I was worried about telling Grace this for two reasons: one being that she might think it’s unsafe to be my roommate and the other being that her father is a judge and she might ask him to step in.

“I thought I could trust Lincoln, but he ran his mouth. So, my family knows.” I blow out a breath. “I’m surprised the news hasn’t hit you because I’m pretty sure Georgia knows.”

Her face softens, and a genuine smile that’s meant to be helpful and comforting spreads along her lips. “It’s a personal matter. Yes, we’re a tight-knit group, but if one of us confides in another, that secret stays with that person. Georgia wouldn’t tell your story, wouldn’t disclose your secrets, unless she knew it was okay with you for her to do so. Just like I won’t mention this to anyone unless you’re comfortable with it.”

“If only Lincoln had followed that same structure.”

“I’m sure it sucked for him to break your trust.” She sighs. “But what happened to you is serious. Someone physically assaulted you … and it’s scary. Trust me, I know. But are you protected now? Will they come back and continue messing with you? Violence tends to lead to more violence.”

“I know; I know.”

“I’m sure Lincoln was trying to protect you because he cares about you.”

We’re in the living room, munching on cauliflower pizza, when the front door opens again, and Lincoln stalks into the living room.

He’s called and texted a few times, but I’ve ignored them. Uncertainty of where we’re at has stopped me every time. I trusted him, and he proved I’d been stupid in doing that. Maybe he didn’t plan on Archer telling my family, but he still went behind my back and told Archer. What I had shown Lincoln, told him, was supposed to stay between him and me.

Not Lincoln, me, and my entire family.

If the tables were turned, I’m not sure what I’d do either. If one of my friends or family were hurt, would I keep that secret or reach out to someone in concern?

Everyone goes quiet, Sierra even pausing the show we’re watching, when Lincoln comes to a halt in front of me.

“Is it Quinton?” he asks, staring down at me, not sparing a glance in anyone else’s direction. “Is he the one who hurt you?”

A sudden coldness hits my core.

How does he know Quinton?

All attention plasters to me.

“That’s none of your business,” I grit out, clenching my fists, my nails digging into the sensitive skin of my palms.

“Quinton?” Sierra asks. “Quinton who?”

“No one!” I shout. “Just some stupid guy I hung out with at school.”