Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Mila lifts a naturally arched eyebrow a little higher in skepticism. “Do you trust him?”
A bark of laughter erupts from me. “I don’t trust anyone. And he made it clear on the call that he still thinks I’m a traitor.”
“You are not a traitor,” Mila exclaims angrily, shooting off the couch and standing before me. “Don’t ever let me hear you call yourself that again.”
I’m stunned by the fury in her words and partly touched that she cares enough to make her complaint known. I shake my head with a small smile. “I didn’t call myself that. He did, but I don’t ever forget that’s the way I’m viewed because of my actions.”
“And why you don’t trust anyone,” she murmurs, taking a step back and sinking down onto the cushion again.
She sounds so sad about that and it also touches me. No one’s been sad for me for a very long time. Because it gets me in the feels, I move on, needing to put this crap in the back seat where it belongs. “While I don’t trust McLendon, he sounded genuine when he said he didn’t know who was behind this. He also said he didn’t think Ryan and Colton could be involved. Seems to think they’ve moved on.”
“But he can’t be sure, which means we don’t know anything more from him than what we knew before.” Mila shakes her head. “Too many people who hate us.”
“Yeah, it’s a fucking mystery though. Who hates you enough to try to hurt you is the real question.” I shift forward in the chair. “Which is why I need to know exactly what you’ve done to get help.”
She blinks. “I told you… I went to the police.”
“When? Where?”
“Boca Raton. That’s where I lived with my aunt. After a handful of text messages, I thought I should get help.”
“And what did you show them?”
“The texts,” she says. “At first, they weren’t too bad. Just generic threats. They couldn’t trace the number—most likely from a burner. But they said it probably wasn’t Peter because he was still in prison.”
“Which is what we’ve concluded, unless he’s got someone doing the dirty work for him. Then what?” I press, wanting to know all of it so I can decide what still needs to be done.
“I went back again when I got the emails. I thought they could find out where they came from.” I can hear her anger. “But the emails hadn’t turned violent yet. Just creepy, so they didn’t take it seriously. Told me to block the sender. Use filters.”
“Have you gone back since they got worse?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
I narrow my eyes. “Anything else? Have you asked anyone else for help?”
She hesitates, her gaze dropping, and it seems she might be hiding something. My spider senses tingle. “I need to know everyone who might have knowledge of this.”
Mila flushes and I think it might be guilt, but I discount that after I hear the sadness in her tone. “I called my mom.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh.”
“First time since I left,” looking away from me. Her reply is so soft I barely catch it.
“You don’t talk to them at all?”
“No.” She lifts her eyes, a half-smile on her face. “Not once since my aunt took me in.”
I wasn’t quite sure what the residual family dynamics looked like in the Brennan family, but I don’t want to poke too deep so I stick to the call she made. “What happened with your mom when you reached out to her?”
“She listened,” Mila says, her voice cracking slightly. “I told her about the threats. Said I was scared. And she told me there’s no way Peter could’ve done it and then… she hung up on me.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. “Jesus. How can they do that to you?”
She shrugs. “They’ve always believed what happened to Nathan was a mistake. A horrible accident. They said prison was too harsh. That since Peter felt guilty, it should’ve been enough punishment.”
“They blamed you entirely for what happened to him,” I say, almost growling. That’s beyond unimaginable. I mean, I get that I was blamed by players and the community, but Mila’s own parents turned against her for doing the morally responsible thing.
“Yeah.” Her eyes have a sheen to them, but she blinks a few times and they clear. “I stood by what I did. I told them Peter may not have meant to kill Nathan, but he did mean to humiliate him. To make him suffer. He gave him that alcohol. Beat him with that hose. Laughed when he puked. Left him naked on the locker room floor to die.” She pauses, her bitterness evident. “I could never get it out of my head… the way they laughed that night.”
My gut twists, because I was laughing too. Not because I thought it was funny, but because… well, I don’t know why I did it, and it claws at my gut. “I remember that too,” I say quietly. “I was one of the people laughing.”