This whole time I thought she was making up stories—lies—but she was telling the truth. My stomach turns inside out and my head grows light. “I’m not going to do it.”
“Do what?”
I swallow, still in disbelief I have to reassure her I’d never do what she claims I’ll do. “I’m not going to hurt Mallory.”
“Why are you bringing that up ag—”
“I saw you.”
Her lips part and her eyes widen. She knows exactly what I mean even without me elaborating. But her face doesn’t ease. There’s a sadness in her eyes that won’t go away, and I don’t know how I missed it until now. They lack the sparkle that used to shine with every one of her smiles.
My hands are in fists at my side because I’m shaking so much. I’m scared and confused, but I know she isn’t lying. “What did I do to Mallory?”
She stares back, not replying for a moment, like the shock of the situation hasn’t worn off. Then she says, “You pushed her off the Oakland bridge.”
It can’t be true. I’d never do that. “When?”
“It happens tonight.”
I tug on my shirt, brain spiraling as I try to wrap my head around the idea, but it doesn’t make sense. There’s no world where I’d do something that awful. “I won’t do it.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I walk up to her with desperation. “How can I convince you I won’t hurt her?”
She slowly meets my gaze. “Don’t leave my sight.”
20
EMMA
He holds out his hand like an olive branch, the first peaceful gesture between us in years. “I swear I won’t leave your sight.”
His voice doesn’t waver, and his gaze is strong. He isn’t lying.
I stare at his palm, outstretched like a promise. I’m queasy, unsure of how to handle his acceptance. I should be overjoyed he believes me, but I’m scared because it reminds me of the boy who trusted me without question. It makes me not want to hate him.
It makes me want to believe that somehow my memory is wrong.
I gingerly put my hand in his, and his fingers wrap around mine. The warmth sends a spark up my arm. A touch so foreign and familiar at the same time, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
I swallow, not knowing what to do. I didn’t bring him here because I wanted him to find past me. I just wanted him as far from Mallory as possible, and this was an easy choice. But maybe subconsciously I needed him to believe me.
He lets go of my hand, stuffing his into his pocket in a quick motion. His face is white, drained of any color, and his curly hair is plastered against his forehead from all the sweat on his brow.
Did he really run all this way? Because of me?
We stare at each other for way too long. I know I should pull my eyes away, but I can’t. This is the first time in years that he’s wanted to be near me. I don’t know how to process that.
I know the anger inside of me shouldn’t lessen. It should be as strong as the moment he pushed Mallory over the bridge. Even if he swears he won’t do it, I know he’s capable of it.
And yet the way he looks like he’s about to be sick is making it really hard to hate him. Maybe it’s because there’s a part of me that has wanted to be wrong this whole time. I want nothing more than for him to be as harmless as the boy who came to my tree house searching for Duke, but I know better.
I grab the bottom of my shirt, rubbing the fabric to distract myself from the strange feelings swirling inside of me. I want to believe that saving Mallory is this simple, but I can’t be sure.
He takes a breath and bites his lip, looking around. “We can’t just stand here.”
He walks back to the car, but I can’t move. I don’t know what to do now, and a new wave of anxiety rushes over me. He hates me, but he said he won’t leave me. What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?
