“I don’t fucking care,” I sob, the tears falling, soaking my face. I punch at his chest, my rage boiling over, making me see red. “I can’t—this cannot be how things end. I didn’t even get to tell him I love him or have a real relationship, and this isn’t…it’s not fair! He thinks I saved him, but that’s nottrue. He saved me, and I have to tell him. I–I?—”
Lexington goes down with me when I crumple, the weight of my fear and anger shoving me to the ground. I cling to his shirt, my cries incinerating my throat as they rip through the lining, obliterating any other noise in the forest.
It’s all my fault.
Everything. From eight years ago to this.
I really am the problem. The common denominator. The fuckup.
Maybe Quincy was right not to have any faith when all I do is destroy anything I touch.
“We’ll get the police,” Lexington offers softly. “They’ll be able to bring in search and rescue, and?—”
“He’s not in the water.”
The two of us freeze at the sound of that voice.
Apainfullyfamiliar voice—one we’ve spent the entire semester listening to three times a week, minimum.
My heart skips a beat. I open my eyes, peering over Lexington’s shoulder as Sutton stumbles forward. He’s soaked from head to toe but not enough that it feels like he just got out of the lake. More like he’s been out, but God only knows where he’s been.
His gaze—dark green, alive but distant—falls to Lexington’s back. I shove at my friend, staggering to my feet, and ignore the blistering agony that shoots up my spine as I sprint to him.
He doesn’t open his arms, but I wrap mine around him anyway. His stiff, rigid posture and wet clothes send a prick of unease through my heart, but I press my head into his chest and try to pretend I don’t notice.
His pulse is there, and that’s all that matters.
“Beckett’s dead,” he announces in a monotone voice.
Easing back, I glance up at him. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Not your fault…none of this was. I wanted to save him, but we went over before I could. The fall knocked me out briefly. I’m not sure how I got ashore, in truth.”
Tears well up in my eyes again, and I bury my face against him. Red stains the collar of his sweater, disappearing beneath the material. I pull back, my stomach twisting.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, moving my hands up to inspect the damage.
Slowly, he grabs my wrists, removing me. He stares into my eyes, swallowing hard, and shakes his head again. “That’s not mine.”
“Sutton? You saidwe. Who else was out here?”
“Jean-Louis.”
Terror seizes my heart. “Where did he go?”
Maintaining eye contact, he brings my knuckles to his lips. His hands on me are as cold as ever, and the temperature of hismouth matches. As he kisses me there, he lets his gaze float up above my head, toward the lake.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
60
SUTTON
Carryingmy dead brother out of the Primordial Forest feels somehow like a full-circle moment.
I didn’t get to do this for Bellamy, though, so I make sure Elle’s friends don’t call campus police before I can grab him.
Maybe, somewhere deep inside me, the hope still remains that he’ll magically wake. Or that the doctors can do something if we get him to the hospital fast enough.
