I pushed aside the dark flash of memory her reminder dredged up—it hadn’t been far from the surface anyway—and focused on the middle part of her statement. Three months. They’d been together for three months, and I hadn’t known?

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

Vanessa shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her that. But here’s why I didn’t tell anyone. You know how when you’re a kid and you get a shiny new toy, you don’t want to share it for a while? You just want to keep it to yourself? It’s like that.”

I frowned. “Are you calling my sister your toy?”

“I’m calling our relationship shiny and new. And I’d really appreciate it if you could resist the urge to smudge it up for a while.”

“Why would I smudge up your shiny new relationship with my sister?”

“Because you’re worried about her. Or jealous. Or maybe both.”

I wanted to tell Van she was full of shit, but that didn’t feel true. I was worried about Kenley. Constantly. And as much as I loved her and as willing as I was to do anything to protect her, I’d never been more jealous of anyone in my life.

I hated myself for even thinking that, but it was true. I was jealous of the cocoon I’d wrapped around Kenley. Jealous of the decisions she’d never had to make. I was jealous of the fact that she could be with whomever she wanted, without wondering whether what she felt was real or was manufactured by a powerful man pushing her around a life-size chessboard like a pawn to be sacrificed at will.

I was jealous of how well Kenley slept at night, free from nightmares about a darkness she couldn’t master and a sentence she couldn’t escape.

Desperate to reclaim the numbness, I picked up my glass.

“That won’t help,” Vanessa said, before I could take the first sip. “In fact, drinking can make the flashbacks harder to fight. Anything that impairs your concentration will.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped, then drained the glass, leaving only ice to clink in the bottom.

“Yes, I do.” She exhaled slowly. “You’re not the only one, Kori.”

“Get out.” I couldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t even think about it without feeling sick and wanting to break something. Someone. It was easier to drink until I didn’t have to think about anything.

Vanessa didn’t get out. She didn’t even get off the bar stool. “You need to talk to someone, and you obviously don’t want to talk to your sister.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you haven’t told her.” Van ducked to catch my gaze. “But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know.”

“Go away, Vanessa. This isn’t social hour and I don’t need your fu—” I’m not sure why I swallowed the word. I didn’t give a damn about that stupid bet, and I’d consider us all lucky if Ian hadn’t already called Jake and told him what I’d said. What I’d done. “I don’t want to play group therapy.”

“I understand. Just let me say one more thing, and I’ll let it go.”

“If you say it wasn’t my fault, I’m going to punch you in the face.” And I meant it. I wasn’t in denial and I had no patience for stupid therapeutic clichés. Or for therapy at all, for that matter.

“That’s true, but it’s not what I was going to say.” She leaned on the counter with both elbows and looked right into my eyes. “I was going to say that it will get better. Eventually, there will be days when you won’t think about it. Days you won’t see his face when you close your eyes.”

“I don’t see his face when I close my eyes,” I insisted, pouring another inch of vodka over the melting ice cubes. My flashbacks were all pain and the stench of his sweat. His breath. The fact that I hadn’t been able to see well enough to focus on his face was the only mercy. “But I do see him when they’re open. I see him every day, and every day I want to kill him. And one day I will.”

“Do you think that will fix it?” Van asked, and it took me a second to realize she was honestly curious. “Will killing him make you feel better?”

“I don’t know. And I doubt it matters. If I get the chance to kill him, it’ll be the last thing I ever do.” Because Jake would have me killed for killing his brother. “But at least he’ll get to hell before I do.”

* * *

After Vanessa went back to bed—Kenley slept through our entire conversation—I lay awake in my room, trying to assess the damage I’d done to both my life and my sister’s. Based on the fact that no one had burst into the apartment to haul us out, I had to assume that Ian hadn’t reported the night’s events yet. But there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t, and I had to be prepared for that very real possibility.

I needed a plan. Even worse than that, I needed a way out, if not for me, at least for Kenley.

The next morning, after a scant four hours of sleep, I waited until I heard Kenley get in the shower—I could tell it was her by the off-key singing—then I hurried into the kitchen, where Vanessa was starting a pot of coffee.

“How much do you love my sister?” I asked, sliding onto a bar stool in front of her.

She eyed me from across the counter. “As tempted as I am to demonstrate how incredibly none-of-your-business that is…” She set the bag of coffee grounds between us and met my gaze head-on. “I love her enough to be terrified that her feelings aren’t as strong.”