Page 42 of Unexpected Heroine

As much as I wish I could, I can’t hide from it forever. Although it’s only been a handful of days, I have to face it sooner or later.

Tomorrow morning, a detective is coming to take my statement. If I can’t get through a truncated version with one of my best friends, how will I tell the gory details to a perfect stranger?

A male, no less. Eww.

I’ve already decided I’ll tap into my hatred of those monsters to help me power through the interaction with the cop. Plus, James will be by my side the whole time.

Freya opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she can begin. “First of all, we are not doing the thing where you blame yourself. I told you to leave that night. It was my decision, and I made it in the right frame of mind. I mean, it was stupid, but I wasn’t impaired or anything.”

Unless you consider my general state of being as an impairment. Sometimes I do. Given I’m so accident-prone I could trip on a cordless phone, I wouldn’t hold it against anyone who did.

“Lettie, I know you’re an adult. And yeah, I realize you were sober when you told me to go. But I broke the girl code.”

“That’s the thing, Freya. You didn’t break the code. You honored it with Vanessa. She was the one who needed you the most at the time.”

Since her expression doesn’t turn to ice at the mention of the backstabbing tart, it’s safe to assume Freya doesn’t know about Vanessa’s treachery yet.

For now, I’ll tiptoe around that since anything I say will likely result in a hostile detour off-topic.

“So was it those Russian guys? Did they put something in your drink?”

“Yes,” I barely choke out, then clear my throat. “One of them was there when I woke up the next morning. The shorter one.”

“Do I need to describe them to the cops? I remember what they look like.”

Losing some of my confidence, I let go of her hand to tug at my ear, which suddenly feels warm. She grips my other hand tighter, likely seeing I’m short on strength.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

She cricks her neck, eyes questioning.

“I-I haven’t spoken to the cops. Yet. There’s a detective coming tomorrow to interview me. So far, James has kept them away to give me time.”

A sad smile affixes itself to her face.

“You’re the first person I’ve spoken to about it other than him,” I add.

“Not even Stella?” she half shrieks.

Shaking my head, I fight a shame-filled cringe. “I’ve texted her a few times but haven’t brought it up. She doesn’t know I was taken yet.” My neck kicks back. “Wait. You haven’t spoken to her, have you?”

I gave them each other’s numbers a while ago in case of an emergency.

“No. You were found just a few hours after we knew you were missing. I didn’t have time to do anything other than file the police report, panic, and cry. In that order.”

My vision clouds with a sheen of fresh tears. “I’m fine now.”

She pulses her hand around mine. “I can’t imagine how horrible this is for you. Please forgive me. I’ll never let you down like I did that night. And I’ll damn sure never forgive myself.”

“You sound like me,” I tease, attempting to create normalcy despite nothing about this being normal. “But you’re already forgiven because this wasn’t your fault.”

For the next five minutes, she peppers me with questions, cushioning them with you don’t have to answer this, but...

I get it. This is like true crime TV in your own living room. It’s natural to be curious. But the more I tell her about what happened, the worse she’s going to feel. So, after a while, my answers get shorter.

Our tears ebb and flow with the conversation.

When I finally get the gumption to explain Vanessa’s involvement, Freya becomes appropriately enraged and swears she’ll rip the hair out of Vanessa’s head if they ever cross paths again. And she’s vehement about how I need to ensure the cops know the full extent of her involvement.

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