Page 61 of You Belong Here

I stepped out into the night, watching as Violet was led away through the crowd.

Students had started to arrive from upper campus, drawn by the lights and the sirens. I wondered if Bryce was somewhere in there. If he knew what was coming for him.

I saw several men in uniform talking to one another, fanning out—with orders.

And at the end of the path, the man in charge: Fred Mayhew, staring at me.

He started walking slowly toward me. He’d heard it all. And I knew what was coming. I’d known it when I’d said it.

When I’d chosen it.

Adalyn was gone, and there was no one left to take the blame; there were only people left to take the fall. My mother, for helping her escape; and, years later, for paying her off to protect me. Delilah, for coming here, to this place I once loved so much.

No matter how many times I went back in my mind to that cold November night, I couldn’t undo it. Couldn’t justify it. Couldn’t atone for it.

But I saw how to make sure Delilah went free.

It had been a game, but that was just an excuse. It was a crime wrapped up in the guise of tradition. One that we molded to fit the confines of the accepted parameters. It was planned and then it was executed, and I was guilty by the rules we had agreed upon.

I had always known this.

I noticed Trevor pushing through the crowd, wide-eyed. “Beckett,” he said, coming closer, pressing me to his chest. My heart thundered; I couldn’t breathe—I was running out of time.

“Sir,” a voice came from behind him. “I’m going to need you to step aside.”

Trevor kept a grip on my hand as he pivoted. “No, I think I’ll be staying right where I am.”

Fred Mayhew stood in front of me, looking like he had something he wanted to say. But there was only a downward twitch of his mouth. Like he’d found the thing he’d been searching for only to discover he wasn’t sure he liked the result.

“Trevor,” I said, releasing his grip. “It’s okay.”

“Ready?” Mayhew asked, not without sympathy. But how could I be? How could I ever be?

I felt the rough skin of Mayhew’s hand raise my arm gently between us.

The click around my wrist sounded like the lock of a door. An echo in my heart. Something I had been hearing for the last twenty years. Something I had always been waiting for.

Time stopped.

“You’re under arrest,” he said.

Twenty years—a suspended sentence.

My mother had bought me that: nineteen years, ten months, twenty-one days—and I felt I had used it well. I was grateful I could use it to absolve her, too.

“Hold on,” Trevor said, voice rising. “Beckett, what—”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Please…” But I couldn’t find the words. Please forgive me. Please take care of our daughter. Please wait for me.

I felt the tears stinging my eyes. I wasn’t ready.

“Mom?” I heard.

I saw Delilah pushing through the crowd. She was supposed to be safe, inside her dorm. She’d promised me. But of course she wasn’t. She did what she wanted. She was just like me that way.

“Wait,” I said as I saw her racing toward me. I wanted more time with her. With Trevor. A life, all together.

Someone yelled at her to stop, but she didn’t listen.

Time cycled back, to her toddler run, and the scent of oatmeal and baby shampoo. A spotlight illuminating her on center stage. The call of my name in the dark.

She threw her arms around my back, hot tears on my neck.

I breathed her in, and I wished for eternity.