Page 17 of Pay the Price

“Because I know my son.”

I hesitated, trying to decide how much to say. “Daisy found out we killed Blake.”

It was the first time I’d said the words out loud to my mom. I hadn’t told her Jace, Otis, and I were going to confess. We hadn’t told anybody, not wanting it to become a production with lawyers and press leaks and pleas from our parents.

We’d been taken into custody immediately following our confession, and after that, every time I’d seen my mom it had been through the glass at Blackwell Correctional.

She’d never once asked if I killed Blake, and I hadn’t wanted to talk about it with the glass between us.

Now I’d confirmed it, and I almost held my breath while I waited for her reaction.

“She didn’t believe it?” she asked, her eyes on the river. “Before?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so. I think that’s why she asked us to come work on the house. But she knows now.”

“That must be very hard,” she said. “For her and for you.”

“Why for me?” I asked.

She turned her gaze on me, the half-eaten sandwich still in her hand. Up close I could see the lines fanning out around her eyes, the slightly crepey texture of her skin, but she was still beautiful, her dark eyes still wild. She’d braided her thick black hair, and I could almost see her the way she’d looked as a little girl, when her grandfather brought her to the same rock for picnics.

“Because of the way you feel about her,” she said, turning her eyes back to the river.

“How do you know how I feel about Daisy?” I’d never said a word to my mom about my feelings for Daisy. Not before we went to prison and not in the weeks since we’d gotten out.

“It’s in the way you look at her — the way you’ve always looked at her — and in the way her name sounds in your mouth,” my mom said. “Will she forgive you?”

“I don’t know.” I hesitated, wanting to ask the ask the question that had been on my mind for the last five years whenever I thought about my mom. “Will you?”

She turned her head and her gaze bore into mine. “Was it a righteous killing?”

It would be a strange question coming from someone else — say, Otis’ straight-laced parents — but I wasn’t surprised to hear it come from my mom. In her world, the world of her ancestors, killing was part of life. Humans killed animals for food and territory and animals killed other animals for food and territory.

For my mom, it was always the context that counted.

I thought about Blake, about what he’d been caught up in, what he’d wanted to do to Daisy. I saw him the way he’d looked that night by the river, the party far away, happening on another planet where everyone was worried about getting drunk and getting fucked.

He hadn’t been sorry: he’d been defiant, a petulant prince finally being told no.

I saw the glint of his blood on my knife as I’d handed it to Jace. Saw the blood drip onto the snow as he’d handed it to Otis.

We’d done it together, like we did everything. We’d done it for Daisy.

Did that make it a righteous killing?

“I think so,” I finally said.

My mom nodded. “I forgive you, Wolf. I hope Daisy will too.” She reached for my hand and squeezed. “But most of all, I hope you’ll forgive yourself.”

Chapter 12

Daisy

Iwas nervous leaving Cassie’s apartment for my first day back at Cantwell. Walking into the office after being MIA for two whole weeks had been one of the most humiliating things I’d ever had to do, eclipsed only by the hour that had followed, when I’d lied to Diana and Piers about having a family crisis and begged for my job back.

I’d been shocked when they agreed, but I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I was so valuable that they couldn’t afford to be without me. I was just an intern. They were giving me leeway because of what had happened with Gray after our night out at the Mill. Plus the company was about to break ground on the resort and the office was a flurry of last-minute permits, environmental holds, and planning for the groundbreaking event.

They needed all the help they could get.

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