Page 82 of Royally Ruined

“An apology.” Her lips tightened, like just saying the words was foreign to her. It was definitely insane to hear them. I stared at her hard, waiting for her to turn this moment into some barbed insult. A cruel joke, a violent slap, just ... anything but the hot tears slowly squeezing from the corners of her eyes.

I lifted a hand, half extended it, and froze. “Francesca ...”

Not looking up from her white-knuckle grip, she asked, “Scotch, how is she? I mean, is she okay after what happened at the warehouse?” Her nose was bright red; it reminded me of Scotch’s in the cold wind. “I asked Daddy to tell you. I begged him to save her himself, said we had to. It wasn’t her job to die for us.”

A balloon expanded in my chest. It floated upward and took me with it, my voice a high, hot whisper of disbelief. “Impossible.”She couldn’t have. Not her, but then—but why?In my hand, my phone kept buzzing. It filled the last gap and told me that what I suspected was true. “It was you,” I said. “You’re the number that told me where the exchange was happening.”

“Costello!” she sobbed, folding her arms over her face, doing nothing to muffle her raw crying. “I’m so sorry! I always believed Dad, that it was your fault Lula was hurt, that she ran away, that it was you and it was always you and and and ...” Hiccups shook Francesca where she stood, still unable to meet my eyes.

I was digesting all her rambling. One phrase stuck out.I’m sorry.

She was sorry.

Fran shrank more, her voice a mess of watery noises. When I wrapped her in my arms, she jumped—and I almost let her go. Ten years had flown by in which I’d never hugged my little sister. I’d been denied every kindness from her. I’d endured it all, and I’d thought I could, but when I was confronted with the alternative ... the pain of such a cold life finally settled on my shoulders.

“Shh,” I said into the top of her hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“It’s not!” She leaned into me, wetness soaking through my shirt. “Costello, I was awful to you! And I can never take that back! Lula ... Lula, she tried to tell me the truth, months ago when she’d come home. I wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t believe that Dad was to blame, and not you.” Something tugged at my wrists—her hands, trying to shake me off. “It was too hard for me. I’m a stupid, weak idiot. I just am, and you must hate me.”

I let her pull away, but only so I could catch her eyes with mine. There were deep red lines under her lids. “You aren’t weak. It takes a lot of strength to fight so hard for someone you love, especially when they aren’t around. You believed you were standing up for Lula all these years. I can’t hate you for that.”

She stared at me, sniffling. “You really don’t?”

Wiping at her cheeks, I said, “Not at all. But I need to know ... What changed your mind about me?”

Francesca loosened her hold on my shirt. “Scotch. She came here and told Daddy that she was going to hand herself over to the Valentines. Oh, Costello, she got somadat him! She threw everything he’d let happen to you in his face, and ...” Biting her lip, she swallowed. “He knew it was Lula who went to the cops for help, not you. He just let you take the blame.”

Ice splintered through my heart, but only briefly. This news was just another blow to my beaten soul. “Of course he knew,” I chuckled bitterly. “He’s a smart man.” Acting like he believed my lie ... well. That had been what I’d wanted. So why did it hurt to know he’d let me suffer?

Fran hugged me again. “I wish I could take back everything.”

“No.” Putting my forehead to hers, I smiled. “Don’t make wishes about the past. All you can do is move forward. Allwecan do is move forward.” I helped her stand tall, tapping her under her chin. “Regrets will leave you rotten inside. Believe me.”

Scotch sat at her mother’s kitchen table, a manila folder in her hands. The corners were half squished, like she’d been worrying it with her fingers as she waited for me. When she saw me, she jumped to her feet, clutching me in a hug. “Costello!”

“Finally,” her uncle grunted. “Still not sure why we had to wait for him to get here. Open it up, Heather.”

He’d never adjusted to calling her Scotch. That was fine; it made me feel special, knowing she preferred the name that I’d clung to over any other.

“I wanted him to be here,” she said. Her fingers wrapped around mine. “In case they didn’t accept me ... or if they did. Dammit, I’m nervous either way.”

“Open it,” I said.

Nodding, she took a breath big enough to fill her lungs. Then Scotch peeled the top of the thick envelope open.

Her mother and father crowded close. “What’s it say?” they asked together.

“If you don’t get in,” Stapler grunted, “I’ll go down there and bang some skulls together. You’re a fine candidate, and with my letter, well, they should know better.” Scotch lifted her eyes, and when he saw how wide they were, his mustache bristled. “That’s it! Getting in my car right now!”

But I knew why she was so quiet.

Taking her hand, I smiled. “Tell them.”

Scotch stared at me, her lips curling slowly. “Youcanread my mind. I knew it.” Turning, she slid the paper free. “I ... I got in. I’m in!”

“Never doubted it for a second!” Stapler roared.

“Oh, honey bun!” her mother sobbed, clapping rapidly.

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