“I’d really like to share my side of the story.” Madison’s voice was quiet and controlled.
“What could it hurt?” Tommy broke in. “If you decide you don’t like what you hear, then you can go ahead and call Larsen.”
Aster took her time to consider. She had all the evidence she needed standing right there before her, so maybe Tommy was right. What could it possibly hurt?
She was on the verge of agreeing, when Layla said, “You can’t be serious? Why should we trust either of them?”
“I went to jail!” Tommy shot back. “Or have you already forgotten?”
“Of course you let yourself get caught,” Layla snapped. “After all, it’s the perfect cover.”
“All we’re asking for is a chance to explain.”
“We. Nice.” Layla rolled her eyes, as Tommy sighed and closed his.
“I think Madison deserves a chance to explain,” he said.
“Shocking you’d feel that way,” Layla seethed.
For a handful of seconds, Aster felt badly for Layla. Clearly, her feelings were hurt. Or maybe it was just her pride, it was impossible to tell. But Layla’s argument was getting them nowhere, and Aster was tired of listening.
“Enough!” Aster cried. Turning to Madison, she said, “You have five minutes to make me believe you.”
Madison held Aster’s gaze. “If you betray me, or decide to blog about any of this”—she shot a pointed look at Layla—“I will sue you for slander.”
“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Layla bit.
Aster groaned. Layla never knew when to quit.
“It’ll be my word against yours.” Madison glared, leaving no doubt she meant every word. “Who do you think they’ll believe?”
Layla fell silent.
“Also,” Madison said, “I need you to refrain from calling Larsen. For my own safety, I have to insist.”
“And what about my safety? What about the upcoming trial, and all the haters and trolls sending me death threats?” Aster glared.
“All I’m asking for is a little more time. I promise I won’t let this get to trial.”
Aster forced a sarcastic grin. “Tell me, just how much are your promises worth these days?”
“It’s all I’ve got.” Madison shrugged. “Clearly, you’re the one in the driver’s seat. You decide where this goes.”
Aster retrieved her phone and aimed it at Madison. Instinctively, Madison lifted a hand to cover her face as though Aster was some particularly aggressive paparazzo.
“Think of this as insurance,” Aster said, snapping a series of pics. “A picture is worth a thousand words. And, in this case, I’ll use it to ensure you don’t go back on yours. So, if you could please just lower your arm and say cheese, I can get the money shot, and you can tell us your story.”
“Fine,” Madison said, dropping her arm to her side. “But for the record, this is a rage room, not a sex room. When we’re done, I’ll be happy to let you use it. Seems like it might do you some good.”
TWENTY-FIVECANDLE IN THE WIND
Madison was used to being stared at, but this was entirely different. She’d just gotten everyone seated in the den, and now they were looking at her, waiting for the show to begin.
It was the most nerve-racking performance she could ever imagine. Her entire future rested on her ability to sway them into believing everything she said. Judging by the skeptical looks on their faces, it wouldn’t be easy.
They were searching for the sort of truth no one had yet been able to uncover. Madison was prepared to tell them a story based on some semblance of facts, though every word would need to be chosen with care. One false move and Aster would call Larsen before Madison could stop her. Still, she had no intention of sharing her real life story with anyone, ever.
She settled onto one of the club chairs, pulled a gray crocheted throw over her lap, and propped her ankle onto the coffee table. Partly because keeping it elevated really did help lessen the swelling, but mostly because the visual reminder of the physical toll she’d paid might veer them toward kindness.
It’d been so long since she’d last seen them in person, and though they looked more or less the same, clearly the summer had changed them.
With her long, glossy dark hair, smooth olive complexion, vibrant brown eyes, and the uncanny way she had of elevating a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt into a runway-ready look, Aster was as stunning as ever. Though strangely, she also seemed happy.
Happy wasn’t a word that easily applied to a girl like Aster. Snooty, privileged, self-satisfied—those were the words that fit. Happy was a yellow smiley face, a red Mylar balloon floating high in the sky. Happy was a triple-scoop waffle cone dipped in chocolate and covered with sprinkles. And tonight, Aster seemed like the happiest girl alive.
It wasn’t just the relief of having the evidence needed to prove her innocence—it was also because of Ryan and the way he stayed glued to her side. The two of them moved in unspoken tandem, an intimate choreography known only to them.
Unlike Aster, Layla was the opposite of happy. Which wasn’t surprising considering Madison’s experience of their previous run-ins. Still, a good chunk of the drive that had once been Layla’s most defining characteristic had since been replaced with a palpable uncertainty that left her looking haunted and lost.
And Tommy, well, Madison had spent the day observing him. But now, after having been falsely accused by his friends, who obviously didn’t trust him, he was clearly the most uncomfortable person in the room.
Breaking the silence, she pulled at the fringed edge of the throw and said, “I don’t know who took me, though I have my suspicions.” She paused, noting the way they all edged a bit forward. Good. She had their full attention. “I left Tommy after receiving a text I thought was from Paul. I went to Night for Night expecting to see him, but Paul was late, or so I thought. I went up to the terrace,
