For a second, nothing comes out.
"Desmond." She breathes it, so soft I almost don't hear it over the fan.
My fingers dig into my knees.
Her eyes fill, but she doesn't blink, and the tears don't fall.
She stares past me at the wall like the name is standing there in the room with us.
Then she turns her face away, toward the window and the gray light, and she doesn't say another word.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Anni
The drive is under my pillow when I wake up, a hard little lump pressing into my cheek through the cotton.
Afternoon light slants through the half-open window, gold and thick with dust.
Hakon's asleep in the chair by the door.
His head's tipped back against the wall, his mouth open a little, one boot planted on the floor and the other leg stretched out across the concrete.
His knuckles are a mess.
Scabs on top of scabs, and a thin line of dark still wedged under two of his fingernails.
I lie there and watch him breathe.
Last night, he sat on the floor with his back against the door and told me a man was dead.
He didn't soften it or make it pretty.
He said yes, and then he sat there with his bloody hands on his knees where I could see them and let me look for as long as I needed.
Nobody has ever told me the truth so fast.
Not about anything.
I slide my hand under the pillow and close my fingers around the drive.
The plastic bag crinkles, and his eyes snap open.
He doesn't jump.
His gaze goes to the door, then to me, and his shoulders come down half an inch.
"Hey." His voice is thick with sleep. "You okay?"
"Desmond Arsenault." It comes out before I've decided to say it. "He's the man I was supposed to marry."
He goes completely still.
The ceiling fan ticks around, and neither of us moves.
"Supposed to." He says it carefully, like he's testing a floorboard.
"The wedding was a month away when I ran." I stare at the water stain on the ceiling so I don't have to look at him. "My father owes him money. More money than my father's ever going to have. And Desmond didn't want the money anymore."