Page 85 of Snowbound with the Santas

Slowly, I look over at him. “Yeah?”

“Listen. About what you said yesterday. The guys and I, we want you to know that we have your back but… but it would help a lot if we knew the details of what you were talking about.”

I wonder if they talked about who would be best to bring this up to me. Frankie is the softest of the three, so it makes sense to choose him.

“I can’t imagine how hard it might be to talk about, but you told us you killed two people and that’s…” Frankie puffs out his cheeks, and one hand taps gently on his thigh. “That’s huge.”

Can I tell them? The entire story has never come out of my mouth before. Parts of it have slipped out, either in arguing with Ashton or during the one mistake I made trying to tell my mother. But never all at once.

“Uhm…” I clasp my hands together in my lap and turn my attention to the snow-covered pine trees as they whizz by the window. “Well…”

I can feel Nick’s eyes on me via the rearview mirror, and I’m sure Archer is sneaking glances too. I’m out of options here. These men have been so kind to me. It’s about time I tell them the truth.

“When I was a teenager, I had a drinking problem. There’s no exciting reason for it. I come from a rich background. Alcohol has flowed since I was eleven, and sometimes, it was the onlyway to get a reaction from my mom. But when I was eighteen, nineteen… I tried to stop. And my boyfriend at the time, Ashton, didn’t like that.”

The more I talk, the less my voice sounds like my own.

“He was always a little violent, a little scary, but he seemed like the only person who cared about me. So I stayed much longer than I should have. Then I started to notice I was getting drunk more than I was drinking. Turns out he was spiking all my drinks. Nearly everything I drank for six months had alcohol in it. We had a huge fight about it, but eventually, he seemed to understand. He did keep saying I was boring sober. Then… one night…”

It’s no longer my voice. It’s something else that exists inside of me speaking these words. Pouring out this truth.

“We were at a party for one of his friends and I got drunk. Ashton was spiking my mocktails, and then when I was drunk, he was basically pouring alcohol down my throat. I remember at one point, he was just holding my mouth open and pouring the drink in and I just… swallowed. And then he forced me to drive. I don’t really remember how I ended up in the driver's seat. I think he hit me and it briefly sobered me up enough that I thought I could drive. I was so wrong.”

I pause, and no one speaks. I can’t take my eyes off the passing trees as if they can somehow hold my secret and freeze it for all time.

“So I drove. And I crashed into someone. And I mean, Ireallycrashed into them. They were side on and I just plowed right into them. My arm ripped open, which is how I got this scar, and Ashton got a face full of glass, which is how he became blind in one eye. And then Ashton took the fall for it. Turns out, he wasn’t drunk at all.”

Frankie tightly clears his throat.

“He swapped our places, said he was driving and placed all the blame on the other car. Both occupants died and there were no street cameras on that road, so it was his word against… no one, really. He got away with it. I tried—” My throat closes briefly.

“I tried to tell the truth, but each time I did, he would talk it away as my being so drunk I didn’t know anything. But I knew. I knew what I did. And then he just held it over me like this… this weight. Any time I acted out, he would mention it. Any time I wanted to leave him, he threatened to go to the cops and tell them I was a violent drunk who forced him to lie and that I’d actually clawed his eye out to keep him quiet. I did try and tell my mom, but she couldn’t look past the alcohol.”

A dry, wheezing laugh escapes me.

“Then Ashton finally got bored of me, found some new, pretty thing to chase, so I left. I cleaned myself up, changed my name for a while, and changed states. Became a teacher because… well, part of me thought I could make up for what I did by helping and teaching the next generation. I’ve tried so hard to make up for it, but then I came here and Ashton was here. First time I’d seen him in years, and he knew exactly how to make me feel small and weak. So I ran to my mom, planned to tell her thetruth, but she was snogging my uncle, and everything felt like too much so I just got in a Jeep and drove.”

“YourUncle?” Frankie gasps.

“Not a relation,” I clarify quickly, turning to look at him. “He’s just a family friend.”

“Oh.” Frankie nods.

“So…” I suck in a deeper, calm breath and for some reason, it’s easier than I expected. So is the next one. “That’s it. I’ve never told anyone that story.”

“Holy shit,” Nick murmurs. “Rayne, I… I am so, so sorry.”

“What?” My brow shoots up. “Why?”

“Why?” He turns in his seat to face me. “What do you mean, why? You were drugged and forced to drive a car. You were placed in a dangerous position by someone who was supposed to care for you, and then, instead of doing the right thing, he just saw another way to terrorize you.”

My heart skips a beat. How can Nick see it that way after what I did? “But I killed those two people.”

“No,” Archer bites out. “That scumbag did. You weredrugged. Everything that happened after that is his fault. That blood is onhishands. You… Rayne. You’re not a murderer.”

“Yes.Yes, I am. Those people died because of me. I was driving, I was?—”

Frankie’s hand covers mine. “No, Rayne. Would you blame someone who was sedated for burning down their house? No, the culprit is whoever sedated them. Forcing you to be so intensely intoxicated that you don’t know what you’re doing? He was sober and forced you behind the wheel. He’s the killer here, not you.”

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