Page 10 of Where He Ended

- Chapter 4 -

Laiken

Iget up early thenext morning. When I pass Kara's door, I give it a light tap. Just to see if she's inside. And to see if she'll talk to me, even a little bit. I know we're not supposed to appear close, according to her, but this is getting ridiculous.

For the third day in a row, my knock goes unanswered.

With a sad glance at her room, I head to the kitchen. It's hard to live in this house these days. It's worse than before, when neither my sister nor Dominic were here. Knowing what happiness is makes losing it harder.

There's the usual breakfast spread left on the middle island in the kitchen. I fill a glass with orange juice, then chug it. One of the maids gives me a disapproving stare. Ignoring her, I gather up two muffins and stroll through the french doors. I don't have access to Kara or Dominic, but I do have one friend left.

It's much colder today. I'm grateful for the thick green sweater I slipped on while dressing this morning. After a few minutes of jogging, I reach the preserve. Wyatt sees me through the fence and waves, letting me inside.

“Breakfast delivery,” I say, offering him a blueberry muffin.

He tugs off one of his thick gloves, picking up the pastry with his bare hand. “Thanks. I actually didn't get a chance to eat yet today, so this is well timed.”

“That's me,” I chuckle humorlessly. “The girl with the good timing.” Twisting the muffin in my palms, I watch crumbs flick off onto the ground. I pick off a piece, but when I put it on my tongue, I can barely taste anything.

Wyatt leans on the fence; the metal squeaks. “That weight on your shoulders is about to put your nose in the dirt. What's wrong, Laiken?”

“Nothing. No, wait.” Lifting my head, I give him an apologetic smile. “Maybe everything, actually?”

He looks me over with fresh eyes, seeing beneath my fake cheeriness. “I don't hear much about what goes on in that house. Do my best not to. But I'm going to guess you're upset because of Dominic.”

Tucking my head between my shoulders, I draw in on myself. “I know what he did,” I say somberly.

Wyatt watches me with interest. “Do you?”

“My sister told me.” I perk up, blinking. “Kara's going to stay on the estate, like me. Did you know about that?”

He shakes his head. “Silas rarely involves me in these things. We have an . . . understanding, so to speak. Anyway, you heard about what Dominic did to Bernard. Then you understand why I told you to keep as far from him as possible.”

“Yes,” I begin, and we both sense my hesitance.

“He's got a hold on you, doesn't he?” he mumbles.

“Wyatt . . . I have a hard time believing he killed someone, let alone his own cousin.”

“Believe it,” he snaps viciously. His anger catches me by surprise. I drop my muffin, losing it in the dirt and leaves. “That boy is sick, but no one could guess what a monster he'd become.”

You're right. I am a monster.That's what Dominic said to me the night he returned to my world. “Wyatt, if he murdered anyone, why would his parents let him return? Especially Annie, wasn't Bernard her nephew?”

His eyebrows dive deep. “There's some doubt about if Dominic killed his cousin or not. It's enough to keep him from being charged with anything, and enough to let his father justify working with him. I'm guessing Silas talked Annie into believing their son was still useful, murderer or not.”

“There's doubt?” I ask, lighting up with hope. “Tell me the details, Wyatt. Please!”If there's a chance he didn't do it, then . . .

“Don't torture yourself like this,” he says solemnly. His head hangs like an overgrown acorn from a branch, seconds away from snapping free. “Laiken. Listen. Even if it's possible he's innocent, it doesn't make it better. Whatever happened up on that mountain, Dominic kept to himself. Not even Bernard's own father knows the truth.”

I step closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

His eyes shut, as if he's taking a moment to gather his strength. “You know the pain of being separated from your family,” he whispers thickly, “but you don't know the pain of real, soul-shredding loss. The kind that's forever.” He straightens up, looking down on me with tears budding. “I can't imagine suffering the way Vahn is, not knowing Bernard's final moments on this Earth. It was bad enough losing my own son. At least I knew how it happened.”

A wave of distress rocks me where I stand. I squeeze his shoulder tighter. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know you lost your son.” I'm connecting the dots between Wyatt and his hatred of Dominic. “Can I ask . . . can I ask how he died?”

Wyatt's frown stretches. “I can tell what you're thinking. No, Pat wasn't murdered. An everyday car crash did him in. We were on our way to a fishing trip, last one before he went off to Italy for a student exchange swap he busted his ass to be picked for.” He inhales sharply, straining for the words, and I want to beg him not to try—that it's okay not to tell me. But he pushes on, as if hehasto explain. “It was early morning, 4:16. I remember because I was talking about what good time we were making, tapping the radio to show him as he dozed on and off. Didn't see the guy cross lanes into ours, hit us head on. Bastard was coming home from a night of binge drinking.”

“I'm really so sorry,” I say earnestly. His tears are gone, but mine are welling up the longer we talk about this. I can't imagine someone I love dying. It's too final of a goodbye.

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