Libby waited until we were back in the hallway to ask, “What happened in the woods?”
I cursed Grayson for telling his mother—and myself for telling Grayson.
“Why do you need extra security?” Libby demanded. After a second and a half, she turned to Oren. “Why does she need extra security?”
“There was an incident yesterday,” Oren said, “with a bullet and a tree.”
“A bullet?” Libby repeated. “Like, from a gun?”
“I’m fine,” I told her.
Libby ignored me. “What kind of incident with a bullet and a tree?” she asked Oren, her blue ponytail bouncing with righteous indignation.
My head of security couldn’t—or wouldn’t—obfuscate more than he already had. “It’s unclear if the shots were meant to scare Avery, or if she was a genuine target. The shooter missed, but she was injured by debris.”
“Libby,” I said emphatically, “I’m fine.”
“Shots, plural?” Libby didn’t even seem like she’d heard me.
Oren cleared his throat. “I’ll give you two a moment.” He retreated down the hall—still in sight, still close enough to hear but far enough away to pretend he couldn’t.
Coward.
“Someone shot at you, and you didn’t tell me?” Libby didn’t get mad often, but when she did, it was epic. “Maybe Nash is right. Damn him! I said you pretty much took care of yourself. He said he’d never met a billionaire teenager who didn’t need the occasional kick in the pants.”
“Oren and Alisa are taking care of the situation,” I told Libby. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
Libby lifted her hand to my cheek, her eyes falling on the scratch I’d covered up. “And who’s taking care of you?”
I couldn’t help thinking about Max saying and you needed me again and again. I looked down. “You have enough on your plate right now.”
“What are you talking about?” Libby asked. I heard her suck in a quick breath, then exhale. “Is this about Drake?”
She’d said his name. The floodgates were officially open, and there was no holding it back now. “He’s been texting you.”
“I don’t text him back,” Libby said defensively.
“You also haven’t blocked him.”
She didn’t have a reply for that.
“You could have blocked him,” I said hoarsely. “Or asked Alisa for a new phone. You could report him for violating the restraining order.”
“I didn’t ask for a restraining order!” Libby seemed to regret those words the second she’d said them. She swallowed. “And I don’t want a new phone. All my friends have the number for this one. Dad has the number for this one.”
I stared at her. “Dad?” I hadn’t seen Ricky Grambs in two years. My caseworker had been in touch with him, but he hadn’t so much as placed a phone call to me. He hadn’t even come to my mother’s funeral. “Did Dad call you?” I asked Libby.
“He just… wanted to check on us, you know?”
I knew that he’d probably seen the news. I knew that he didn’t have my new number. I knew that he had billions of reasons to want me now, when he’d never cared enough to stick around for either of us before.
“He wants money,” I told Libby, my voice flat. “Just like Drake. Just like your mom.”
Mentioning her mother was a low blow.
“Who does Oren think shot you?” Libby was grappling for calm.
I made an attempt at the same. “The shots were fired from inside the walls of the estate,” I said, repeating what I’d been told. “Whoever shot me had access.”
“That’s why Oren is tightening security,” Libby said, the gears in her head turning behind her kohl-lined eyes. “Essential personnel only.” Her dark lips fixed themselves into a thin line. “You should have told me.”
I thought about the things she hadn’t told me. “Tell me that you haven’t seen Drake. That he hasn’t come here. That you wouldn’t let him onto the estate.”
“Of course I didn’t.” Libby went silent. I wasn’t sure if she was trying not to yell at me—or not to cry. “I’m going to go.” Her voice was steady—and fierce. “But for the record, little sis, you’re a minor, and I’m still your legal guardian. The next time someone tries to shoot you, I damn well want to know.”
