he can be.”
“No one’s safe in that house.”
I swallow dryly, my skin beginning to crawl from the look of dread in her eyes and the cryptic statement that fell from her quivering lips.
“What do you mean by that?” I question, but she still seems locked away in the thought that is troubling her. “Charlene?” I probe further, but when she looks up, her bright mask is suddenly in place once again as she orders fresh fruit and a quiche for us.
“So, can I count on you to have a word with my son? To bring him home?” she asks, completely disregarding my previous question.
I give her a tight nod, my apprehension still heavy on my shoulders.
There’s more to this story than she’s willing to tell me. I just know it. If I want answers or any kind of enlightenment, I guess there is only one place where I can get them—the Hamilton Estate. The very place Charlene Walker is so adamant in keeping Finn away from.
The minute I leave Magnolia, I drive through town with Finn’s mother’s words still loudly ringing in my ear, trying desperately to make sense of it all. I pull at the jumbled strings, a ball of baffling chaos, but with each thread I stretch, there are only a few certainties laid out for me—the most flagrant of them being that Finn would never take any illegal substances to improve his game.
Finn’s love for football was limited, so if he wasn’t any good on the field, it would give him the perfect excuse to not go Pro. Sure he was willing to postpone his dreams of being an astronomer just to appease his father, but to take performance enhancing drugs is just not something Finn would do. That is the action of someone who wants to have a big NFL life, and he didn’t. I know that much.
So, could his mother be right in all her conclusions?
If someone fabricated his guilt just to ruin his chances of going pro, could that same person try to sabotage his love life, too? I’ve been so focused on blaming Finn—thinking he intentionally ruined my plans of going to New York just to keep me here, afraid that somehow he would lose me if I left Asheville—that I never considered an outside force being responsible for it. But what if there has been someone out there all along, intent on making sure Finn loses everything in his life that is important to him?
His football career.
His home and family.
And me—the girl he was falling in love with.
Some things are still not adding up, though. If someone is making Finn’s life miserable, and if he wasn’t the one communicating with Watkins & Ellis on my behalf, then why not tell me? Why didn’t he defend himself when I blew up in his face? I saw the look in his eyes when I accused him of it. The guilt embedded in those stellar, crystal blue eyes was clear as daylight. If Finn wasn’t the one behind it all, then his guilt tells me he knows exactly who is. And if I want to find out, then there is only one person who can give me the truth, and that’s pretty boy himself.
I quickly go to my dorm room and pick up all the things necessary for my interrogation. After I have everything in my book bag, I haul ass out of there, pushing my truck to the limit, to get me to Linc’s mansion, which is now known in most of Asheville as ‘The House of Horrors’ after all the deaths that occurred there.
When I enter the grounds of the lush estate, the facade doesn’t honor the macabre history behind it. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover. With my bag in hand, I walk up to the door and ring the bell. My heart starts beating profusely in my chest, my hands clammy and trembling with anticipation of seeing the boy who stole my heart, praying he won’t stomp on it further by lying to me.
When the door opens, though, it’s not Finn who stands under its threshold, but the owner of the impressive home, Lincoln Hamilton, who is displaying a broad smile on his face. He stands at about six foot two, towering over me, in designer jeans and T-shirt, which to me looks far too clean-cut for just bumming around at home all day.
There is one thing that I notice right away—Lincoln’s eyes. He might have the