Fall break is the following week, thank god— because it means I get to go home. I planned on staying here, truth be told, but now I can’t wait to get away for a week. I speed out of class on Friday afternoon and straight to my already-packed car. My face is still tender and puffy from crying, and my phone is full of messages from my roommates who are sending me funny memes on the hour, every hour, trying to cheer me up. One thing my phone is totally void of? Messages from Sebastian. I haven’t heard a word from him since that day after his practice and, honestly, I can’t blame him. Why talk to someone who not only lied by omission, but is sure your dad’s a murderer?

And I am still sure about it. I think about this as I drive home— how confident I am that Dennis Slate killed my aunt. Somehow, losing Sebastian has made it suddenly easy for me to accept the idea that Dennis Slate is a monster, but Sebastian isn’t. Perhaps it’s because of how much I miss Sebastian; perhaps it’s because even my mother pitied me when I came clean and told her who I’d been in a relationship with. She was shocked, of course, but not nearly as angry as I expected her to be— more confused, if anything. Though she did say that she used my confession to mark off “decides to stop dating ‘nice guys’” on her Bad Decision Bingo board.

“Do you want to talk any more about it?” she asks when I get home.

“I really don’t,” I say, hugging her tightly. “I just want to mope around, mostly.”

“Reasonable,” she says, nodding. “Also, Stephanie sent you a fruit basket. She feels really badly about the whole thing.”

“It’s not her fault,” I say.

My mom nods. “Okay, well, can we talk about your aunt, and just leave Sebastian out of it?”

“Of course,” I say, and slide into a chair at the kitchen table— the one that’s been here since I was a little girl.

“Well, Dennis Slate was released on bail. As I assume you know?” she says slowly. I nod. She takes a breath, then goes on, “And the Slates want to know if we’re willing to settle the civil suit out of court.”

I widen my eyes. “Before the criminal trial?”

“That’s what Stephanie said. They’re under the strong impression there will be enough reasonable doubt to get him off entirely in the criminal trial. She says that if he’s found innocent in a criminal trial, getting anything in the civil after the fact will be harder. If they’re found guilty, it’ll be easier— but then, Dennis Slate will be in jail, so he might be able to move money around so that we can’t get to any of it.”

“It’s not about the money,” I say, shaking my head.

“No,” my mother says carefully, “of course it isn’t. It’s never been about the money. But I want something, Ashlynn. I want him to go to jail forever, and I want him to have to pay us forever, and I want him to never be able to live a day without thinking about what he did to our family. If bankrupting the Slates is the way to make them remember Tessa’s name, then I’ll take it. We can donate the money, for all I care— I just want them to have to give it up.”

“So you think we should settle?”

“I think we should consider it. But, they aren’t going to officially make an offer until this spring, at the end of April.” She waits, like she expects me to realize something. I’m about to protest, ask for the answer, when I get it.

That’s when the NFL draft will be finalized. They aren’t looking to settle with Dennis Slate’s money— they’re looking to settle with Sebastian’s. He’s the one that would be paying my family for ages, the one who would have to think of Aunt Tessa daily. Not Dennis, not even Mrs. Slate. Sebastian, who didn’t do anything wrong. Sebastian, who I still care about, still worry about, still think about even though I know it’s over.

“What do you think?” my mom asks when she’s sure I understand what the settlement offer means.

“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “I have no idea what to think.”

“Well, there’s no huge rush. The criminal trial is a ways off, and like I said— the offer isn’t officially on the table until April. I just wanted you to know because…well…” She looks away.

“Yeah. I know. Thanks,” I say, and capture her eyes for the weakest of smiles.

* * *

I sleep late and ruin any semblance of a schedule while at home. Mom and I go see every movie that’s playing, and I meet up with a handful of high school friends, all of whom know better than to pelt me with questions about my aunt, and who thankfully don’t know anything about my relationship with Sebastian. By Wednesday, I’m starting to feel the tiniest bit lighter, though it’s possible that’s because my vegan mother has been feeding me actual vegetables instead of a rotation of Easy Mac, ramen, and frozen waffles. Wednesday night, however, I hear my phone chime— and the message is from the last person I expected to hear from.

