A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

 

“No, Lindsay. It really really makes no sense. Drew loved you so much.”

 

I can’t have this conversation. Not now. Not here.

 

Maybe not ever.

 

This was a huge mistake.

 

“Lindsay, after you...after the attack, Drew was hospitalized, too.”

 

I feel like my body is too big and too small at the same time.

 

“What?”

 

“You probably had no idea. No one knows exactly what happened, because he was in the hospital and then suddenly he was shipped overseas for his first tour in Afghanistan.”

 

“His first tour?”

 

“Yeah. He did two tours. Came home with a bunch of medals and started his security company with some guy from the service. Now he provides security for a ton of politicians and my mom says he’s a big deal in the field.”

 

As Jane goes on about Drew, my mind tries to wrap itself around what she’s saying. I hold up one hand.

 

“Wait. He was hospitalized after my attack? Why? What’d he do—strain his neck trying to get a better look? He’s on the video doing nothing. Just sitting there. Watching. Watching them rape me.”

 

Jane’s face twists with grief and distaste. I know it’s not directed at me, but a plume of self-consciousness and shame fills my blood. My bitterness is seeping out in my words.

 

Jane sighs. “I know. It’s still a mystery. And you know Drew.”

 

“No. Actually, no. I don’t. I thought I did, but clearly...”

 

“I meant how quiet he is.”

 

“Quiet?”

 

“Closed up. Shut tight. Like a drum.”

 

That’s actually not the Drew I knew.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He was always the strong, silent type.”

 

“Not with me,” I say softly.

 

“With the rest of us he was. You don’t get to be a West Point student for nothing. He had it all, Lindsay. Brains, looks, athleticism, and the officer’s commission after he graduated. And then you were attacked, he was hospitalized, and poof! No one saw him for three years.”

 

“He was in Afghanistan for three years?”

 

“Most of it. I heard through my mom that he came home briefly. Went back. Some awful incidents happened there. Then something about a big success his unit had, and how he was a hero along with his team. They did something strategic and received a bunch of medals and accolades from Congress and the White House. But you’d never know. Drew never said a word. And then his parents died.”

 

I feel like Jane just threw a brick at my head. “His parents what?”

 

Jane groans and shoots me an apologetic look. “I keep forgetting you don’t know so many things that happened. It’s been about a year.”

 

“It’s new to me.”

 

“Yeah. it would be. I’m sorry, Lindsay. Drew’s parents died in a car accident. Single car. Went off a canyon road while he was in Afghanistan.”

 

“Oh my God!” Jim and Donna were good people. Really great parents. Warm and loving, sweet and kind. Drew and his older sister adored them. I went on family vacations with them. I’m speechless.

 

“How is Sarah taking it?”

 

“She’s married and has a toddler now.”

 

“Whoa.” I wonder if coma survivors feel like this. “Wait. Did they ever find out what happened with Drew’s parents?”

 

“What do you mean? The car went off the road. They think maybe Drew’s mom swerved to avoid hitting an animal? They went down a huge ravine. Crashed. It took more than a day for a group of mountain bike riders to find them. By then it was too late.”

 

“Drew was in Afghanistan?”

 

“And Sarah was back home in San Diego with her baby. It was a big mess. The whole community rallied to try and help. Not financially—the Fosters were fine, of course—but poor Sarah really bore the brunt of it. She had to get Drew back home from overseas, manage the funeral stuff, and the press....”

 

Just like that, some kind of switch flips in me.

 

I am done with this day.

 

Done.

 

“You know, Jane, I think I need to go home.” I press my palms into the countertop around the sink and let my head drop.

 

Her hand is warm as she gently sets it between my shoulder blades. “I understand. Of course. Let me get you back to the Grove.” Daddy named our house The Grove a long time ago, christened by the planting of tiny weeping willows that now tower over the estate like sentries.

 

“That’s my job,” Drew says through the door.

 

Oh, crap. Was he listening this entire time? The door opens and in walks Drew again, eyes flat and still. If he’s feeling anything underneath that placid exterior, it’s well hidden.

 

“You’re sick,” he declares, reaching for me. “You need to go home. I’ve already called your—”

 

“Oh, sure. Call Daddy the second Lindsay doesn’t do exactly what she’s told to do,” I snap. “The minute she doesn’t act like a programmed robot, we have to get the senator on the line and make her behave!”

 

“—doctor,” he says, finishing his sentence. “I’ve already called your doctor, and she’s meeting us at the Grove.” Drew gives me an even look that says nothing. He’s being very patient.