I’m glad he’s still holding me because I wouldn’t trust my legs just now. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

The desire in his eyes has mixed with turmoil. He swallows. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

Dread coils in my stomach and just like that, the mood is broken. I pull away from him.

There’s only one thing I can think of that he might be keeping from me.

Did he? Kill her?

Please tell me I’m wrong, but what else could it be?

Curtis always seemed like he had stronger morals than anyone else. If he killed her—his own sister—what hope do the rest of us have? If I can’t trust him, I can’t trust anyone. Ever.

He steps toward me. “Forgive me, Milla.”

What’s he going to do to me?

I yank the door, but it doesn’t open. Watching him over my shoulder, I tug harder. Shit. Unlike the dorms, this door doesn’t have a catch. Somebody must have locked it with a key. “Did you lock it?”

“No. Milla, listen.”

Through my panic I strain to think. He couldn’t have locked it because I’d have seen him do it. Without taking my eyes off him, I pound on the door.

“Stop,” Curtis says.

Heather’s voice. “Milla? Curtis?”

“In here!” I thump on the door.

It opens with a creak. Heather stands there, gasping for breath. Was she the one who locked it?

“Quick,” she says. “Brent’s hurt.”

CHAPTER 32

TEN YEARS AGO

I ring the bell at Brent’s place.

Curtis opens the door with the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up and flour all over him. “Brent had to go to Risoul. Photo shoot for Smash tomorrow. He forgot to tell you.”

“Oh.” I step back from the door.

“Stay,” Curtis says. “I’m making pizza.”

“Um. Okay.” I follow him into the kitchen.

He’s walking stiffly, favoring his left leg.

“Are you hurt?” I say.

“It’s nothing. I’m always falling to pieces by this time in the season.”

“Brent’s got painkillers. I’m sure—”

Curtis cuts me off. “I don’t believe in them.”

On the counter, dough is rolled out in neat circles. I should have guessed he’d be making pizza from scratch. His nose and cheeks are tanned from a run of sunny days; he’s worked up a sweat from cooking and his hair is damp. I watch him deseed a red pepper, fingers fast and confident. I know somehow that being in bed with him would be very different from being in bed with Brent. How would those fingers feel on my skin?

Curtis glances up and catches me looking. Heat rushes to my face. Like his sister, he has an uncanny ability to read my thoughts. I bloody hope he couldn’t read what I was thinking just then.