Page 52 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

My roommate has decided on determined silence rather than confronting me. I’ve forgiven her for the long scratch down my forearm, but I can’t forget it.

I’ve been walking on eggshells in my own apartment.

The college sent out an email that two detectives would be questioning students about Natalie’s disappearance. If we wanted someone from the administration with us, or a lawyer, both were well within our rights. The notice reminded us that, with the exception of a few seventeen-year-old freshmen, all of us were legal adults.

In other words, calling our parents wouldn’t get us out of it.

Detective McAdams and her partner have pulled aside some students I know and others I don’t, seemingly at random.

I took the detective’s word and didn’t watch the press release from Natalie’s parents. I didn’t want to see them hopeful or already grieving—both options seem wrong in my eyes.

Whitney’s parents are sitting in the living room when I come out for coffee, and they both purse their lips simultaneously. They arrived to lend a helping hand to their struggling daughter. That’s what I’m assuming, anyway.

Whitney might’ve told them about my harsh words, but I think their irritation with me stems from a genuine place of dislike. I’ve only ever tried to be a friend to Whitney—well, this week is an exception—yet her parents see me as the bad guy. The one who dragged her to Howl and a bunch of other parties, then smeared my own name with mud.

They give me too much credit.

“Good morning,” I greet them. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“We got in this morning,” Whitney’s mother says.

The bad part? I don’t remember either of their names.

“Ah.” Never mind the fact that it’s barely eight o’clock and Whitney sleeps until ten on a regular basis. “Did Whitney let you in?”

She lifts her chin. “We have a key.”

Oh, lovely.

“Well, great.” And the alarm didn’t go off, so that means Whitney shared the code with them, or it wasn’t set last night.

Someone knocks on the door, and I automatically glance at the two adults in the room.

They stare back at me.

“I’ll get it,” I inform them.

If they weren’t here, I’d probably be more cautious. However, since they are, I fling open the door.

Jake Morrison stands on the other side, with Taryn a step behind him.

Relief floods me. I launch forward and throw my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck.

“That’s a warm welcome,” he chuckles, patting my back. “I missed you, too.”

I needed a hug. I didn’t realize it until now, but having someone solid to lean on for a second lifts a weight off my shoulders.

“Who is that, Skylar?” Whitney’s mother’s voice is nails on a chalkboard.

I carefully release Jake and step back, wincing. I whisper to him, “Sorry.”

He steps past me, striding into my apartment. He has his brother’s confidence, even though he’s never been here before.

“Hi, I’m Jake,” he says to them.

Taryn grins. “You’re popular.”

“Only on Thursdays,” I reply.