Chapter 9

Harper

"Your face is turning blue," Julian softly says.

I reach up and touch my jaw. That's because I can't breathe. I open my mouth to try, but instead of inhaling, I do nothing.

"Breathe," Kent whispers, his hand touching my shoulder.

How can I breathe when Poppy has been buried alive with all of this for years? How can I breathe?

I never liked Andrew, but Poppy was happy, so I tried to be happy for her. I watched Andrew trying to drive a wedge between Poppy and me, but he ultimately saw how futile it was. I would never back down.

Andrew and I had this unspoken agreement to avoid each other. It was like Poppy was our child in a divorce. I got her certain days, and Andrew had his days.

I drop my hand and clench my stomach. "I never went to Andrew's parties because I hated him," I whispered. I also never went because, during those parties, I snuck over and saw Peter.

Guilt fills me to the brim, thickening my throat and making me feel like I want to vomit. Nothing comes out; I just shove it all deeper inside, like the other secrets I ' ve kept from Poppy.

"He ' ll pay," Kent whispers. Nothing is playful about his tone; he sounds more like Julian, serious and lethal.

When Julian called me over, Kent was with me. I could see from Julian ' s face that what he had to tell me was going to shift the earth under my feet. I've been running for so many years, sprinting away from emotions, going from one fling to another, so I didn't form attachments. It seems the soles of my shoes have worn out because I can't run, not even if I wanted to.

I don't want to.

Poppy needs help. I need help. We each have a Sterling man trying to help us.

As soon as Julian said, 'Poppy needs me to tell you something,' I knew it was going to feel like another death. Kent stood to leave, but I grasped his hand tighter. He stayed and listened just as I did. Motionless but still seething like a volcano.

"I ' ll do it," I say.

"Do what?" Julian replies, confused.

Looking up, I meet his eyes, a mixture of grey shades like a bullet fired—all busted and bent from the force of the shot, yet so riveting. "I will work for your uncle, but only after we destroy the Sinclairs." I see no other options. Julian ' s uncle is correct; the Sinclairs aren't just powerful; they have the love of the people now. One bad charge won ' t hurt them.

I don ' t want them to hurt.

I want them to be erased.

***

There's a gap between Poppy and I that wasn't there before, or maybe it always was, and we simply chose to overlook it. Secrets have this insidious way of wedging themselves into the crevices of relationships, silently expanding until the divide is too vast to ignore.

From the moment I stepped into Julian's bedroom and saw Poppy perched on his bed, her knees drawn up to her chest in a self-embrace, it was as if she knew that I knew. The truth was out, yet still unspoken between us.

I move closer, but not too close. I need to see her fully. "I'm sorry doesn't even begin to cover it," I start, the words feeling inadequate before they even leave my mouth.

"You don't need to apologize," Poppy whispers back, her voice fragile. "I don't want pity."

Anger and pain bubble inside me, a tempest too big to contain. " I ' m angry, hurt, god I feel so…so much like a storm." I ball my fist, " I wish you would have told me. That makes me angry at you, and I know it ' s misplaced anger. I want Andrew to suffer. I want to take back what he stole from you so you can give it to someone who deserves it. I want to erase your pain and make you only smile." Tears betray me, and as if drawn by the same unseen force, we lunge for each other and hug tight.

Shared tears, unbreakable embraces.

We ' ve done this before. First when her parents died, then when Peter passed. I never wanted this to happen to her again. Never.

"How do I stop this? How do I make sure you never have to cry again?" I murmur, my breath warm against her hair.

"Crying means I'm alive," Poppy whispers back, her voice steady despite the turmoil. "I'm alive, and I refuse to let this break me."

Her strength astounds me; even in moments she thinks she is weak, she is the strongest of us.

"He will pay," I vow, my arms tightening around her in a protective embrace.

She sniffles a heartbreaking sound. "You know what's messed up? I don't even care about that. I just want him to stop, to leave me alone."

My hand strokes her hair. "He will. We'll handle it, okay? We're going to fix this." But even as I say it, I question my choice of words. How do you 'fix' something that has been so thoroughly violated?

The urge to break down is overwhelming, yet I can't—not when the woman in my arms needs me to be strong for her.

My fingers grip her shirt, my thoughts turning to Henry, her brother, who should be here for her, should be fighting for her.

I despise him.

How can two brothers be so different? To love Peter and loathe Henry feels like a betrayal of what it means to be family.

"I..." I start on the verge of confessing about Peter and me. Peter is part of the reason I wasn't at that party. It was a rare time Peter and I both had a cover story to keep our relationship hidden from Henry and Poppy.

I remember Peter getting the call; Poppy's distress was clear even through the phone. Peter insisted I stay behind. He didn ' t want to ruin what he and I had just done. I knew he lied when he told me everything was fine. He kissed me and took an extra second to look at me lying on his bed before he turned to leave. He was trying to protect everyone—me, Poppy, and himself.

That last kiss before he ran to his car, the phone still pressed to his ear... it was our final moment. I left their house and went back to my dorm room, still wearing his shirt.

I was happy that night because I thought Andrew and Poppy finally broke up. I thought Poppy was finally free. I never understood why she stayed with Andrew. I watched her light slowly dim under his charm.

I was happy the night my best friend was raped.

I was happy in the arms of her brother while she was being broken in the arms of a monster.

Poppy ' s hand begins to rub a small circle on my back. She's trying to soothe me. It ' s wrong.

" It ' s okay; you don ' t have to say anything else." She says.

You ' re wrong, Poppy; there is a lot I have to say; I just don ' t know how. I can ' t find the correct letters to spell everything out.