Page 15 of Fool Me Once

Concern and sadness cover her face. She pushes her head back on the headrest and sighs. “She’s been through a lot. And I just … I don’t need you—or anyone for that matter—making things harder on her.”

“Be honest with me,” I say sharply. “If someone was after her, would you tell me?”

She inhales sharply and closes her eyes for a moment before opening them and pushing her hands into her hair. “I don’t know,” she says, suddenly somber. “She’s told me the basics of everything that’s happened, but that’s it. And like I said before, that’s not my story to tell.” She swallows. “But I also love my friend more than anyone else in the world. And I can’t tell you for sure that she’s still not in trouble.”

My heart drops, and my fists ball up. “Jesus Christ, Saylor. Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning? The first day she got here, you should have fucking said that.”

“What would you have done?” she hisses. “She can’t stand even hearing your name, Smith. And as it is, I’m going to have to force her to either go home to live with her parents or move in with you.” She points her finger at me. “And, no, I haven’t told her yet. I’m going to tell her tomorrow.”

“She’s not going home,” I say low. “If there’s a chance in fucking hell that someone is after her, she’s not going back there.” My shoulders tense. “I know it’s her fuckface ex that did this to her. If I kill him, he won’t be able to try to find her. He’ll never be able to hurt her again.”

My sister’s eyes widen, and she scowls. “Now is not the time to pull out your psychotic side, Smith. Hurting him isn’t the answer to helping her.”

She might be right, but at this moment in time, it’s the only thing I can think of that would make everything better.

“I need to go. She’s probably waiting for me,” Saylor says, buckling her seat belt and gazing up at me. “Right now, she needs space. Give it to her.”

“And how the fuck is that going to work when we’re living together?” I scoff. “You didn’t think this shit through, did you?”

“Good night, Smith. Thanks for my keys, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going the hell home to check on my best friend and stuff my face with whatever I find in my fridge.”

Quickly, she reaches for the door handle, forcing me to step back before she slams it shut.

Tomorrow, Gemma is going to find out she’s about to be my roommate, and that should go overreallywell.

Not.

The sound of Saylor rustling around in the kitchen awakens me, and I peel my eyes open and stretch out on her couch. Since being here, I’ve been sleeping in bed with Saylor because … well, we’ve been having sleepovers since we were little kids.

For years, when I was with Richie, I wasn’t allowed to see my friend besides the few times she flew to California and surprised me. At first, it seemed subtle, like he wanted to spend time with me. Then, it started to become glaringly obvious he was controlling me. One good thing out of this entire mess is having my friend back.

Sitting up, I take note of the blanket draped over me, knowing she likely did that when she got home and found me passed out. My head aches, and my mouth feels disgusting and dry.

Hearing me moving around, she looks out at me and smiles. “Oh, hey, sleepyhead. Party a little too hard last night, did you?”

I don’t remember much after Smith left. I chugged down a few more drinks, and then I’m pretty sure I passed out. All before my best friend got home from work.

“Something like that,” I mumble, dragging my hand down my face. “I need coffee. In an IV drip.”

Grinning, she stands on her tippy-toes, takes out a coffee mug from the cupboard, and pours some coffee into it. When she shuffles around the kitchen, I know she’s fixing it the way I like it.

Way too much creamer. Way too much sugar.

She walks it over to me with a cup in her other hand for herself, and I take it gratefully. She plops down on the other end of the couch, pulling the blanket over her legs.

“Wanna talk about it?” she says, taking a sip from her mug.

Instantly, I want to shake my head, but then I stop myself. Sighing, I bite down on my bottom lip.

“I finally talked to my mom. But I couldn’t tell her.” I breathe out a silent, sad laugh. “I don’t know why I couldn’t tell her, Sails.”

The corner of her lips turns down, and her eyebrows pull together. Leaning forward, she sets the mug on the coffee table and moves closer to me.

“It’s okay, Gem,” she whispers, putting her head against mine. “When you’re ready, you will. Okay?”

“Yeah.” I scarcely whisper the word because, deep down, it seems impossible to tell my parents the truth. To tell anyone who isn’t Saylor the truth seems unbearable.

Her arms wrap around me, and she grabs the remote. “Bridgerton?”

---