Page 102 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

He takes another step forward. One measured step.

I inhale sharply. “I won’t let you treat me like garbage.”

“What did you mean?” He tilts his head. “That the video wasn’t your fault?”

My attention sweeps around his room, then back to him. He’s familiar and a stranger rolled into one. A savior and a cruel bully. The boy I had the biggest crush on, someone I could rely on with absolute sureness, and the biggest letdown. A mystery.

“Whitney told me she posted it from my account. I was drunk—I don’t remember.”

His gaze softens, and he comes closer.

I don’t know why I let him, but I do.

“She put us through hell.”

I tip my head up. “You believe me? Just like that?”

He cups the side of my face, running his thumb over my lower lip. “I wouldn’t have if you told me before today. But now… yes, I can see how she’d do that to you.”

Unbearable loneliness creeps in.

My emotions are on a pendulum swing.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. It’s that or let loose the sob. “There’s just too much.”

He sweeps me to his chest. “I’m sorry, Sky. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

I sniffle, curling my fingers into a fist in his shirt.

His lips touch the top of my head. “I just… I thought you should remember, but this was the wrong way to do it. We’ve had to keep it bottled up…”

Wait. What?

“You had to keep what bottled up?”

He pulls back, hands on my shoulder, to look at me. “Your parents were happy you forgot. Not at first, of course, but… once the nightmares stopped.”

I nod slowly. I don’t remember the nightmares, but I can imagine being relieved to have them end.

“We couldn’t talk about it,” he continues. “So… it just slipped away. And so did you.”

It’s been years since I thought about that fall, and now it’s been living in the forefront of my mind for weeks.

Something clicks in my brain: it’s time I faced my past. “What happened to me, Liam?”

27

Liam

I open my mouth to answer her, but no words come out. It takes me a solid minute to actually think of the right thing to say, and… it’s a partial lie. “The truth is, I don’t know.”

I follow her back out into the living room, and we sit on the couch. Her hand wanders up to her neck, and she seems to pick at one spot without realizing.

“Do you have my phone?” Her gaze flies around the living room.

I’ve put her on edge.

Guilt balls in my chest. “I won’t hurt you,” I say in a low voice. “And, yes. I think I put your phone on the kitchen island.”