It hadn’t been a dream.
Most people would say it wasn’t his fault. Blame the stress. Blame the medication. Blame the culture and the lack of appropriate mental-health care. After all, Anders had done everything right. He’d admitted he was having trouble. He’d taken the prescribed medication. He’d alerted his doctor to side effects. He has every reason to say it wasn’t his fault, and yet he does not. This is the nightmare he fights with alcohol and sex—the knowledge that he killed a man who’d done nothing to deserve it. The knowledge that, maybe, in the theater of war, that wasn’t the only innocent victim whose life he took.
After the crowd disperses from the town square, I get the sign from Isabel. Then I take it aside to read privately, in case my reaction gives away more than I’d like.
It’s four sheets of paper taped together as a makeshift sign. On it, someone has written in block letters.
WILL ANDERS IS A KILLER. HE LOST HIS MARBLES AND KILLED HIS ARMY COMMANDING OFFICER AND ESCAPED TO ROCKTON BEFORE THEY LOCKED HIM IN A LOONY BIN.
I stare at those words, my hands shaking with rage. The ones I’m staring at, though, aren’t the ones about killing someone.
LOST HIS MARBLES.
BEFORE THEY LOCKED HIM IN A LOONY BIN.
There is such derision in those words, as if a mental breakdown is more damning than murder. The issues Anders suffered explain behavior that is otherwise completely out of character for him. Here, they aren’t an explanation. They’re an accusation.
He’s not only a killer; he’s crazy.
“Hey,” a voice says behind me.
I spin, slapping the sign to my chest as Anders walks over.
“Uh, okay,” he says, his gaze dropping to the paper. “I came to see if you needed help. Do I dare ask what that is? Not another hot-tub petition, I hope.”
His lips quirk, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hmm. Jen didn’t want me handling this, and now you’re clutching that paper like it’s an X-rated photo. If it’s me, they better have got my good side.”
I don’t speak. I can’t.
“Casey?” he says. “That look on your face is kinda freaking me out.”
I turn the sign around. I don’t know what else to do. I just hold it up, mutely.
Anders takes it and reads it. He rocks back on his heels. There’s a split second of disbelief in his eyes. Then acceptance. The resolute acceptance of a man who has lived with an ax poised over his head, knowing it must eventually drop.
I know that feeling. There have been times when I wished my ax would drop, just so I could stop waiting.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My eyes fill with sudden tears, so uncharacteristic that I wonder what that prickling sensation is. “I’m so sorry, Will.”
I reach for him, tentatively. I’m not a hugger, and the first sign of rejection will have me stumbling over myself to retreat. But he drops the sign, opens his arms, and I fall into them, wrapping mine around him and hugging fiercely.
“We’ll figure this out,” I say. “We’ll get through it.”
“I know.”
“I’m just…” My throat closes, and I push out the words. “I’m so sorry. I keep saying that, and it doesn’t seem to mean much but—”
His hug cuts me short as he brushes a kiss over my forehead. “It’s okay, Case. I’ll be okay.”
A rustle in the trees. We turn to see Marissa. I startle, very aware that I’m in the arms of her lover. Anders only tightens his grip, reminding me we’re doing nothing wrong. Then he releases me and steps back.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hello,” she says, her voice chilly as her gaze moves between us.
“We got some bad news,” I say. “Upsetting news and—”
“And it’s fine,” Anders says. “It’s all fine.”
His tone challenges Marissa to say otherwise, and I bristle on her behalf. She’s in a new relationship with a guy who isn’t known for commitment. Of course she’s going to be wary.
“Is Eric around?” I say.
“Nope,” she says. “Luckily for you, he’s still back at the campfire.”
“Luckily for me?” It takes a moment to realize what she means. I shake my head. “I would not be the least bit worried if Eric walked in on me hugging Will.”
“Ah, so it’s that kind of relationship, is it?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mari,” Anders says, and there’s real anger in his voice. That startles me. Then I realize it’s not anger at Marissa. It’s for what he just read. Fear and fury zeroing in on the wrong target.
Before I can intercede, he continues, “If you’re going to get jealous every time I hug a woman in town, you’re going to spend a lot of time being jealous. I get a lot of hugs.”
I ease between them. “Something happened tonight, Marissa. Something we need to discuss with Eric right away. Once that’s out in the open, this will make a lot more sense.”
“I shouldn’t need an excuse for—” Anders begins.
I turn a look on him. He bites off the rest, but the anger roils behind his eyes. Then I realize we can’t let Marissa walk away. She’ll hear about the sign, and that should come from Anders. Right now, though, he’s in no mood to talk to her. He’s not ready to discuss it, either—she’s going to ask whether it’s true, and he’ll need time to figure out how he’s going to handle that question.
“Marissa?” I say. “Can I have a moment with Will?”
She blinks at me. “Seriously?”
Anders lets out a Dalton-worthy string of curses. Then he says, “Here, let me make this easy for everyone.” He snatches the sign from the ground and holds it up for her. “Someone posted this in the town square.”
She reads it. Then her gaze shoots to Anders, anger vanishing in shock. “Someone posted that?”
“Yep, and by morning, everyone’s going to know about it.”
“This is what we’re dealing with,” I say, my voice steady. “I brought Will here to show him in private, and then I gave him a support hug. That’s what you saw.”
“But it’s not true, right? He didn’t…” Her gaze goes to Anders. “You didn’t…”
“Go home, Marissa,” he says.
“What? Go home? I just found out that my boyfriend might have—”
“Not your boyfriend. Not anymore. I’ll make that part easy for you.”
Her jaw sets, and I back away fast. I don’t need to hear this. Anders waves for me to stay close—he wants us to talk to Dalton together—so I stop after a few paces and turn away. I can still hear them.
Marissa says, “You’re cutting me loose so you don’t need to explain.”
“Right now, I’m not sure an explanation even matters. I’m not sure the truth matters. The problem is the accusation. That shit’s gonna stick, and we need to figure out what to do about it. That means me, Casey, Eric, and Phil need to get together and discuss it. That’s the priority at the moment.”
“Not me,” she says.
Anders hisses an exhalation, one that brings him back to himself.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry, but yeah.”