Page 57 of Tattered Edges

It was the only name that made sense.

I was fairly certain he didn’t have a key, but the place belonged to his father once. Maybe he did, or he found it in a forgotten drawer somewhere.

Butwhy?What was he looking for?

I gasped when I remembered my father’s letter, tucked away in my mother’s book. I shot to my feet and began searching for the last words I’d ever have from either of my parents. Half the books from the custom shelves built on the wall were scattered about the room, but I hadn’t stowedAll the Shades of Summerthere.

I went to the desk in the corner. Like in the kitchen, the drawer was pulled open. This one was left almost empty, some of my father’s old papers and a few notes I’d made regarding ideas for the store discarded on the surface. I lifted the haphazard stack and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my mother’s book sitting there. I grabbed it and flipped it open. The pages parted where I’d tucked Sawyer’s letter.

“The police are on their way. What are you looking for? Is something missing?”

I clutched my book to my chest as I spun around. Rory was standing closer than I expected, and my breath caught when I almost collided with him. He took hold of my arms, as if to steady me, and he didn’t let go as I craned my neck to look up at him.

“Um—no,” I stammered. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“Did you get a look at who it was?”

I dropped my gaze to his chest and shook my head, regretful I didn’t have a better answer. While Isuspected, the only motive I could think of for Archie to break in—not once buttwice—was to scare me. But I didn’t have any proof, and I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good idea to put his name out there like that.

The Blackstones already resented me for existing. I didn’t want to make it worse.

“Hey,” he murmured, curling a finger beneath my chin. He gently encouraged me to lift my gaze. “It’s alright,” he assured me.

When my eyes met his, I pressed my lips together firmly and tried my damnedest to combat the tears that suddenly stung the back of my eyes. I was overwhelmed. I felt violated and shaky—and Rory’s affection was tearing down whatever safeguards I’d erected around our friendship. A small voice in the back of my head told me to pull away, but everything inside me longed to lean against him; to absorb his steady calmness.

His brow furrowed in a deep scowl, Rory bent closer and pleaded, “Don’t cry. You’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere—just, please, don’t cry.”

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and blew it out through my mouth, nodding as I tried to obey. It helped, his plea and my breath, so I filled my lungs again.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

For reasons I couldn’t articulate, his praise made me feel lightheaded.

I clutched the book I held tighter.

Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

I knew Rory heard them too when he let me go and turned towards the door.

My conversation with the police was like déjà vu. I had hardly anything helpful to contribute. While I didn’t accuse my half-brother of being responsible, I did mention it seemed as though the intruder had a key, even though I didn’t know anyone else who had one.

As this was the second break-in in less than a week, they did speak to me as if I was going to get bumped on their priority list. They also suggested I get my locks changed, and I planned on taking their advice—though, my need for various tradesmen was getting really old.

By the time the policemen left, it was midnight.

I swept a bit of hair behind my ears and sighed as I took in the mess.

“If you’d like, I’ll help you clean up in the morning. As for right now, pack a bag. You’re staying at mine tonight,” declared Rory.

I wanted that, more than words could say. While it seemed unlikely anyone would try to break-in twice in one night, I wouldn’t feel safe until I’d dealt with the locks, so I didn’t bother arguing.

“I’ll be five minutes,” I assured him.

I stowed my mother’s book and my father’s letter in my purse, then hurried upstairs to gather a few things in an overnight bag. My leaky roof had yet to be repaired, and I tripped over the pot I still had in the floor, in spite of the dry weather we’d had the last couple of days. The repair man was due to come the following day, but I hardly had space in my mind to think about it.

I repositioned the pot, tossed what I thought I needed in my bag, and headed back down the stairs.

“I, uh, I just need my coat and then—”

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