His eyes met mine for a moment. “I still have them, though. If you want, I can share the highlights with you.”

A grin pulled at my lips. “I’d like that.”

And so Carson did. He went through the greatest hits of our childhood while we finished our ice cream. Riding bikes, climbing trees, swimming, and making forts with branches—we’d done it all. It turned out I’d gotten Carson’s arm broken, too. This time by jumping from one of the rocks on Devil’s Den, taking him along with me. He’d missed an entire season of Little League.

Scott was right—Carson and I had been closer.

The whole time he talked about us, the skin around his eyes crinkled, and I was drawn into his steady gaze, infatuated with eyes that shone like lapis lazuli. Through it all, pressure built in my chest. Some of it was good, because it felt as if I were about to fly off my seat, but there was a tightness to it, tinged with sadness and shame.

“I really am sorry for being such a tool to you,” I said again. The fact that I had been kind to his mom and then him after she had died didn’t make up for everything else. “You didn’t deserve the way…I ended up.”

Carson opened his mouth but closed it. Several moments passed, and then he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the bar. “I’m going to be honest, okay? When you apologized before, I was like, whatever. Because it’s hard to believe that you really mean it based on my…past experience with you.”

I cringed and suddenly wished I hadn’t eaten so much. Ice cream curdled in my stomach. “I understand—”

“No. You don’t.” He met my stare. “Because I get that you really do feel bad. A couple of weeks ago? I’m not so sure. But you do now. And that matters. Okay? The past is in the past. It’s done. Let it die.”

Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, hearing it in his voice, some of the pressure lessened. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Carson nodded, and there was another stretch of silence between us.

“The detective stopped by after school,” I told him, staring at the mess in my bowl. “Dad got pissed, practically kicked him out.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t like that Ramirez was asking me questions without him being there…or a lawyer.” I glanced up, drawing in a deep breath. “Dad thinks I’m their number one suspect.”

His brows knitted. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, since I was the last person to see her.”

“But no one knows if you were,” he argued, much to my relief. “Anyone could’ve been with you guys. And what happened to you two might not have been related. It could be a freak coincidence. An accident.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” I murmured, and then louder, “Anyway, who do you think would’ve been with us? I mean, if it wasn’t an accident.”

“You’re wondering who could’ve been with you two who would have wanted to…hurt her? Or you?” He sat back, running a hand through his messy hair. “God, Sam, that’s a messed-up thing to even consider.”

“Tell me about it.” I started nibbling on my thumb but found that the nail had already been chewed down. “It could’ve been me for all I know.”

His brows shot up. “What? You? No. There’s no way.”

I made a face. “The old Sam sounded pretty capable of just about anything, and apparently Cassie and I had this weird friendship. Maybe we got into a fight and…”

“And what? You killed her?” He rolled his eyes, laughing. “There’s no way. Yeah, you had a mean streak, but you wouldn’t have hurt anyone. And that doesn’t explain how you got hurt.”

It didn’t, and for once, the impossibility of something was reassuring. I tucked my hair back. “Okay. If you had to pick someone, who would it be?”

He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Pick someone who is capable of killing? Jeez, I hope I don’t know anyone who is.”

“I know, but if you had to pick someone who would hurt Cassie, who would it be?”

Blinking, he looked away. “There’s a huge list of people who were angry with her, but to kill her? I don’t think so.”

“Carson…”

He cursed under his breath as he faced me. “Okay. There’s Trey. They had a shitty relationship. And then there are at least a hundred kids at school who probably fantasized about pushing her in front of a bus a time or two.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Nice.”

“Look, you don’t remember her, Sam. Cassie was a…I’ll put in this way: she had very few good moments. She was terrible to kids who didn’t come from money, didn’t drive luxury cars or spend their summers on a yacht, which is freaking hilarious if you think about it, because she would have nothing if it weren’t for her mom’s father. Not only that, she was manipulative.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “Every month, she would pick a new target—a kid she’d pretend to want to be friends with, because they had something she needed. She’d be nice to them, and the rest of you would go along with it, and then once she had what she wanted, she’d publicly shame them one way or another. Once, she had the entire school believing Sandy Richards was a lesbian.”

Sandy was in my history class. Quiet girl. I liked her. “Who cares if she was a lesbian?”

“No one would, but Cassie made it sound like Sandy was obsessed with her and came on to her. Total bullshit, and I’m sure half the school knew that, but no one would go against Cassie.” Sitting back, he folded his arms. “Because no one would go against you, and everyone knew if they messed with Cassie, they were messing with you.”

The pressure was back, clamping down on my lungs. “Why do you think Cassie was like that?”

“Hell if I know, but she was…she was messed up.” He turned his head and his jaw was working again. “Partied a little too hard sometimes…and she’d just start crying and flipping out for no reason. Trey used to say it was daddy issues, but who knows.”

Daddy issues? I mulled that over, remembering that it appeared she had a father on the absentee list. Then I asked something I probably shouldn’t have. “Why did I act the way I did?”

He blinked again and his eyes widened. “Jesus, Sam, I wish I knew, but I don’t. Your parents were good to you. And so was Scott, and even though you changed when you started hanging out with Cassie, not everything can be blamed on her. You made those decisions.”

“I know.” I lowered my gaze. “Cassie and I were terrible together, huh?”

He blew out a long breath, and when I looked up, he was staring out the French doors. “It was weird, like two people coming together and bringing out the absolute worst in each other. If you guys had something on someone, you’d use it to your advantage. Ever the opportunists…and there were a lot of people with a lot of reasons not to like you. But hurt you? That’s different.”

