When he swallows and looks away, his wrist resting now on the wheel, the smile is gone. “Someone’s body is decomposing in the lake at the marina right now, and it wasn’t an accident. When I close my eyes and inhale, I can still smell the bleach from the cleanup at the house. The fire from burning my clothes, the ash in my eyes because I stood too close to the barrel, shaking, like a child. And I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t kill them and I’m not entirely sure who did, although I have an idea. But the reason they were murdered has everything to do with me and a stupid mistake I made. I know this person isn’t going to stop there, either. Those coffin nails on your doorstep were child’s play to all this. Truth be told, I don’t know why they got them and not you first.” He looks at me then, with his last sentence.
My heart pulses too fast, but I still ask the stupidest question known to humankind. “Were you fucking them? The person they killed?” And even I hear the snarl in my own words.
This time, he doesn’t smile. “I didn’t even know them, not really.” He tilts his head. “But I don’t think that’s what you should be worried about, Sloane.”
No shit. And before I can stop myself, I snap, “Why not?”
And he says, “I’m not fucking anyone who isn’t you.”
“But we haven’t had sex and you…” I trail off, waiting for him to agree with my unspoken words.
But he lifts one shoulder. “I, what?” His voice is hard.
“You sleep around.” The accusation sounds weak, but it must be true, right? He had sex with Remi with all the boys and, I mean,look at him.
But he snorts and shakes his head. “There may be a lot of rumors floating around about me, and maybe most of them are true. But if that’s one, it’s bullshit, honey.”
Honey.It’s a pet name I would have said I loathed if anyone asked me, but why do I feel sowarmwith the word?
Without waiting for me to reply, he turns into my driveway.
“Are your parents home?” he asks as he parks beside my brother’s car.
I open and close my mouth, still processing what he said. Finally, a “No” leaves my lips.
“Good. I’m staying with you tonight.”
“But my brother?—”
“Will be safer with me here, too. Don’t argue with me.” He turns off the car, and we’re cast in silence. “Not tonight,” he says, staring at his hands in his lap. “Please.”
When I glance where he’s looking, I see his fingers are trembling.
Nausea wells up inside of me, but I’m not afraid. Not of him.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
STORM
There’s a gun in my console, a hunting knife in the passenger seat, and my dad is on the line. Thursday night in Ellicottville just got a lot more exciting than I’m used to.
“She’s there,” Dad says, his voice hushed. That means Mom is home and when Mom is home, she doesn’t want to hear aboutthiskind of work. She’s able to compartmentalize in a way I can’t. Dad never cuts anything off, but unlike me, none of it bothers him.
“I’m on the way.” I keep one hand on the wheel, other on the shifter, my eyes on the dark road. It’s been not quite twenty-four hours since I spent the night in Sloane’s childhood home. Her brother, Henry, didn’t bother coming out of his room after she came over, so she didn’t bother introducing me. We spent the night in the living room, curled up around each other like we did the first night at her house, but otherwise, there was nothing. She curled her fingers in my hair and we fell asleep toScream.The original because she admitted that’s the only one she ever watched and she fell in love.
I told her it’s the best one anyway.
Now she’s back at Ely and I’m back at work.
I dropped pills under rich families’ doorsteps all morning after I took Sloane back to campus, reupped my supply at Motel 13 off the turnpike, texted Cortland to make sure him and Remi didn’t have any last minute surprise plans to come back to our place early, and watched to make sure Sloane didn’t leave her place. She promised me she was going to be going over color schemes for her future marketing agency and reading books, and maybe one of her friends, Tyli, would come by, but otherwise, she said she’d stay put,but only for tonight.Her exact words. People love her and she seems to love them so I don’t blame her but I wish I could trap her for more than one night.
I tell myself it’s to keep her safe, and I think that’s true, but there might be more to it, too.
“You know,” Dad says through the speakers in my car, “in another life, you two would make a good couple.”
I know better than to react to surprise at Dad’s words. He’s not suggesting; he’s just doing what he rarely ever does and thinking out loud.
