"She killed a guy. An innocent guy," I say, sitting stiff-backed on the garden lounger because relaxing after the day we all just had isn't possible.
Lucian, who's facing me on the neighboring lounger, frowns. "Helena?
You're serious?"
I lift my bottle of beer to my lips. "She didn't deny it."
Lucian shakes his head as if he still can't believe it. "That just seems so…" His voice trails off.
This is the first beer he pressed into my hand when we arrived at his house, but I already know when I get home, I'll crack open one of the warm beers I left in my truck—right after I toss the steaks and other spoiled food.
It's fast approaching midday, not exactly the time to be nursing a beer, and I should be at the garage working, but after the cabin? I need another beer—warm or otherwise—and I need to be home. Car repairs can wait.
I swig from my bottle. "Yeah."
