Page 83 of Pretty Vengeance

After we leave the room, I watch her stride down the hall. I still don’t know whether to trust that we’ve turned a corner in our relationship. Or whether I even care anymore. A part of me feels oddly numb.

While our conversation was pleasant enough, it pales in comparison to the connections I formed with Ash and Jamie in a tiny fraction of the time. The thing with Jamie wasn’t real, of course, but while it lasted, it was still far better than anything I’ve had with my extended Allendale family.

Upstairs, I change out of my expensive navy trousers, silk blouse, and Mom’s pearls. A staple of the holiday wardrobe. At least this time, I think Liz appreciated it.

Once I’m in my black one-piece swimsuit, I head downstairs and grab a robe and towel from the tiled entry area that has a door directly to the pool.

This trip, I’ve been swimming for exercise rather than just floating to relax. I’m up to twenty-five laps in thirty minutes and want to see if I can push to thirty. That thought makes me think of Jamie’s training regimen, which causes a pang of regret. Not only had I been looking forward to a lot of great sex with him, I wanted to watch him row for Granthorpe this spring. That won’t happen now.

Because my mind’s occupied as I exit the house, I don’t realize Brad is in the pool until I’m halfway to it.

He spots me.

“Oh.” I stop walking. “Didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

Although he seems in control of himself, I’d never willingly enter the pool while he’s in it. The water in the deep end is well over my head, and he pulled me under a lot when we were kids, sometimes holding me underwater until I panicked.

Hard pass on ever getting within arm’s reach of him again.

Brad, however, doesn’t spare me a second glance as he walks toward the shallow end. “I’m done.”

Interesting.Normally, he’d linger just to drive me away. His feeling that he’ll soon be rid of me is making him unusually generous. He wouldn’t be if he’d heard me calling Liz Allendale grandmother just now.

As he stops to grab his goggles from the ledge, my thoughts turn toward revenge. And to getting leverage over him so he can’t force me out of my own family. Unfortunately, video of him beating me is probably the only evidence that would force him to back off. Would I be willing to risk serious injury just to obtain proof of his abuse? After all, if I actually had to use it to get him in trouble, the Allendale grandparents might end up blaming me for setting him up.

No, I’m not willing to risk getting hurt. They’re not worth it. The only thing I care about now is maintaining a relationship with my dad, and that much I can do while also avoiding Brad. My dad and I often have dinner on our own when Dad visits Granthorpe.

Remaining still in the shadows, I wait for Brad to leave. Once he’s been inside the house for several minutes, I’ll get in the water. But not before.

A popping sound causes me to gaze up at the sky. One of the party boats has been shooting off fireworks at the end of their tours. My eyes strain looking for colors, but it’s dark over the ocean tonight. A smacking sound to my right draws my attention.

Brad’s tripped coming out of the pool and is sprawled with his legs still in the water and his head and chest on the cement. His body twitches twice and then goes still.

“Brad?” My voice is low, and I’m not sure he hears me.

His face is turned away, so I don’t know if he’s playing or what. Did he really hit his head hard enough to knock himself out?

My general unease keeps me from approaching him. I don’t want to be within arms’ reach. What if this is some kind of trick to get at me?

“Bradley?” I repeat.

For several beats, I don’t move.

Finally, I walk along the edge of the enclosure, keeping many feet away from him as I move to a position where I can see his face better.

As I start to circle him, goosebumps rise on my arms. Something isn’t right.

Startled, I realize there’s a dark liquid crescent spreading over the cement. Outward from beneath his head.

I’m frozen for a moment, uncomprehending and confused.

“Brad?”

He’s utterly still.

Moving closer, I stare at the crimson liquid dripping from the back of his hair. Blood? He must have hit his head really hard. Except he’s prone, so the place he struck when he fell is his right cheek, which is still against the pavement. Why is his scalp bleeding?

I move around him, so I can see his face.