Shame was back, burning through me like acid. I took one last spoonful of melted ice cream, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. Carson glanced at me and then laughed softly.

“What?” I dropped the spoon in the bowl.

“You have ice cream on your chin.”

“I do?” I wiped at my chin. “Did I get it?”

Shaking his head, he reached over the bar and smoothed his thumb under my bottom lip. My chest rose quickly and my breath caught. His thumb stayed just under the corner of my mouth, but his fingers spread underneath my chin. They were calloused against my softer skin, sending a shiver of pleasure through me. Our eyes locked, and I waited for him to remove his hand, because surely the tiny smidgen of ice cream was gone by now, but he didn’t.

Instead, his thumb inched up, trailing across my bottom lip. I sucked in a breath, but like the one before, it got lost somewhere. A heady wave of warmth rolled through me.

I swallowed. “More ice cream?”

A lopsided grin stretched across his lips. “Sure.”

Part of my brain just clicked off. Placing my hands on the edge of the bar, I leaned forward and stopped thinking about everything other than the electric feeling he created with the simplest touch. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, but my body took the lead. My pulse thrummed, and my heart soared when his hand slid to my cheek.

This was wrong, but it also felt so incredibly right.

A throat cleared, and I jerked back, nearly falling off the stool. Much to my horror, Mom stood under a hanging fern, a full glass of red liquid in her hand. “It’s late, Carson,” she said, eyes and tone cold. “I think it’s time that you head home.”

Carson slid me a quick smile as he stood. “Sorry, Mrs. Franco, I didn’t notice the time.”

She nodded curtly.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “See you at school, Sam.”

My cheeks felt as if they were on fire as I stood. I wanted to walk him out, but he had already disappeared around the corner. Seconds later, a door opened and closed. I’d totally sucked up his time—he hadn’t even visited Scott.

“What are you doing, Samantha?”

I took deep breath. “I was eating ice cream.”

“Don’t play coy with me.”

“I’m not playing coy with you, Mom. I was eating ice cream with Carson. What’s the big deal?” I turned my back to her and picked up our bowls, carrying them to the sink. “It’s not like—”

“I’m not sure I even know you anymore,” she said, voice tight as she set her glass on the bar. “Two weeks ago, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Yeah, and two weeks ago, I was a total bitch.” Who apparently had an entire school full of enemies. “So if being a nicer person is a giant letdown to you, you’re just going to have to deal.”

“This isn’t about you being nice.” She followed me to the sink, knocking the bowls out of my hand. One hit the stainless steel and rolled to the side, the other split into two large chunks of ceramic. Stunned, I stared up at her. “You’re going to ruin your life, getting involved with boys like that.”

I backed up. “Mom, we were just talking.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.” Her cheeks were flushed the same color as her silk blouse. “Boys like him—”

“There isn’t anything wrong with Carson!” I brushed past her, not wanting to argue. Not like I didn’t have enough problems without getting into a verbal smackdown with her. “I’m tired—”

“Don’t make the same mistake I did,” she said in a low, barely audible voice, nostrils flared.

My eyes widened with shock. “What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her heels slapped off the hardwood floors. “I won’t have you embarrassing yourself any further. It’s bad enough—”

“It’s bad enough what, Mom?” I whipped around. Screw the not-fighting part. Everything boiled up inside me, spilling over until all I felt—all I knew—was anger. “Am I still an embarrassment to you? Are all your friends talking? Except now they’re talking about what happened to me—to Cassie? How terrible it must be for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you don’t have your memories back? Because this sounds terribly familiar, Samantha.”

“Does it? That’s great.” I tried to stomp past her, but damn she was quick, blocking me.

Regret turned the flecks of green in her eyes darker. “I’m sorry, sweetie. None of this is your fault. No matter what happened or what you might have done, none of this is your fault.”

Shock rippled through me as my mom turned away. I heard her stop by the liquor cabinet, and I knew she was taking the bottle with her. In a daze, I left the kitchen and saw my dad standing there.

He looked away, eyes closed and brows furrowed. “Samantha—”

“She thinks I did it?” My voice was small, hoarse. “She thinks I did something to Cassie?”

“No.” His eyes shot open wide. “No, she doesn’t think anything like that. She’s just tired, and all the stress has…has affected her. Your mom isn’t...” He shook his head. “She doesn’t think that.”

Nice of him to try to convince me, but I didn’t believe him. “Do you think I did?”

“No, baby, I don’t think you had anything to do with what happened,” he said, trying for a smile but failing. “It’s late. Go upstairs. Things will be better tomorrow.”

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him in icy disbelief. Tears built in the back of my throat, and when I could move, I flew past him. I wasn’t sure what I was running from, but it didn’t matter where I went. What Mom had said haunted me as I stripped off my clothes and changed with shaky hands.

I sat down on the bed, pulling my legs up to my chest. Resting my head against my knees, I dragged in deep breaths that did nothing to quell the rising panic. Carson might have believed I wasn’t capable of such a thing, but what was I supposed to think when my own mother thought I was?

Chapter twelve

Mrs. Messer had this thing with her glasses. She put them on when she started talking, took them off before she finished a sentence, and then nibbled on the temple piece. Within the first five minutes of our session on Wednesday, she’d already completed the cycle five times.

I slid down in the seat, smothering my yawn with my hand. She’d spent the better part of our time together checking over reports from my teachers.