Sebastian Slate: Are you busy?

I stare at the message, unsure what to do. How do I respond? Is it worse to just pretend I didn’t get the message, or to answer only to discover he wants to tell me another thousand ways he’s angry with me? I sit cross-legged on the twin bed I’ve slept in since I was a kid, debating, deciding…

I text him back.

Ashlynn Sawyer: No.

Sebastian Slate: I’d like to talk to you.

Ashlynn Sawyer: Ok.

My hands are shaking, now, but I hype myself up.

Sebastian Slate: 10 minutes?

I frown, then realize— he doesn’t know that I’m not at school. Why would he? I’d planned to stay there over the break, after all— the decision to come home was made after we broke up. I tense and chew my lip. I hate to turn him down, but Berkfield is almost six hours away.

Ashlynn Sawyer: I’m not at school. I came home for break. I’m in Walton.

Sebastian types something, but never sends it— I’m left with the Ellipses Of Anxiety for a minute or two before they disappear altogether. I mentally plan a thousand things to send back: promise that I’ll meet up with him the moment I get back, offer to give him a call. Maybe we could Skype? Is it appropriate to offer to Skype with your ex-boyfriend, potential legal settlement funder, and son of your aunt’s murderer?

And then I hear it— a knock at the door. A knock I recognize. Sebastian— he’s here.

I fly to my bedroom door just in time to see my mom walking toward the front. She must have heard my feet pounding on the ground; she stops to look upstairs at me quizzically as she enters the foyer.

“It’s Sebastian,” I say weakly.

“Oh!” she whispers. I know Sebastian can see her through the decorative glass on our front door, but my mom doesn’t seem to care. “Should I not answer?” she whispers up at me.

“Yes.”

“Yes, I shouldn’t answer?”

“Yes, you should!” I say, but them cram my fingertips into my mouth, worried I’ve said the wrong thing. My mother gives me a wary look, then walks to the door— but I see that even she has to take a deep breath before swinging it open and coming face to face with a Slate.

“Sebastian Slate,” she says warmly— well, almost warmly, but you’d have to know her to hear the crispness in her voice.

“Hello,” Sebastian says gently. He’s standing away from the door, and I can see he has his hands down by his sides, palms open, doing his best to look non-threatening. “You must be Mrs. Sawyer.”

“I am,” my mom says. Still warmly, but clipped— strong. Large as Sebastian is, my mother’s voice blocks him from coming in the house as effectively as any wall might. “Can I help you?”

“I’d like to talk to Ashlynn, if that’s alright with her. And you,” he adds quickly.

“Well. I’ll see if she’d like to see you. Ashlynn—“ she turns around and calls out louder than necessary, making it appear like I’m farther away than just looming at the top of the stairs. “Ashlynn, Sebastian Slate is here. Are you interested in talking to him?”

“Yes, I’ll be right there,” I call back, then blush when I hear Sebastian hide a snort— it’s pretty obvious I’m not tucked away in another room. I roll my eyes at myself, run my fingers through my hair, then hurry down the steps. When Sebastian comes into view, I feel my stomach flip in excitement. In worry. He doesn’t look angry, and he laughed earlier, so that’s got to be a good sign. Right?

“Call me every ten minutes,” my mom says. “I’m serious.”

“We won’t be long,” Sebastian says, and rather than reassuring me, this breaks my heart. We won’t be long? That doesn’t sound promising.

“Ten minutes,” my mom says again, then lets me pass through the doorframe, onto the stair landing. She shuts the door behind me, and Sebastian and I stare at one another for a long moment.

“Hi,” I say shakily.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says, tilting his head toward the street.