Page 60 of What He Always Knew

“You were going to say something,” I said, nodding toward the garden. “Outside.”

Cameron swallowed, offering me a small smile. “It’s okay, it can wait. Let’s get you fixed up first, okay?”

My stomach sank, but the stinging pain in my hand echoed Cameron’s sentiment. I nodded, and within five minutes, we were in the car and on our way to the hospital.

I held onto his promise that we’d talk later, but when we were back home, my hand stitched up and well on its way to healing, no words came.

They didn’t come the day after, either.

Or the day after that.

As Cameron slipped back into his silence, I slipped back into just beingfinewhen I was at home.

And the only time I felt happiness was when I was at Westchester.

With Reese.

Cameron

The night that fell after Charlie cut her hand, I dreamed about my father.

He was standing over my mom’s lifeless body, a snarl in his lip as he shook his head at me.

“I told you you were worthless,”he sneered.“She will move on. She will be fine without you — happier, even. She doesn’t want you. Just like we didn’t.”

That same scene, those same words, played on repeat. Over and over he said them, and over and over I tried to shake myself from the nightmare. I couldn’t wake up, though I knew I was dreaming. I was aware of my body, of where I laid in the bed next to Charlie, of where her body touched mine.

But I couldn’t wake up.

Not until hours into the night, when the nightmare faded with the sound of our heat kicking on, and I bolted upright in bed.

Sweat poured off every inch of me, and my breaths were erratic, like I’d just sprinted up and down our stairs for hours. I glanced at Charlie, but she was unfazed, a soft smile on her face as she slept peacefully.

And though I saw her, I saw him, too.

I heard him.

I heard the words I always knew to be true.

The next day, I cancelled the rest of my week’s sessions with Patrick.

I had nothing else left to say.

Reese

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” I asked Charlie the following Wednesday evening.

We had stayed late after school to work with the students who would play at the end-of-the-year gala, and at the very mention of food, Charlie visibly turned green.

“Definitely sure.”

I chuckled, but couldn’t hide my frown as she stacked up the last of the leftover packets we’d handed out that evening. We’d had this on the calendar for weeks, ever since Mr. Henderson gave us the task, but Charlie had come down with food poisoning after lunch. I told her we could move the meeting, but she refused, saying it would be too difficult to get everyone together at a different date and time with such short notice.

She’d been a champ throughout the evening, and no one would have known she was ill if they hadn’t outright asked her. But now that the last students were gone and it was just the two of us, her fatigue and weakness had caught up to her.

She dropped the packets on my desk, the wind from the fall sweeping her hair back.

“I also donotwant to drive right now,” she said, checking the time on her watch. “But it’s almost nine. I told Cameron I wouldn’t be later than seven.”