Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“For two whole years,” Silas adds helpfully.
In one of the rare instances of my life, I’m actually struck speechless. No smartass remark to be found.
Sloane? And Duke?
What in the actual fuck?
Chapter 18
Sloane
“Hey, you up?” I tap on Casey’s door Sunday morning. She hadn’t come down for Sunday morning breakfast, which is unlike her. “I’m going for a run. You want to come?”
There’s no response.
“Case?” I poke my head in her room to see she’s still in bed.
She rolls over, bundled in her covers. “What time is it?”
“You still sleeping? It’s after ten.”
“Sorry.” She yawns, rubbing the crust from the corner of her eye. “Didn’t realize.”
A wave of concern washes over me. “Are you feeling okay? Coming down with something?”
I take a spot on the edge of her bed as she sits up against her pillows. Casey pulls away when I try to feel her forehead.
“I’m fine.” Brow furrowed, she doesn’t look at me. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
“What’s up?”
Her fingers pick at the buttons on the duvet while she decides whether to tell me what’s really going on with her. I give her the space, because I know if she’s going to say anything, it’ll be in her own time.
“I guess…” She sighs. “I’ve been having nightmares again.”
It’s an absolute dagger through my chest. “About the accident?”
“Of drowning.”
The D-word carries heavy connotations in this house. Even before prom night.
I wasn’t there when Mom died. Casey and I stayed behind with our dad while Mom went to the cape with our aunt and some of their girlfriends. It was supposed to be a fun weekend girls’ trip. Instead, it ended in tragedy. A total fluke accident that ended with Mom slipping and falling overboard. Her limbs getting tangled in ropes of seaweed that pulled her under the surface. A stunned Aunt Monica told Dad it all happened so fast. Mere seconds. The blink of an eye. Gone. Dead.
Years later, I can’t even hear the word drowning without my mind conjuring up gruesome images of Mom gasping for air as she got sucked underwater.
My body feels cold, tense. “Did something trigger the nightmares this time?”
Casey shrugs, then lifts her bloodshot eyes to mine. She’s pale and exhausted, creases from her pillow still carved in her skin. Her hair is sweat-matted to the side of her head, and her sheets are tangled around her legs from a harrowing night fighting for her life. I would give anything to trade places with her and take on her demons. It kills me that I can’t. That I have to stand by helplessly watching her suffer.
“Just being at school, I think. Hearing everyone whispering about it behind my back. Over the summer I kind of got to ignore it, but then we came back. And even though it’s a new school, it feels the same.”
I try to mask my anger, but it burns hot in my gut. Gossip is an irresistible force in perpetual motion, and while I’ve done my best to put the fear of death in anyone with my sister’s name in their mouth, it clearly hasn’t done much good. Casey will continue to be at their mercy, at least until someone else’s life is destroyed for public amusement and the rumor of the month sucks up all the air in the room, making them forget about her.
“Did you remember anything else?” I hate to ask. It feels invasive every time. But ever since she was found on the edge of the lake that night, we still have so many unanswered questions.
The investigation had stalled before it started. Cameras were down and no one saw Casey get into the car or how it became half submerged in the lake. How she ended up on shore soaking wet and unconscious.
That’s the most frustrating part of it—how are we supposed to help her fully heal and find real closure when we don’t even have the whole story?
“See something new this time?” I push when she doesn’t respond.
Casey shakes her head, lips sealed tight, before finally letting out a quiet breath. “Every time,” she says softly. “I feel the water climbing up my neck. It’s cold and I’m wondering where it’s coming from. Then I open my eyes and I’m trapped. Sinking. I can’t feel my body. My limbs won’t respond, and nothing feels real. I try to hold my breath but the water’s reaching my lips and it’s dark and I can’t find my way out. Then someone’s telling me it’s all right. I’m going to be all right. I open my eyes and I’m on the ground, freezing, with everyone shouting and standing over me. That’s it.”
My heart aches, a hot throbbing mass squeezing painfully in my chest. Because she looks like our mom. Strawberry blonde hair and a slight nose. A swipe of freckles under her eyes. I’ve heard Casey tell this story, nearly word-for-word, a dozen times. And every time I can’t help seeing our mother.