“My violin,” I burst out, with a jolt of panic. “Will I still be able to—”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupts. “You hurt your head badly, but the doctors assured me it won’t affect your musical cognition or your ear.”
“I need my Maggini,” I say. “I need to know for sure.”
Mom glances outside the room.
“Your friend brought it for you. I’ll bring him in, but only for a few minutes. You need to take it easy.”
I hear Mom’s footsteps leaving the room. When I glance up, Chace Porter is standing in her place, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and my violin case in the other. A fist tightens around my heart at the sight of him.
“Nicole,” he breathes. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”
“I—” I struggle to speak, my thoughts a foggy jumble. “Your—your mom. I think I had a dream about her.”
Chace smiles slightly.
“Maybe it’s because you were supposed to meet her over dinner tonight. She’s visiting for the weekend. We’ll do it another time, when you’re all better.”
He sets the flowers onto the bedside table and drops the violin case, rushing to my side. But just before he can touch me, I hold up my hand to stop him.
“Is it the pain?” he asks, his brow furrowed with worry.
“I—I can’t see you anymore,” I blurt out.
His mouth falls open.
“What?”
“Go back to Lana, to life before me. It’ll be better for everyone. I need to stay away from you.” I ache to look away, but I force myself to meet his eyes, so he’ll know I’m serious.
“You hurt your head,” he says, his voice shaking. “It’s just the head trauma talking. You don’t really mean it.”
“But I do,” I tell him. “I may not remember what happened to me, but I know it’s my…punishment. This never would have happened if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t made the mistake of wanting you.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath. I shut my eyes, and when I open them again, Chace is gone. The flowers are the only sign that he was ever here.
I rise to my feet, my mind returning to the present inside my cell. Fury swells in my chest, and I kick the cold stone wall as hard as I can, until my toes are bruised purple.
I’m beginning to have an idea of what might have happened to Chace.
And there’s only one person who can help me prove it.
“This way, Miss Rivera. You’ll need to remove your hood.”
I shrug off my jacket but keep my head down as I follow the heavyset cop through a narrow corridor and into the Visitors’ Center—such an innocent, cheery name for the most depressing, guilty place.
The cop leads me to a window with a chair and a phone on either side, like something out of CSI. I sit down hesitantly. Now that I’m here, I’m oddly afraid of seeing her. I’m beginning to regret the hasty decision I made when I got her call. What if someone recognizes me in here? I shake my hair in front of my face, contemplating a stealth exit, when I hear the sound of chains.
Nicole shuffles toward me, flanked by two guards. She wears the hideous orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, her hands in cuffs, and for a moment I flash back to the happily naive, scarless girl I first saw practicing onstage. That girl is far away now.
She manages a slight smile as she sits in front of the glass opposite me, picking up the phone next to her. I reach for mine.
“You came,” she says.
Her voice sounds different, raspy—like she’s been sick or crying, or both.
“You took a big risk, spending your one phone call on me,” I tell her. “What made you think I would show up?”
“You might be a lot of things but you’re not a monster,” she says simply. “I know you feel guilty about that night in the woods, and what happened to my face. It’s easier to hate me than to feel the guilt, isn’t it?”
The shock pierces my chest, the phone fumbling out of my grasp. My fingers shake as I bend down to retrieve it. I thought she didn’t remember. I thought my secret was safe.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally answer. “I—I didn’t do that to your face.”
“But it’s because of you that I was in the woods that night and got hurt,” Nicole says. “We both know you’re the one who lured me there.”
I should just hang up, but instead my words come tumbling out.
“I never meant for any of that to happen. I just—just wanted to show you what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under you, like how you made me feel.” I tug at a strand of hair. “If I’d known what would end up happening to you that night…I wouldn’t have done it.”
“I believe you,” Nicole says. “And I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I just need your help.”
“My help?” I raise an eyebrow at her. What is she talking about?