I notice him glancing at the TV on one side of the room. I must be keeping him from some important show, I guess. This feels like a waste of my time, anyway. He decided the moment he saw me that asweetheartlike me couldn’t possibly help. Hell, I don’t even think he really thinks Icouldhave committed this murder.
I stand, then walk to the door. Before stepping out, I turn around again. Donovan is reaching for the remote, Catherine Blake already a distant memory.
“The past never dies,” I say.
The remote falls from his hand and onto the desk with a dull thud.
“That’s what was written on the wall, wasn’t it? With the victim’s blood?” He says nothing, so I press on. “That information wasn’t released to the public. So it’s one of two options, Chief Donovan. Either I’m your killer…” I step closer, then take a copy ofThe Thornwood Butcherout of my bag. “Or you and your people have some reading to do.”
the right person, the wrong time[trope]
when two people are perfect for each other but cursed by the universe’s terrible timing; marked by missed opportunities, bittersweet glances, and life-altering events that keep them apart
As I pull up to my house, my stomach clenches. Rafael is in his front yard, crouched down and tinkering with something. His black leather jacket shifts as he moves, uncovering more of the tattoos snaking up both arms, half-covered by his sleeves.
It’s weird to see him there after so long. Actually, I can’t remember him ever hanging around his house much even when he was here.
Time to come clean, I guess. Will he figure it out the moment he sees me? When I say the first word? Or will he need to be spoon-fed the information? And if that’s the case, then what will it say about him? About last night?
God, I hate this.
I grab my things and slip out of the car. I see himstraightening out of the corner of my eye and immediately decide Ican’tdo it. What if he doesn’t think The Incident was just a goofy teenage faux pas? What if he’s horrified to find out I’mmeand I tried to sleep with him last night? What if he doesn’t evenrememberabout the letter?
Keeping my face angled down and hidden behind my hair, I hurry toward the door.
“Hey,” he calls out, his voice light and friendly, though it feels like a thousand-pound weight on my shoulders.Goddamn it.“Hey, Scarlett?”
Ignoring him, I pick up the pace, practically bolting up the steps to my front door. My fingers fumble with the keys before I finally get it open, slip inside and shut it firmly behind me.
I press my back against the solid wood, holding my breath. I don’t think he caught on, but it’s just a matter of time. “Please let it go, please let it go,” I whisper, eyes shut tight.
When there’s a knock at the door, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Scarlett?”
Shit!What do I do now? I look around, grimacing. “Y-yes?”
“Hi, it’s Rafael Gray, your neighbor.”
“Yeah—hello.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth, breathing hard. Okay, so he doesn’t know it’sme. Not yet, anyway. But if I don’t end this conversation quickly, he’ll probably put the pieces together. Or he won’t. I don’t know which one would be better at this point.
“I heard about your parents,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “I’m really sorry.”
Surprised, I let my eyes drift to the picture of them on the entrance table—Mom in her wide-brimmed sun hat, Dad with his armwrapped around her, both of them laughing at the camera. “Thank you.”
“Your dad was always nice to me,” he adds. “Your mom, too, but your dad was… Ireallyliked him.”
My lip stings as I pinch it with my teeth. Everyone liked my dad.
“I’m sorry about your dad, too,” I say back.
“Thank you. Is it messed up that finding out about your dad’s passing hit me harder? Talk about daddy issues, huh?”
I turn to the door, feeling the urge to open it. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ve been through that part already.”
“No, I mean… I’m sorry you and your dad weren’t close.”
