Page 61 of What They'll Say About Us

And I liked what Morgan, Cassidy, and I had created. I also appreciated having real friends, people I could count on, people who let me be the star but also had my back. And I liked to think I was good for them, too. That we were all good for each other.

I paused on one close-up photo of Liam playing a guitar on stage with one of the bands. The photo was zoomed in on him, his beautifully handsome face, the curly dark hair that always fell over his forehead when he played, his strong jaw and sensual lips, his broad shoulders and long legs.

I got a little hot thinking about the way we'd once been—before everything had gone wrong. Or maybe I couldn't even blame it on a vague everything. Because it was really all on me. I'd blown it all up. Just the way I'd blown up a lot of things in life when I got scared, when I didn't think it was going to work. It was easier to get out than to try to fight.

Sighing, I shut my computer down. I might not have fought back then, but I was fighting now, and I had one goal: to find out who killed Paige. I couldn't let anything else get in the way.

I was about to stand up when I got a text from Liam. It gave me a jolt. I almost felt like I'd spoken his name aloud, like my phone had heard my thoughts and somehow pulled him to me.

But that was ridiculous. I opened the text. It was short and simple: We should talk. Can you meet me tomorrow?

I licked my lips, having no idea what he wanted to talk about, but it was quite a turnaround from his attitude during our last two conversations.

I texted back: Yes. When and where?

Three o'clock at our spot.

I was surprised by his choice of location and not at all sure I wanted to meet him at a place that held so many memories. But how could I say no? If he had something to say to me, I needed to hear it, even if it was painful.

Okay. I'll be there.

He gave me a thumbs-up, and I stared at that emoji for far too long. Then I finally clicked off the screen and stood up. I double-checked the front door locks, then turned off the lights and went into my room. I needed to sleep. I just hoped I could do it without dreaming, because I had a feeling those dreams would turn into bloody nightmares.

Chapter Sixteen

I hadn't wanted to dream, but I couldn't seem to stop. Everything was swirling around me, so many images, I felt like I was spinning. And it was hot. I could feel the heat on my body and my face. I wrestled with the covers, desperate for some cool air, but the air was thick and I couldn't breathe.

And suddenly, Paige was right in front of me, her hair wet, her face white, her hair covered in blood.

She was looking at me, telling me something. Get out…Go away…You brought this on...You caused this…

I tried to tell Paige that I never wanted her to die. I never wanted anything like that to happen to her. I was young, stupid, and jealous. I'd felt sick when I'd heard the news. I'd been in shock. And maybe I had felt guilty, but I didn't know why. I didn't know what she did that night, where she went, who she spoke to.

I yelled at her in my head. I didn't really know you, Paige. You had secrets, didn't you? Was it Hale? Did you go after him? Did he go after you? Why didn't you tell someone?

You don't understand anything…You never did, Tessa.

Did you tell Liam? Did you try to hook up with him to get back at me?

Liam was too good for you. He finally figured that out.

Maybe he was, but you had a boyfriend. What about Nate? Why would you want to cheat on someone who loved you so much?

You have too many questions, Tessa. And I can't give you any answers. Maybe you'll find them. Maybe you won't. Perhaps no one will ever know what happened to me.

Her words rocketed around in my head, bringing a wave of guilt, and more heat, more thick air. I felt like I was drowning in her tragedy. But it wasn't water that was crushing me; it was smoke.

Smoke!

I blinked my eyes open, wondering if I was still dreaming. And then the room came into hazy focus. The air was thick with smoke, and I finally woke all the way up.

I jumped out of bed, screaming, "Morgan!"

Running to the door, I remembered some long-ago lesson about putting your hand on the door first. It was warm, but it wasn't burning to the touch. I put my hand on the handle and turned the knob.

The smoke was thicker and heavier in the living room. I tried to turn on the lights, but they didn't work. The power seemed to be out, but there was enough light coming through the open curtains to at least let me see where I was going as I moved toward Morgan's room.

She came out just as I got to the door, looking dazed and confused. "Is there a fire?"