Page 28 of Rich Little Liars

‘A note?’

‘Something through my door.’

His jaw tightens. ‘What did it say?’

I should tell him. Should explain about the ring and the two letters and how someone clearly has detailed knowledge of what happened that night. But the words stick in my throat. Because explaining the ring means explaining why it matters. Means revealing more about the fire than I’ve been willing to share.

‘Something vague about my past,’ is all I can tell him. ‘An accusation. A threat.’

‘Is that what got you so down the other day?’

All I do is nod.

‘Kelly,’ he says firmly. ‘This is serious. You need to report this.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because.’ I stop. How do I even tell him? ‘Because it would make things worse. Would draw attention I don’t need.’

‘From who? The police? Kelly, they’re supposed to help in situations like this.’

But they won’t help. Not if they start digging or asking more questions about the fire and about Daniel and all the things I’ve been trying to leave behind. The investigation was closed. Accidental death. No one to blame. But if they reopen it and start looking closer…

‘I just can’t,’ I repeat. ‘Please don’t push this.’

He looks like he wants to argue but something in my expression stops him. Instead, he reaches across the table and takes my hand.

‘Okay. I won’t push. But I’m worried about you. You can’t go on like this.’

‘I know.’

‘Come on. You need to rest.’

‘I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes⁠—’

‘I’ll stay – sit right beside you and make sure nothing happens. You’re safe with me here.’

The offer is so kind it makes my eyes sting. But I can’t accept it. Can’t let him see how bad the bedroom is – the curtains permanently drawn, the way I’ve positioned furniture against the door even though it has a lock. The evidence of my complete unravelling laid bare.

‘The couch,’ I say. ‘I’ll rest on the couch.’

He doesn’t argue. Just leads me to the living room and settles me on the cushions with a blanket he finds draped over a chair. Then he sits at the other end, within arm’s reach but not crowding.

‘Close your eyes,’ he says. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

I do, and at long last, I feel something close to safe. Richard’s presence is a tether keeping me anchored. His steady breathing a rhythm I can match. The knowledge that someone is watching – someone friendly, someone protective – allows my guard to drop just enough.

I don’t think I’ll actually sleep. But exhaustion has its own agenda, and within minutes I’m drifting. The last thing I register is Richard’s hand resting lightly on my ankle. A point of contact that says I’m here. You’re not alone.

When I wake, the light has changed. Evening has become proper night, the room lit only by the lamp in the corner. For a few blissful seconds, I don’t remember why I’m on the couch or why my body aches. Then it all comes flooding back and I tense automatically.

‘Hey.’ Richard’s voice, soft. ‘You’re okay. You slept for about two hours.’

Two hours. That’s more consecutive sleep than I’ve had in days.

I sit up slowly, my neck stiff from the awkward angle.