I rest my chin on his shoulder and squeeze him back.
Miles’s warm body against mine. It does feel nice.
Seventeen
Around midnight, I give up trying to sleep and go down to the kitchen. I put a kettle of water on the stove and light the burner, then grab a chamomile tea bag.
I can’t stop thinking about Miles’s investigation. I don’t want to be a part of it, but what if he’s right? If Valencia and Marcus are the only two without alibis, could they really have been responsible? Maybe Marcus got home and was hungover like Valencia, only he didn’t get a nap. With Easton gone, Nate was bored and bothering his dad. Something happened and he snapped and pushed his son away.
It could have been an accident. Maybe Nate hit his head. Then Marcus hid the body. Or Valencia woke up andhelpedhim. She might be trying to keep me here to help cover their tracks and replace the son she lost. Meanwhile Marcus is scared this will invite more scrutiny when the cops find out I’m not really Nate.
Add that to the fact that someone was here, in the house, earlier today. And it was most likely a threat. Or a warning. That they know I’m not Nate, and none of these alarms or locks are enough to keep me safe. And if I want to live, I should run now, while I still can.
I grab a mug from the cabinet and turn toward the kitchen island. Easton is standing in the doorway. I utter a startled cry and almost drop the mug in my hands. I didn’t even hear him come in. The alarm was on when I went up to bed. He must have turned it off from his phone.
“You’re still up?” he asks.
I nod. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He pulls out a chair from the island and plops down on it. “What did you do tonight?” he asks.
“Went over to Miles’s house.” And, you know, worried for hours about a killer watching me.
“He ask you to be on his podcast?” He sayspodcastlike it’s a dirty word, and when I look over at him, I can see he’s sneering.
“He did. I told him I’d think about it.”
“Don’t bother. No one listens to it. He’s trying to use you—he asked us all to do it multiple times. Nerd couldn’t take a hint.”
“I probably won’t,” I say. For a few moments Easton doesn’t say anything else, but he looks as though he’s still not sure he believes me. Then, out of nowhere, he speaks again.
“I want to say sorry,” he says.
“You don’t—”
“I do. I have to apologize for giving up on you.” He looks over at me, his eyes glassy. The look on his face makes my heart seize. Like someone plunged their fist into my chest and squeezed the first soft, fragile thing they could find. If he were on a stage looking like this, even the people in the very back row would be able to see how upset he is. “I need to apologize for that day, too. Because we got in thatstupid fucking argument when we were playing out there, and you said you were going to tell Dad. I went to JT’s because I was scared he’d be pissed at me.”
He looks so damn guilty, my heart hurts for him. He was just a kid, it’s not fair for him to take on all that responsibility. “Easton, stop, it’s not your fault.”
“Itis, though! I was supposed to be watching you but then we started arguing about I don’t even remember what, and you ran off. I should have gone after you—but you remember how Dad was back then.”
How he was? I don’t, obviously, but Easton did say he was scared Marcus would be pissed off at him. And Miles mentioned the yelling at peewee soccer. Still, maybe Easton’s dad is strict, but he doesn’t seem abusive. At least not based on the way people act around him. Valencia was able to stand up to him, and he and Easton seem respectful and caring toward each other.
And Easton said,Rememberhow Dad was back then.Maybe Marcus turned over a new leaf once he lost a son. Or got better at hiding his temper.
“I didn’t want him to freak out at me,” Easton continues. “I remember that much. Maybe I punched you or tripped you or was picking on you, I don’t know. But when I finally did get the courage to go home, I realized you weren’t there. And you never told Dad about whatever we were fighting about.”
Easton looks down at his hands again. His shoulders are slumped and he keeps avoiding my gaze, at though he’s embarrassed or scared to even look at me.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I say, “I don’t remember any of that either.”
I’m nervous he won’t realize I’m joking, but he laughs. In fact, he laughs so hard he has to wipe a tear from his eye. Whatever tension is between us breaks and he finally looks at me.
“Yeah, well, I have more to apologize for than that day.” He grows serious again. “I... gave up on you, Nate. At first it didn’t make sense that you would disappear. I assumed you’d come home eventually, hungry for dinner. Then, when the cops were looking for you, I thought for sure they’d find you soon. And when they didn’t, after a year or so, I...”
His voice breaks and he can’t look at me again.
Shit. I really did mess up. Easton thought Nate was dead and had moved on. And now I’m here, and it may have disturbed his grieving process.
