Page 8 of Savage Elites

“About what?”

“Don’t play coy.” She shoved her way into the apartment. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“What did I say?”

Ashley turned around, her face slack. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s a blank.”

Hatred burned in her eyes that looked as dark as coals in the dim hallway. “You accused me of killing Mom and Dad.”

“I wouldn’t have said—”

“That they were driving through the night looking for me.” She stepped closer and balled her hands into fists. “You hurled that fact in my face like a weapon.”

My head throbbed, and a wave of light-headedness caused me to place a hand on the hallway wall to steady myself. Breathing hard, I once again tried to recall Monday. What had prompted me to tell Ashley something so damaging? Just because I’d washed my hands of her, it didn’t mean that I would go out of my way to be hurtful.

“What happened on Monday?” I asked.

“Someone told me you spent the Sunday outside the academy, so I went back to my room to get some things. But you arrived, then turned nasty, and hurled a whole bunch of shit, including the lie about why Mom and Dad went out that night.”

Shallow breaths skimmed the top of my lungs. Knowing Ashley, she was probably leaving out essential chunks of information, but I hadn’t had contact with her in weeks and couldn’t guess what we had argued about this time. Money, perhaps? She would need it to keep up with the queens.

“Tell me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Were Mom and Dad really out looking for me, or had they taken you to one of your award events?”

I bristled at the accusation. “Think it through. I would have died with them if I’d been in the car. Or would have ended up to the hospital, at least.”

The wall clock ticked thirty-eight times before Ashley spoke again.

“So, they were looking for me.” The resentment in her voice grated against my ears. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” I walked through to the living room and sat. Ashley followed me and lowered herself onto the armchair. Then as calmly as I could, I told her what had happened the night Mom and Dad had died.

Ashley’s eyes hardened with every word until she looked like she would leap off the armchair and throttle me. Even though we had never had a physical fight since we were young, the lining of my stomach trembled with anticipation.

Pushing away those feelings, I continued until the end of the story. That terrible, summer night, after the police had informed me of Mom and Dad’s car accident, I had called Uncle Trevor. Aunt Hortense had arrived in the morning after finding a babysitter, and they both sat and cried with me in the living room until Ashley had come in the afternoon.

Ashley shook her head. “But it rained that night, and they know that stretch of road is dangerous.”

“They were determined to get you home,” I replied.

“So, I really killed them,” she said, her voice breaking. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Ashley!” Peter bounded through the door.

Her face softened, and she spread out her arms. “Peter-poo!”

Soon after, a sleepy Anne followed, her blonde curls a ruffled mess. She walked up to Ashley and leaned against her lap.

I pulled myself off the sofa and ambled to the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of water and downed my tablets. Then I shuffled around the cupboards to find cereals and bowls for the children’s breakfasts. If they fussed over what they would eat this morning, I would leave Ashley to feed them.

Uncle Trevor walked through the door, looking drawn. “Thanks, Willow. I really appreciate your help.”

I smiled back. “How’s Aunt Hortense?”

“Her blood pressure got too high, and they took her in for an emergency cesarean.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth. “How is she?”