All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

Silas walked beside me on the cobblestone path to the cottage, so close I had to stop myself from looping an arm around his waist and leaning into his side. But instead, he placed his hand to the small of my back and led me to the familiar door.

“Are you good?” he asked.

I nodded, a nervous flutter alive in the base of my belly. I was good, yes, but I was also aware that Wren was only a few rooms away from where I stood, and that I had no idea where her headspace was at in this moment. What if she was angry with me? What if she blamed me for what happened? What if she asked questions I couldn’t answer? What if I couldn’t be who she needed as a mentor?

I tugged the hood farther over my head as Silas peered down at me.

“You planning on wearing that over your head all summer?”

“No.” I sighed. “I just want to be sensitive to her, and . . . I’m not sure what she needs yet.”

“You,” he said confidently. “She needs you, Molly. A friend. A confidant. A loyal authority figure who shows up and presses in to the messy and the difficult. That’s what you’re giving her tonight—your presence and support.”

I rubbed my lips together, trying to stop the tingle in the tip of my nose. “Okay.”

He offered me that half grin I’d come to love. “It’s after hours, so technically that means I shouldn’t be around the cottage.” Because even though he was the program director of the entire campus, he was abiding by his own rules: no males on the cottage premises after seven. “After I check in on the guys, I’ll be in my office. Want to come up when you’re finished here?”

“Sure, of course. I’ll see you later, then.” A bit shakily, I reached to twist the doorknob when he stopped me with a touch to my shoulder.

“Molly. You can do this.”

I briefly closed my eyes and exhaled one last time before pushing inside the same cottage that only yesterday had rumbled with laughter as Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds duked it out on screen, the smell of sugary treats and dry shampoo filling the air. But this evening it was quiet. Several girls sat on the L-shaped sofa as I closed the front door behind me, their acknowledgment of me somber yet respectful.

As I started down the hallway toward the second door on the right, Amy cleared her throat behind me and pointed to the door with a shake of her head. “She’s not in there.”

For a second, panic got the best of me, my mind racing back to that bloody image of Wren being wheeled out of the lobby into an ambulance. I shook my head to stop the spiral. “But Silas said she was here. That he saw her, talked to her—”

“Oh, no, she’s here!” Amy backpedaled quickly. “I meant, she’s just not in that room anymore.” A sheepish smile curved her mouth. “Sorry. They traded beds earlier today. Monica didn’t think it was right that Wren would have to go back to the same bed where, you know . . . it happened. Glo let us move everything over while Wren was at the hospital.”

Relief and something like pride coursed through me. Monica had done that. For Wren. “Thank you for telling me.”

Amy nodded and touched my arm before she headed back to the living room. I knocked lightly on the door at the end of the hall—Monica’s old room.

“Hello?” I said as gently as I could, bracing for what I might find. Tears? Anger? A full catatonic state of numbness and shock?

But as the door opened fully, the same nineteen-year-old girl who had been curled up on a stretcher this morning was now chuckling softly at something Monica had said. They both looked up at me, Wren’s eyes locking with mine.

“Molly?”

And just like that, the sound of her voice made something inside me both collapse and rebuild all at once. Within seconds, I’d wrapped my arms around her in an embrace I’d ached for since this nightmare began. “How are you?”

“So glad you’re here,” she said.

I pulled her in, cradling the back of her head as my mind struggled to accept the lack of plaited hair against my palm. Seeing Wren without one of her signature braids was going to take some time to get used to. I perched on the edge of her mattress and then reached for Monica’s hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “Thank you for being such a good friend to her, Monica.”

Her round cheeks lifted into a grin. “I’m just happy she’s okay.”

“Me too,” I said, turning my focus on Wren once again.

The three-inch gash across her left cheek had been cleaned and sealed by Steri-Strips, forcing my gaze to drift farther up, to the patches of hair sheared off at odd, uneven angles. While the majority had been hacked off at her jawline, there were some shorter pieces, too. I wondered if they could be blended into layers? Or stacked into an A-line at the nape of her neck? I’d never been an expert in short hairstyles, but I supposed I was about to become one really, really soon.

Monica stood and stepped back from the bed.

She hitched a thumb toward the door. “I think I’ll grab some dinner with the other girls, if that’s okay? Clara went with Jake to get Wren some special takeout from downtown.”

“Oh good, yes. Grab yourself some dinner, and would you mind texting Clara to let her know I’m here?” She probably needed to take a breather. At least she was with Jake.

As soon as Monica left the room, I touched Wren’s hand. She stared down at the blankets bunched up on her lap.

“Wren, I’m so sorry about—”

She shook her head. “Please, can I go first? I have some things I really need to say to you.”

I swallowed. “Of course.”

“I knew about it. About Monica