Chapter 2 Chapter 2
Quinn’s POV
By the time Theo and I reached the main academic building, I was seriously considering turning around and spending the rest of my senior year hiding beneath my bed.
Unfortunately, I was six-foot-two, and the space under my bed was approximately six inches high.
Also, Theo would never let me hear the end of it.
“Stop glaring at everyone,” he muttered as we climbed the marble steps.
“I’m not glaring.”
“You’ve scared three freshmen and a teacher.”
“The teacher started it.”
Theo sighed. “We’re going to have a wonderful day.”
Students stood in clusters throughout the entrance hall, staring at their phones and whispering. A sophomore actually lifted hers to take my picture.
I looked directly at her.
She lowered it.
Apparently, being accused of involvement in a hit-and-run didn’t mean people forgot who the football captain was.
It just made them more interested.
I spotted my friends near the staircase.
Charlotte stood with her arms folded, looking like she’d slept about as much as I had. Sebastian was studying something on his phone while Sloane stood beside him, her Chronicle notebook tucked beneath her arm.
Evie held two coffees.
Luca saw me first.
“Well, look who finally decided to join civilization.”
“Morning to you too.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
He stepped forward and pulled me into a quick hug.
I froze.
Luca Moretti wasn’t exactly known for emotional displays unless his hockey team scored or somebody ate his leftovers.
He released me almost immediately.
“Okay. That’s enough affection for the semester.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Evie handed me a coffee.
“Black. No sugar.”
I stared at her.
“How’d you know?”
“You’ve ordered the same thing since freshman year.”
Luca reached for it.
Evie slapped his hand.
“Not yours.”
“I’m experiencing emotional distress.”
“You’re experiencing hunger.”
“Both can be true.”
Theo grinned.
“I’m keeping her.”
For a few seconds, things almost felt normal.
Then Charlotte looked at me.
And the smile disappeared.
“Can we talk?”
I nodded.
She glanced toward the students watching us.
“Somewhere else.”
Thank God.
We found an empty classroom down the hall.
Theo stayed outside with the others, although I suspected Luca would have his ear pressed against the door within thirty seconds.
Charlotte stood beside the teacher’s desk.
I stayed near the windows.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, she looked at me.
“Six missed calls, Quinn.”
“I know.”
“I thought something happened to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t send one message?”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
Her eyes filled with hurt.
“You could’ve told me you were okay.”
I looked down.
She was right.
That was the worst part.
Charlotte had been my girlfriend long enough to recognize when I was hiding something. She’d stood beside me through football injuries, family arguments, and every ridiculous expectation that came with being Patrick Sinclair’s grandson.
And I’d spent three years keeping the biggest secret of my life from her.
“Were you there?” she asked.
I looked up.
“On Briar Ridge Road?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Charlotte’s breath caught.
“Quinn…”
“I wasn’t driving.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was fifteen, Charlotte. Because somebody was hurt, my father told me he’d handle it, and I was scared.”
She studied me.
“Did you see Noah?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“How badly was he hurt?”
I remembered the rain.
The blood.
The terrible silence after someone stopped shouting.
“Badly enough that I still dream about it.”
Charlotte covered her mouth.
For a moment, I thought she might cry.
Instead, she asked the question I’d been dreading.
“Who was driving?”
I looked away.
“Quinn.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t only my secret.”
She stared at me.
Then slowly nodded.
“So you’re protecting someone.”
I said nothing.
She wiped beneath one eye.
“I defended you this morning. I told people you couldn’t have done something like that.”
“I didn’t.”
“I believe you.”
That surprised me enough to look at her.
“But I don’t know what else to believe,” she continued. “And that’s what hurts.”
I crossed the room.
“Charlotte—”
She held up a hand.
“Don’t ask me to pretend this is fine. I love you, Quinn, but you don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
I swallowed.
“I know.”
“Then figure out what you’re going to tell me.”
She opened the classroom door.
Before leaving, she looked back.
“And please don’t ignore my calls again.”
The others were waiting in the corridor.
Naturally.
Luca leaned against the wall.
“Well?”
I gave him a look.
He raised both hands.
“Right. None of my business. Except that it absolutely is because you’re my friend.”
Sloane stepped forward.
“Quinn, I’m not asking for a statement.”
I glanced at her notebook.
She noticed.
Then tucked it into her bag.
“I’m serious. I’m here as your friend.”
Something tightened in my chest.
