My eyes immediately seek out Callum’s. He must see my panicked expression, because he’s quick to shoot down Steve’s request. “That’s not a good idea. I don’t think Ella should be around Dinah tonight.”
I say a silent thank you to Callum, but Steve clearly isn’t happy about this. “With all due respect, Callum, Ella is my daughter, not yours. I’ve been more than accommodating about letting her remain with you—temporarily. But I’ll be honest, I’m not comfortable with her living in your house any longer.”
Callum frowns. “And why’s that?”
“How many times do we need to go through this?” Steve sounds impatient. “It’s not an ideal environment for her, not when Reed is facing a life sentence. Not when the cops are sniffing around and talking to everyone at Ella’s school. Not when—”
Callum angrily cuts him off. “Your wife verbally attacked Ella before the service. Do you truly believe that your home—Dinah’s home—is a better environment for Ella right now? Because you’re delusional if you think that.”
Steve’s blue eyes darken to a metallic cobalt. “Dinah might be unstable, but she’s not charged with murder, now is she, Callum? And Ella is my daughter—”
“This isn’t about you, Steve,” Callum growls. “Contrary to what you believe, the world does not revolve around you. I’ve been Ella’s guardian for months. I’ve clothed her and fed her and made sure her every need is met. At the moment, I am the closest thing this girl has to a father.”
He’s right. And for some reason, I get a little choked up at Callum’s impassioned speech. Other than my mom, nobody has ever really fought for me. Nobody has cared about “meeting my every need.”
Swallowing, I speak up in a small voice. “I want to go back with Easton.”
Steve narrows his eyes at me. There’s a glint of betrayal there, but it doesn’t trigger any guilt on my part.
“Please,” I add, locking my gaze with Steve’s. “You said so yourself—Dinah’s super emotional right now. It’ll be better for both of us if I’m not around her, at least for a little while. Besides, the Royals’ house is really close to the bakery.”
“The bakery?” he says blankly.
“Her job,” Callum clarifies in a brusque tone.
“I work mornings at a bakery right near the school,” I explain. “If I stay in the city with you, it’ll add another thirty minutes to my drive, and I already have to wake up at dawn. So, um, yeah. This makes more sense for me.”
I hold my breath as I await his answer.
After a long pause, Steve’s head jerks in a nod. “Fine. You can go back to Callum’s. But it’s not permanent, Ella.” A warning note rings in his voice. “I need you to remember that.”
12
Ella
“Anything special you want from the bakery this morning?” I ask Reed as he pulls into the parking lot in front of the French Twist.
From the driver’s seat, he turns to glower at me. “Are you trying to bribe me with food?”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’m just trying to be a nice girlfriend. And would you quit sulking already? The funeral was two days ago. You can’t still be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m disappointed,” he says solemnly.
My jaw falls open. “Oh my God! Don’t you dare give me the ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ crap. I get it—you didn’t want me to go. But I did, and it’s over, and you need to move on. Plus, we got that list.”
Although, the guestbook turned out to be worthless, because Callum told us that his investigators had already looked into the six people I didn’t know at the funeral. They were all accounted for the night of Brooke’s death.
To say that Easton and I were bummed is an understatement.
“Which was a total dead end.” Reed runs a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t like how the detectives showed up,” he mumbles. “That means they’re watching all of us.”
His distressed expression makes my heart ache. “We knew they’d be watching,” I remind him, sliding closer so I can rest my chin on his shoulder. “Your lawyer warned us about that.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” His voice is low and tortured. “Honestly? It’s…”
“It’s what?” I ask when he doesn’t go on.
Reed’s distress turns into pure torment. “It’s getting harder to convince myself that this whole mess is gonna go away. First there was the DNA evidence, then Judge Delacorte’s shady offer, and the cops interviewing everyone I know. It’s all starting to feel too…real.”
I bite hard on my lower lip. “It is real. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since you got arrested.”
“I know,” he says again. “But I was hoping…”
This time he doesn’t have to finish, because I know exactly what he was hoping for. That the charges would magically be dropped. That the person who killed Brooke would walk into the police station and confess. But none of that is happening, and maybe it’s time Reed fully understood how much trouble he’s actually in.