Page 198 of Burning Daylight

Beverly stares at me for one second.

Two.

“He’s dead.”

My brows furrow as I try to process her words.

“No,” I say. “That’s impossible.”

Beverly gives me a pitying look and wipes a tear away from her own cheek before she goes back to ripping my clothes apart, like she’s trying to pack a bag for me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

I should be feeling some emotion, but I can’t believe her words. They don’t feel real, and she has to be mistaken.

My mother’s scream reverberates in my memory, and my stomach cramps.

“No,” I say again. And then I’m moving, bounding forward and jerking Beverly’s hands roughly from where they’re in my dresser drawers. “No,” I repeat. “You tell me what’s really happening right now.”

Her lips roll together.

“Where is Tyler?”

Her gaze widens like she can’t believe I’m about to make her say it again.

“Where is he!” I half yell.

Beverly jerks back from the noise and then moves in closer. “He’s dead, Juliette.”

I stumble back from her, my hand pressing against the deep throb in my chest.

It isn’t possible. Not Tyler. He was fine last night…a little unhinged, maybe, and a lot mad, but nothing that would lead to hisdeath.

“Child,” Beverly starts, moving toward me and pressing her hand to my cheek, forcing my gaze to hers.

I hadn’t even realized I was staring at the ground.

Shaking my head, I grip her fingers in mine and hold them against my face. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a child.”

Sorrow flashes in her gaze, and maybe I should be crying. Half of me expects the tears to form any second, but whether it’s from shock or disbelief, I’m just…numb.

“Tell me how it happened,” I say. “How long has everyone known?”

“I assume your parents knew last night; they never came home,” she whispers, and her hand drops, picking up the discarded clothing and shoving it into my hands. “But we have to get you out of here.”

My brows furrow, and I shake my head again. “I’m not leaving, Bevie. Not if Tyler’s gone, I can’t—” The words lodge in my throat, and my hand flies to cover my mouth so I don’t scream or sob or…something.

“He told everyone about you and that Montgomery boy,” she says slowly. “Lance knows. Your mother knows.Everyoneknows.”

I grit my teeth, wrapping my head around what she’s telling me, but it just doesn’t make any sense. “He wouldn’t.”

But I know even as I say it that he would.

A sick sense of dread trickles down my spine. “How did he die?”

Beverly looks at me with pity, and it makes nausea rise in my throat. “It was Roman, Juliette.”

My world stops. “You’re…you’re sure?”