Sebastian studied me.
“Did you save the anonymous messages?”
I blinked.
“How did you know about those?”
“Theo mentioned them.”
Traitor.
“I took screenshots,” I said.
Sebastian nodded approvingly.
“Good. Don’t delete anything.”
Evie frowned.
“Someone messaged you directly?”
“Yeah.”
“What did they say?”
I hesitated.
Then showed them.
Ask him if Noah walks yet.
Evie’s expression changed.
“That’s horrible.”
Luca read the next message.
He lied to you too.
His jaw tightened.
“Okay. Whoever wrote this needs a hobby. Preferably one that involves getting punched.”
“Not helping,” Sebastian said.
“Wasn’t trying to help.”
For the first time that morning, I felt like I could breathe.
Then every phone in the corridor buzzed.
Sebastian looked down.
“Oh, no.”
Luca groaned.
“Please tell me that’s a school announcement about free pizza.”
It wasn’t.
THE VELVET LEDGER
POST #002
Hello again, my lovelies.
My, my. What an exciting morning.
It seems everyone has already decided Quinn Sinclair was driving that Range Rover.
How disappointing.
I never said he was.
You did.
Isn’t it fascinating how quickly people invent their own truths?
Perhaps a little visual assistance is in order.
[Attached photograph: Briar Ridge Road, three years earlier. A black Range Rover stands near the shoulder beneath flashing emergency lights. Fifteen-year-old Quinn Sinclair is beside the driver’s door, his white shirt stained with blood. Another figure stands several feet away, face obscured.]
There he is.
Ashcroft’s golden boy.
And look.
He wasn’t alone.
So before you decide Quinn is guilty, perhaps you should ask a more interesting question.
Who is he protecting?
Until next time, my lovelies.
—The Velvet Ledger
I couldn’t move.
The photograph filled my screen.
I remembered that shirt.
I’d thrown it away after the accident.
Or at least, I’d thought I had.
Charlotte had stepped back into the corridor when everyone’s phones began buzzing. Now she stood beside Evie, staring at the image.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Theo leaned closer.
“Quinn?”
I barely heard him.
Because I recognized the second figure.
Even with the face obscured.
The posture.
The jacket.
The way one arm hung stiffly at their side.
I knew exactly who it was.
Luca looked at the photograph.
“That’s definitely somebody else.”
Sebastian enlarged the image.
“Don’t assume anything yet. We don’t know whether it’s been altered.”
Sloane frowned.
“Or who took it.”
That made me look at her.
“What?”
“The photograph,” she said. “Whoever took it was close enough to see the vehicle and both people. Were there reporters at the scene?”
“No.”
“Then where did this come from?”
I stared at the screen again.
Three years ago, my father had assured me everything was being handled.
The police.
The vehicle.
The photographs.
All of it.
But somebody had kept this one.
And now they were using it.
I opened my messages and forwarded the image to Sebastian.
“Can you figure out where it came from?”
He looked surprised.
“You want me to investigate?”
“Yes.”
“Your father won’t appreciate that.”
“My father isn’t here.”
Sebastian’s mouth twitched.
“Fair point.”
Charlotte watched me.
“You’re really going to do this?”
I looked at the photograph.
At the fifteen-year-old boy standing beside a vehicle he hadn’t been driving.
At the person whose identity I’d protected for three years.
Then I looked at her.
“I’m going to find out who took that picture. And I’m going to find Noah.”
She nodded slowly.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But she didn’t walk away.
That was enough for now.
The warning bell rang.
Students began moving toward their classrooms, although plenty were still staring at their phones.
Theo nudged me.
“Come on. We’re going to be late.”
I slipped my phone into my pocket.
Then stopped.
Something about the photograph bothered me.
I took it out again.
Zoomed in.
The image showed the Range Rover, the flashing lights, and the two figures beside the road.
But in the lower corner, barely visible beneath the reflection of an emergency light, was part of another vehicle.
A silver side mirror.
I stared.
The photographer hadn’t been standing on the roadside.
They’d taken the picture from inside a car.
And whoever that was had been close enough to watch everything happen.
I turned toward Sebastian.
“Forget finding out who posted it.”
He frowned.
“What?”
I showed him the corner of the image.
“Find out who was driving the other car.”
Because maybe the person who’d witnessed Noah’s accident wasn’t hiding behind an anonymous blog.
Maybe they’d been watching us long before The Velvet Ledger existed.
