A half hour later, at Sage’s house, she settled Jasher on her sofa. If she could have crawled into his arms and not have had to look into his eyes while she said this, it would’ve made it a lot easier. Glasses of ice water sat sweating on the coffee table, but neither of them drank.
“It will be easier in pictures, I think”—Sage tugged a large photo album out from the shelf beneath the coffee table—“for you to comprehend the damage.”
“You took photos of killing your husband?” Jasher still didn’t get it.
“Trust me.” Sage would have to make it plain. “You’ll understand when I show you.” She turned a few pages until she found a collection of high school photos.
“Who still prints photos?”
“My mom.” Sage shrugged and flipped pages.
“Fine, so does mine.”
“She pestered me until I organized them into albums. I love her, so I comply with her whims now and then.” There. The picture that would begin the story. “See this guy?”
“Kyle-something, right?”
“Soderberg. You remember him?”
“Sure. He was a great basketball player when I was a freshman. Colleges were scouting the winners of the state championship game.” Jasher looked closer. “And you dated him, so I remember.”
Oh, that. The freshman crush Tyanne had revealed. “I did date him. We got pretty close. And yes, colleges were scouting Kyle—until my curse struck for the first time.”
Jasher pulled back. “For the record, I don’t believe in curses. I think I should just say that up front.”
“You will when you hear my personal history.”
“I won’t. But I’ll be glad to listen.” He craned his neck to look at her face. “I like the way your mouth moves when you talk.”
“Jasher. This couldn’t be more serious.” It affected his future—if he wanted one with her, that is. “Please?”
“I’m sorry. Go on.” He rested back against the sofa cushions, bringing her alongside him. She didn’t resist. “What happened with Kyle?”
“It was one of the tournament games. A big-school recruiter was coming to watch him play in person, and Kyle was as confident as if he was already in the NBA, designing his own brand of shoes.”
“Sounds like Cade Calhoun, my senior year.”
“Then you get it.” Good. Jasher had context for this. “The night before the game, Kyle pulled me aside and told me if he got picked up by this scout’s school, he wanted me to apply, too, and that he’d use his leverage to get me in.”
“You wouldn’t have needed leverage to get into any school, from the way I remember your grades and résumé.”
“Not the point.” She needed to stay on track, or this story was going to take all night. “He gave me his class ring—to wear during the game. For luck, he said.”
“And?”
“And there was luck. Just not good luck. He injured his rotator cuff—during the game. Had to be removed on a stretcher. High drama. The recruiter never contacted Kyle. Kyle Soderberg never played college ball. His whole future died, and I was the one responsible for his luck.”
There. She’d given him the first, most obvious layer of her tragic tale.
“And? What became of him?”
“You mean, where is he now? I don’t know. He took his ring back, and then his dad’s job transferred unexpectedly to another state. I never really saw him again.”
“Not even to keep up on social media?” Jasher didn’t seem nearly as horrified by Sage’s past as he should. “He let you just fade from his life?”
That was a sweet way to put it, but no. “I was completely entwined with his bad memories—if not the direct cause of them.”
Jasher harrumphed. “None of this means you killed your husband.” He reached for his water from the table. “Directly or indirectly.”