Page 24 of Things Left Unsaid

“Ten years ago, sure. Might as well have been yesterday. Do you truly think I’d hurt the horses, Colton? Do you think I’d hurtyourhorse?”

“You were angry?—”

“Thatangry? No. I was hurting. Mortified. Humiliated. All those things, sure. But to kill Loki?” Her chin juts out. “How could you want to marry a woman who you believe to be capable of that? Why would you love a child that woman bore?”

I stopped thinking about the fire ten years ago when I gave her a false alibi. I had to. Losing Loki, then my brothers losing their horses too, all because of somethingI’dtriggered, it was either dissociate or go mad.

Yet, the questions sink into me like she’s hitting me with an ax. I can feel my blood swirling to the depths of the lake floor.

“Put everything else aside. The reason I did it, if you think I’m vindictive enough to… Just ask yourself this: do you truly believe I could have killed Loki? Not the others.Him.”

My mind drifts to the many times I found her in his stall.

She’d hide in the pile of hay there.

Just to be close.

Sometimes, I’d even find him with his head on her lap, both of them snoozing the quiet evening away.

And with that question, she tears off the blinders, making me see the truth. Forcing me to face reality.

“No,” I growl.

She couldn’t have killed Loki.

Not in a vengeful state of mind.

She loved him as much as I did.

Ergo, she didn’t do it.Couldn’thave done it.

She dips her chin, seeming to have faith in that one concession, unaware that she just triggered an earthquake that shatters the cornerstones of my belief system.

Of my life.

Because if she didn’t do it, who did?

And I meanwho—I never believed that BS about faulty wiring.

“Okay, then.” That’s when she wriggles out of my arms. “We need to go beforeGrand-mèrethrows a fit that sets off a heart attack.”

I’m still floundering. Torn between the truths and lies of our shared history so it only just registers that the old bitch has forgotten her boarding-school training and is cussing up a storm.

As Zee swims over to the shore, I stick fast, waiting until I can watch her rise from the lake.

I saw her tossing off her clothes from the road and assumed the worst as I watched her wade into the water, but knowing she’s safe and that my father and her grandmother’s machinations haven’t driven her to…well,I decide to enjoy the show.

Even if I am freezing my ass off.

A soft whistle sounds in the distance, drawing me away from the past and plunking me into the present.

It keeps on hitting me in the solar plexus—exactly how glorious she is.

When did little Susanne McAllister grow up to be Zee? And when did she become such a beauty?

Did that happen in New York? Away from Pigeon Creek? Or was I too hindered by the stress of life here at home to notice when we were younger? The age gap didn’t help. I saw her as a traumatized kid. Not much else.

Another whistle cracks through the air. This time, its meaning registers.

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