Page 82 of One Spicy Summer

“Keifer,” I rasp, my throat raw from the tube.

“What'd you say?” Rygaard leans closer, his handsome face etched with concern.

“Keifer... he's the reason. We have to stop him, ”

“Whoa, whoa. You can’t do anything right now, Presley. You’re hurt. Bad. But listen to me, he's dead. You don't have to worry anymore.”

“Dead?” I echo, disbelieving.

“Here,” he says, reaching for an oversized hospital cup and holding the straw to my lips. “Small sips.”

I drink, studying him between shallow pulls. “Why are you being so nice?” I whisper. “You should hate me as much as I hate you.”

“I could never hate you,” Rygaard says simply. “You've always been my world. Always.”

I turn away, but he gently cups my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “If I could go back, Presley, I would’ve fought harder. No matter what lies my father spewed.”

“Lies,” I mutter. “What lies?”

“I believed him. He had people watching us. Threatening you. It wasn’t until years later that we started fighting back.”

“We?”

“Sylvia.”

He said her name like it meant nothing.

“You never loved her?” I ask bitterly.

“Never. We were forced together. It was all strategy, survival.”

“You slept with her.”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“No.” He said it without hesitation. “She wasn’t you.” I smile through the heartbreak. “What’s the smile for?” he asks, confused.

“I should hate you. I wassupposedto hate you forever. But now…” I trail off.

“Now what?”

“I don't know,” I whisper.

“You can start by reading the letters I wrote you.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We have to find Keifer.”

“I told you. He’s dead.”

“No, Rygaard. You don’t understand.” My voice breaks. “He’s not dead. He killed Simon, and made it look like it was him.”

Rygaard’s face pales.

I force myself to remember. Keifer's hands. His boots. His rage. Then Simon, sweet, broken Simon, stepping in to stop him.

The struggle.

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