would have to prove they were purposely negligent. It isn’t as clear-cut as it seems.” My teeth grit when my tone comes out harsher than I intended. Usually, we have these conversations about the incident that saw me moving across the country. Julian believes I should sue Joey’s estate. It isn’t about money, Julian has plenty of that. It’s about giving a voice to a victim even if the accused is dead. Sometimes I agree with him, but it’s only on very rare occasions.
Even now, years later, I still can’t wrap my head around what happened with Joey. He was the equivalent of a big brother to me. I loved him—I still do in a sadistic, twisted way—so it’s a struggle to understand what caused a massive change in his personality. It wasn’t drugs. That was the first thing the coroner tested for. His blood-alcohol level was elevated, but it wasn’t high enough to excuse a drastic shift in his persona. It truly seems as if it wasn’t him in the room with me that night, and that my mind just made it all up.
If only I could forget about the evidence I hid in my room years ago. It abundantly proves something happened that night. I just can’t prove it was Joey who hurt me without exposing my secret. My lunch date with Mrs. McGee weeks ago revealed she’s doing better than she was seven years ago, but I don’t think she’ll ever be strong enough to warp her views on her son all because I want a dead man prosecuted. It makes me ill just thinking about what we’d be put through to see those charges transpire. And for what? To have my name on the victim’s side of another report? It’s not worth the heartache it could cause, and neither is suing the state for the belief they may have known my parents’ death wasn’t an accident.
I swallow to relieve my dry throat before returning my eyes to Julian. I kind of zone out when my mind shifts to the past. “In all honesty, I’d rather everything just go back to the way it was before we found out their accident wasn’t an accident. The man who killed my parents is dead. His crew is debunked, and although I have my doubts, perhaps Crombie did end things the way he did as he felt guilty. It isn’t the first time a convict has taken matters into his own hands, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
Julian looks prepared to enter a debate, but the wariness on my face must stop him. It’s been an exhaustive few weeks. “I’ll support your decision no matter what, Mel.” He returns to stirring the stir-fry before nudging his head to my cell phone. “But I still think you should reply to Brandon’s text. I’m not a lawyer—”
“You just wish you were,” I interrupt, smiling to show him there’s no malice in my tone. Julian is in the wrong profession. He loves political debates, conspiracy theories, and he devours murder mystery books like his life couldn’t exist without them. He just happens to be an audiologist because that’s what his father and grandfather were. I really wish he’d step outside the realm occasionally. He’d be a great politician or perhaps even a law enforcement officer.
When he spots my smile, Julian bumps me with his hip, his grin as playful as mine. “He put a lot of effort into the reports he submitted even with the likelihood of them ever seeing the light of day being low. That deserves a response.”
“It does,” I agree, nodding. If it weren’t for Brandon, my parents’ death would still be classified as an accident. He fought to have their deaths legally acknowledged, knowing it was what I wanted without needing to ask. “But aren’t you worried, Julian?”
A sprinkling of orange hair falls in front of his eyes when he slants his head to eye me dubiously. “About?”
“One text could turn into a dozen. A dozen could turn into a hundred. A hundred could—” I yelp when he whips my thigh with the tea towel he had thrown over his shoulder, but I continue with my tease. “… turn into a thousand. Then, before you know it, we’ll be best friends again.”
He whips me another two times while muttering, “I can handle best friends.” My heart turns a gooey mess when he bands his arm around my back to tug me in close to his fit body.