Page 70 of Just Between Us

There are at least ten more medical reports, all from different years until he was fourteen.My stomach twists when I reach the final page, it looks like some sort of police report.

Cole Armas (11 years, 10 months) was discovered outside his family’s home in the early hours of Thursday morning. Sgt Beckett reports fire starters and petrol were used to start the fire. His brother, Nicholas Armas (14 years, 3 months) and an unnamed witness say they saw Cole with the fire starters earlier in the day. Cole refuses to cooperate with investigators. There were no casualties and no reported injuries.

I cover my mouth, closing the window and just then, Cole appears at the threshold of the office, eyes narrowed from the light.

“Evie?” he rasps, his voice still heavy with sleep. He frowns when his eyes assess my face. “Everything okay?”

The taste of salt dances on my lips. I reach out to touch my cheek and my whole face is wet with tears.

“Anant asked me to watch something,” I say quietly. “I was going to log into my email but then I saw…” My voice is shaking and when I look down at my hands, I realise I’m shaking too.

“Levi…”

I look back up at him. “Have you been seeing someone else?”

Asking that feels unreal. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever need to ask that. I want to think this is all one stupid joke or maybe a really bad dream. I bite the inside of my cheek, but I don’t wake up. Instead, I’m still looking at Cole and the taste of copper floods my mouth.

I see her naked body, her bound hands, her gagged mouth, and his smirk as he unbuttoned his jeans. My skin crawls, and the feeling of not being enough coming over me like a wave. Maybe this is karma for all the shit I did before him. Maybe I’ve never deserved him in the first place.

“You know I’d never do that,” he says. “That was years ago.” His voice is frustratingly level. I feel anything but.

“Then why is a video of you fucking her open on your laptop?” I ask, my voice rising an octave. I feel ridiculous but the world is tilting and contorting, the buzz in my head growing louder and louder like the crescendo to some tragedy or a swarm of deadly wasps about to attack.

“Nick sent it to me, but I barely remember her. I don’t even know why she filmed it. She probably did it to use it against me for a payout or something. Nick must have gotten his hands on it, and he sent it to me as some sort of leverage to keep me in line and far away from his inheritance.” Cole walks towards me, all evidence of sleep gone. “You have to believe me.”

My mouth pools with saliva again. I think I might vomit. I swipe away another tear that has escaped my eye.

“I’d never do that to you, Levi,” he says quietly, the desperation in his voice and his eyes is clear. “You have to know that.”

I look at him for a second. He’s a few steps away, his eyes begging me I know he’s telling me the truth. I don’t know how exactly but maybe it’s because from the moment I saw him, and he saw me we knew it was always meant to be us.

But why would Nick—it all clicks into place suddenly. “The medical reports, the police clippings…” I trail, looking up at him from where I sit. “Nick hates you because of what’s in those reports.”

Nick’s pet.

The fire.

None of it feels real. It feels like some made-up story, like I’ve just read about a stranger and not my boyfriend of two and a half years.

“Evie,” Cole begins softly. “Please let me explain.”

I stand and hunch over the desk, fighting the new wave of nausea roaring inside me. I need to get out of here. I need air. I need—

A careful hand rests on my arm and Cole is there. He holds me up, his hand cupping my cheek gently.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, eyes shining. “Breathe.”

I want to do as he says—I usually do but I can’t. Not right now. “Is it true? Are those reports real?”

He gazes back at me and my stomach drops, the words I just read umping out at me like some fucked up kaleidoscope. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Puzzle pieces are clicking into place all at once. Everything I always knew Cole was not telling me is in that email and I don’t know how to react.

He’s still holding me and as hard as I try to read what he’s thinking, I can’t. He looks calm, a sharp contrast to the onsetting panic attack that’s brewing inside me.

“I didn’t want you to know—” he pauses and sighs, “I didn’t want you to think I’m a bad person. That version of me is long gone. I messed up and my family had me evaluated for a few years because of it.”

Evaluated. The word sends goosebumps sprouting on my skin. I hate to think what it meant for a six-year-old.

---