world—reverberating through me.

Garrett touches my shoulder. His fingers are gentle at first, growing stronger as they slide up the back of my neck until his palm is applying pressure at the base of my skull.

Something about his touch is reassuring, and the dark brightens a little. I peek at him.