Page 44 of Little Did You Know

I paused again, swallowing hard. I could feel the lump forming in my throat. "Of course, we'd spent two weeks with Olivia tagging along with us, and we wanted a break, but Mrs. Ryan gave us a look that said, 'Let her go with you,' and we did."

I looked over to Hannah to see if she was still following along. "The community center was only about a block away from the house, so we all walked. Once we got there, we weren't very nice to Olivia. I was an asshole to her. I made her cry, and she ran back home." I stood and started to pace. "We only played for another few minutes before we all decided to head down to a local pizza place. I felt bad, so I told Emmett I would run home and get Olivia first. I told them to go on without me and that I'd catch up."

"So, did Emmett go back with you?"

My hands clenched and unclenched as the memories surfaced. "No, he went on with the others. I ran back to the house as fast as I could." My voice grew hoarse. "I heard her screaming before I even reached the door. I had no idea what was going on, but I ran faster."

I stopped pacing and stared unseeing at Hannah's office wall. "When I opened the front door..." The words stuck in my throat. "I'll never forget it."

Hannah leaned forward in her chair, her face pale. "Forget what?"

My legs felt suddenly weak. I sank into the nearest chair, elbows on my knees. "Mr. Ryan was still sitting on the couch covered in blood." The office seemed to grow colder with each word. "Mrs. Ryan was lying on the floor with her throat slit. I couldn't move until—" I swallowed hard. "Until I heard Olivia whining. She was lying face down on the floor with a single stab wound to the back."

Hannah pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh my god, that's horrible. What did you do?"

I scrubbed a hand across my face, trying to ground myself in the present. "I found the phone, called 9-1-1. They walked me through what to do for Olivia." The memory of my shaking hands pressing towels against her wound flashed through my mind. "When the police got there and took over, I called Emmett. He met us at the hospital.”

"Was everyone—" Hannah's voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Was everyone okay?"

I met her eyes, seeing my own pain reflected there. "No. Olivia's mom and dad were dead at the scene." I looked down at my hands, remembering how small Olivia's had been in mine at the hospital.

Hannah rose from her chair and studied me, her professional demeanor giving way to something deeper. "You feel guilty." Her fingers gripped the edge of her desk. "You think it's your fault Olivia got hurt."

The words clawed their way out of my throat. "Of course I do." My reflection fractured in the window behind Hannah’s desk—twenty-year-old me, sneering at a child who only wanted to be included. Present-day me, still carrying that moment like a brand. "If I hadn't been an asshole to a little girl..." The memory of her tears was crystal clear after nine years, each one a separate accusation. "She would have been with us. Safe."

Hannah started to speak, but I cut her off. The truth had festered too long to stay buried. "I wasn't some stupid kid who didn't know better." I shoved a hand through my hair. "I was twenty years old. A grown man." Bile rose in my throat as I forced myself to say it: "A grown man who made a little girl cry because what—because I was annoyed? Because I wanted to play basketball without my friend's kid sister tagging along?" The laugh that escaped me sounded dangerously close to a sob. "I sent her home to die because I couldn't spare an afternoon."

"Mr. Pearson?—"

"Please." I ran a hand through my hair, exhaustion seeping into my bones. "Call me Nick."

Hannah stepped around her desk, her heels silent now on the plush carpet. "Nick, what happened to Olivia wasn't your fault. You were both kids."

A harsh laugh escaped me. "I wasn't a kid." My reflection in the window caught my eye—the same face that had sneered at a twelve-year-old girl nine years ago. "I was a grown man picking on a little girl."

"I'll admit that was probably wrong." Hannah perched on the edge of her desk, her expression softening. "But it wasn't your fault.

The city lights blurred outside the window as I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. "I know that, but I still feel guilty."

Hannah's voice came quietly from behind me. "Does she blame you?"

I turned, my throat tight. "She doesn't remember." The words tasted bitter. My eyes squeezed shut as memories threatened to overwhelm me.

Hannah took a step closer, her clipboard forgotten on the desk. "She doesn't remember anything.

The weight of nine years of secrets pressed down on my shoulders. I slumped back against the window. "No. She doesn't remember the attack." Each word felt like another stone being added to my burden. "Doesn't remember being at the community center. Doesn't remember what we said to her. Doesn't remember seeing her parents' bodies." My voice cracked. "She doesn't remember any of it."

"That's probably a good thing. I wouldn't want to remember any of that."

"She sees it all every night in her nightmares, but when she wakes up, she doesn't remember it." I paused briefly. "It's so hard seeing her like that. It took me back to nine years ago, and I saw the twelve-year-old girl she used to be."

"You're a good man, Nick, and she's lucky to have you." She patted my shoulder and gave me a sorrowful look. "You have to forgive yourself because if Olivia did remember, I promise you, she wouldn't blame you, and it would hurt her feelings that you blame yourself."

I smiled. She knew Olivia. "Are you sure you're majoring in business and not psychology?"

"I minored in psychology."

"I have to go out of town on a personal matter tomorrow; will you keep an eye on Olivia?"

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