Chapter Fifty-Four Naomi

Chapter Fifty-Four

Naomi

May 2023, one week before her death

Learning Liam was working with DuPont feels like a blow to the center of my chest. I can hardly sleep more than a few hours at a time. Nothing feels real. And why —why didn’t I see it? His father had been in Greystone, his mother a major donor to the Legacy Foundation. Why did I think Liam would be different?

I lie in bed with this churning, bitter feeling inside me until with a burst of anger, I send Liam the photo, and a few seconds later, my phone vibrates. I won’t answer. I can’t.

Seizing the phone and silencing it, I hurl it across the room.

—

Zee convinces me to get dinner with her, and when we return later that evening, I’m surprised to find Liam sitting in the hall. When I call out his name, he doesn’t turn to look at me. His body is in shadow and I can’t see his eyes, but I can tell he looks disheveled in his wrinkled shirt and slacks, head tipped back against the wall, empty bottle next to him as if he’d passed out and spent the night there.

“Liam?” I say again. Zee and I exchange a look. Something’s not right. The air is too still. As we approach, the stench of alcohol reaches my nostrils. My heart beats faster. He’s wasted.

“What are you doing here?” I say, louder, holding my ground.

He lifts his head and grins. His eyes are bloodshot. “Naomi.”

Zee raises her eyebrows, likely sensing the tension between us. “I’ll let you two do whatever this is.” She motions between us. “I’m here if you need me.”

As she retreats into our suite, she throws a look of concern over her shoulder. I’m not going anywhere, it says. I’ll be right inside.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. But is it? Is it fine? When he’s betrayed me like this? And surely, surely he will try to come up with an excuse to make me doubt myself like he always does. I remember the nights spent in his bed, the deep conversations, tearing open my soul— lies, all of it.

I reach out and steady myself against the wall, take a deep breath. Once Zee’s footsteps fade into our room, I turn to face Liam, every hair on the back of my neck rising. “What do you want?”

I wait for him to respond, but as I take him in, I feel sorry for him. He looks awful. His hair is greasy. His head hung, posture deflated. It’s like someone has used him as a punching bag and dumped him here. I feel a rush of irrational hope. Maybe there’s a rational explanation.

“I miss you,” Liam slurs. I miss you. His words cut straight into my heart. I feel a pull before I stop myself. No.

Liam stands and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking at me like he’d expected this confession to fix everything. His jaw is working. He’s walking drunkenly, wavering toward me. Instinctively, I take a step back.

“Naomi,” he says, reaching for me, and unable to stand it, I put up a hand.

“I can’t do this right now.”

The picture said enough—he’d handed DuPont Amy’s laptop—he’d betrayed me. There’s nothing else to it.

But this is the first time I’ve seen him since, and a part of me thinks, He wouldn’t do that to me. A part of me is desperate for it to have been some kind of mistake. Because despite everything, I still care about him.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Liam says, louder, desperate. His eyes flash with an emotion: Regret?

“So what was it?”

Liam shakes his head, a lock of hair falling over his eyes. “You don’t understand. My tennis. Matthew is the reason I’m here—”

I stare at him, confused. “You’re here because you trained with the best coaches in the country and because you’re a fourth-generation legacy, Liam.” We’d had many conversations about this. These elite coaches had gone to him, not the other way around. He’d said it was the only thing that made his father proud.

He pushes a hand through his hair. “Those coaches only taught me because of DuPont. My father knew him through Greystone and now serves on the board of his company. DuPont got into some trouble years ago when he bet on a risky medtech company. When the truth broke that they were lying to investors, my father helped him inflate the stock enough for DuPont to get out. To return the favor, DuPont pulled strings to convince my coach to train me. Why else would that caliber coach train a wimpy kid from Rye? And without tennis, I wouldn’t have gotten in here. Not even as a legacy.” He lets out a sad laugh.

It feels like I’ve been struck. I stand there, stunned, for several seconds as I waver for a moment between feeling sorry for Liam and confused, before anger floods my system. He was that close to DuPont? Since he was a kid? A wimpy kid from Rye. More like a trust-fund nepo kid. His whole life was orchestrated by a monster. Two, if you consider his dad. I can hardly breathe. It feels like I’m drowning.

Liam moves closer, and I stiffen. “So you did this for DuPont because he got you into this school, he helped you save face with your dad growing up?” My vision blurs as tears sting my eyes, and I fight to hold it together. I think again of Amy’s laptop. What I thought was us getting back together was bullshit. Liam’s only interest in me was my connection to Amy and her investigation. He’d lied to me. He’d used me. Each realization is like a needle digging into my heart.

“Look, just let it go, okay? We’re leaving all this anyway.”

I remember the tickets to Croatia sitting on my desk. The words he’d finally said, the ones I’d been waiting years to hear: I’m falling in love with you.

But…

How could he? How dare he say that to me? And to think how badly I’d wanted to say it back. Knowing what I do now, I’m sure as hell glad I didn’t.

“ You. ” I glare at Liam, hoping to convey all the rage and hurt spiraling through me. “Are a liar. A selfish piece of shit.”

Liam takes a step forward, face twisting. He’s breathing hard, a vein pulsing at his temple. “Listen.” He grabs my arm, hard, and I fight him. But he’s stronger than me. “I didn’t mean to get involved. I didn’t want to.” He pauses. “But that day we met at the Sterling library…when I told you about the investigation, it was already too late. DuPont knew your roommate was working with someone at the Times. He asked me to talk to you.”

“Asked you?” I yank my arm free, but Liam jerks me back.

“Yeah.”

I shove him, and Liam forces me back, harder than expected, and my head slams into the wall. Pain radiates from the back of my neck to the crown of my head, and I nearly cry out.

“I trusted you.” I can barely say it, and before I know what’s happening, tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Liam takes a step back. I’m so angry I can’t look at him. My hands are shaking, head throbbing as I try to unlock the door, fumbling with my keys.

“Naomi, wait,” he says, trying to stop me. “I’m sorry—”

I throw my arms up and shrink away from him. “No. You can fuck off. Get out!”

Undoing the lock, I yank open the door and burst in, relieved when it slams shut behind me. My heart is pounding fast. My head filled with a searing pain. If Matthew did all this to prevent the story from coming out, was he the one who’d hurt Lila? Or had it been my sister?

In my bedroom, I collapse onto the bed, eyes stinging with tears, and reach into my purse for my medication—I won’t be able to sleep without it—but it’s not there. Furious, I slam the purse down and yell out in pain.