“That’s not it at all.” Gabriel swallowed. Somehow this was harder than telling Layne his secrets. “I knew you’d make me stop.”
Now Nick was looking at him, hard. “Stop what?”
Gabriel took a deep breath.
And he told Nick everything.
Layne sat on the stretcher in the ER and hugged her arms across her chest. Her parents were right on the other side of the privacy curtain, having a whispered argument.
Like she was an idiot. Like she couldn’t hear every word.
“Didn’t you tell them?” her mother hissed. Layne could smell her Chanel perfume from here. “I can’t believe they’re not even examining her.”
“Tell them what, Charlotte?” Her father’s voice was tired. “She’s fine.”
“She’s not fine, David.” Her mother spat his name like it tasted bad. “She’s already damaged enough, and now you’re acting like nothing—”
“I’m not acting like anything. Why don’t you get a handle on the histrionics. I’m sure you have a pill or something you can take.”
Layne wanted to lie down on this stretcher and put the pillow over her face.
She’s already damaged enough.
Thanks, Mom.
The paramedics had said they were taking her to the ER as a precaution, but a doctor had listened to her lungs and shined a light in her eyes and declared her perfectly well. He’d told her that normally people had breathing difficulties from smoke inhalation, coughing, shortness of breath. She didn’t have any of those things. Now she was just waiting for a piece of paper so she could get out of here.
No one knew about Gabriel. No one asked.
She didn’t start out keeping him a secret—she just didn’t know what to say, or when to say it. People kept speaking over her head, never asking her anything more than whether she knew what day it was or how to contact her parents.
She’d found his lighter in the grass beside her, probably dropped when he’d grabbed his things and run. She’d shoved it into her pocket. Even now, she could slide her hand between the fabric panels and run her thumb along the slick metal casing.
I don’t want you to hate me.
She thought about the recent arson attacks in the area. Was he telling her he was responsible?
Had he started the fire in the barn?
They’d lain together in the grass for at least fifteen minutes, maybe more. If he’d put this lighter to a bale of hay or something, how long would it have taken the place to go up like that?
Surely faster than fifteen minutes, right?
And when would he have done it? Though she hadn’t had her eyes on him every second they’d been together that morning, she couldn’t see how he would have been able to climb into the hayloft and start a fire without her even noticing.
Beyond that, why would he have done it?
She kept running his words through her brain, as if they were a math problem, and all she had to do was find the right equation to solve for X.
The night I drove you home was the first night—
The first night that what?
Her mother yanked back the curtain, making the hangers rattle in the steel track. Though she was wearing a white tennis skirt and a pink trimmed sweater, her eyes were perfectly lined, her mascara unsmudged. Even her lipstick looked freshly applied.
Layne wondered how much time she’d spent getting ready to come see her daughter in the hospital.
She wondered if she’d actually been playing tennis.
“Baby? You okay?”
“I’m great,” said Layne flatly. Baby. As if her mother gave a damn. She’d spent more time on the other side of the curtain than she had in here.
“I’m going to flag down the doctor,” her mother said, her lips pursed. “Don’t they know what I do for this hospital? I’m going to give these people a piece of my—”
“No,” said Layne evenly. “There are sick people here. I can wait.”
Her mom opened her mouth to protest, but then her cell phone started ringing, and she stuck a manicured hand into a designer bag to fetch it.
Layne sighed. She was ready to go home and get a shower. Her clothes smelled like horses and fire, the sweetness of alfalfa hay mixed with soot and ashes. She hadn’t even unzipped her jacket, knowing the turtleneck underneath was soaked with sweat.
And she needed time alone.
She needed time to think.
A nurse came around the corner wearing pink scrubs with lollipops all over them. Some papers and a clipboard were in one hand, and she glanced between Layne’s father—tapping away at his iPhone—and her mother, who was gushing about something to do with a celebrity polo match.
So concerned.
The nurse faltered.
Layne held out her hand. “Here. Can I just take it?”
“Your parents need to sign, sweetie.”
Layne looked at her father. “Dad. Hey. Signature.”
He put a hand out without looking up, hitting a few more keys on the phone.
Unbelievable. It reminded Layne of the day in Gabriel’s driveway, when he’d been so dismissive of Michael.
Layne looked at the nurse. “I’m sorry. They usually act like they give a crap.”
That got her dad’s attention. “Watch it. I was supposed to be in court this morning.”
Layne looked back at him in mock surprise. “I can’t believe I forgot to add this to your schedule.”
Her mom laughed into the phone and held up her hand. “Oh my goodness, that is too much. Let me step into the hallway. There’s a lot of commotion here . . .”
Layne scooted off the stretcher. She wished Simon were here, but her father had sent him to school. “Let’s just go,” she said. “You can get back to court, Mom can get back to ‘tennis,’ and I can get back to school.”
Her father had his head bent over the form—probably reading what he was signing. “You’re not going to school. The doctor said for you to stay home and rest, make sure there aren’t any delayed effects.” His hand scribbled across the bottom of the form.
“He also said I was fine.”
“End of discussion.”
Of course it was. Layne sighed.
Her father handed the forms back to the nurse and looked at Layne. “I rearranged my schedule. I’ll stay with you until Simon gets home.”
It should have made her feel better. It didn’t.
It made her feel like an obligation.
She didn’t even say good-bye to her mother—not out of any sense of spite or anger, but the woman had disappeared down some corridor to take her call, and there was no sign of her. Maybe she’d forgotten the whole reason they were at the hospital to begin with.
Layne just folded her legs into her father’s BMW and stared out the window.
She wondered if Gabriel was all right. He’d been in that fire, too. And he hadn’t had the luxury of medical attention.
He’d run when he’d seen fire trucks. That had to imply some sort of guilt.
But the look in his eyes after the fire—there’d been no guilt there. Only horror. Sadness. Regret, as he told her that some horses had been trapped.
The barn had been her sanctuary. She’d mourn its loss as much as she would the other horses. Gabriel had understood that. Respected it.
She knew he had.
My secret has to do with fire.
Layne wished she could call him. To demand answers.
But she was afraid to call him. She was afraid the truth would be more devastating than all these hypotheticals.