I’m also bone-deep tired, and every bump in the road lulls my eyes heavier. The hum of the engine wraps around me like a lullaby I can’t afford. It would be so easy to just let my head fall back and drift.
If I had any sense, I would ask Robert to stop at the pharmacy so I could grab the prescriptions the doctor pushed on me. Instead, I make a mental note to pound the last Red Bull in the fridge before the shit show starts. Caffeine probably isn’t recommended for someone who just had their artery tear open, but the doctor doesn’t live my life. He doesn’t have to clean up my mess.
But my heart picks up on its own as we pull up to my house. There’s no police, which is a good thing. But the house looks pitch dark. Normally, Nix’s tea lights glow through the front window as if it’s Christmas year-round instead of mid-fall.
“Thanks again,” I say idly as I climb out.
“No worries.” He puts the car in park. “But, uh, hey…”
I lean back down and find an earnest look on his face.
“Maybe don’t ask strangers for a ride again. I would hate to know what would have happened if that guy—”
“I can handle myself.”
“Course, uh, just, here…” He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a card. “Just—here. My cell’s on there, in case you ever… I don’t know. I’m not trying to be creepy. I have a ten-year-old daughter and…” His gaze drops, and something in his expression softens into tired concern.
“I get it.” I lean in and grab the card. “Thank you.”
“And hey, who knows? Maybe I’ll start ubering.”
“Ha,” I give the appropriate response he needs, my bartender skills on autopilot.
“Alright, well…”
“Yep. Thanks again.” I shut the door and wait for him to pull away before turning to face the house.
The squat one-level with peeling paint and dead grass is home. It’s ugly and tired and half-assed, but still, most nights, it’s my favorite sight in the world. Nix and I locked our father out of the mortgage account years ago, changed every password we could find, and pretended he died. I make the payments now. I bleed for them. If I ever pay this place off, I’m forging the deed and carving my name into it. Our father hasn’t even stepped inside in the last five years, so for all I know, he could be dead, but who cares? Either way, we’ve made it ours, and I kill myself making the payments so we don’t lose it. It doesn’t leave much left to fix it up properly, but still, I’m normally happy to see it.
Now my stomach turns as I crunch across the patchy lawn. There’s a dead body inside. A murdered body. A dead and murdered body that I have to get rid of. But at least I don’t have to get rid of the patrol car. Leave it to Marshal to know when to walk when drunk, but not when to stop when a girl says no.
I twist the handle and, thankfully, find it locked. Normally, Nix forgets to lock it. I rap on the door—the doorbell long toast—and wait. It only takes a second for the lock to click, and the door flies open.
“Kira!” My sister throws her arms around me. “Oh my God, I didn’t know if you were okay. I called the hospital, but they said I needed to come in if I wanted more information, and you told me to stay here. And I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know. I didn’t—” She starts sobbing.
“I’m fine,” I squeeze her back, tears forming in my own eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m fine, and we’re goingto fix this. Don’t worry.” I sound more confident than I feel, considering I don’t have a plan.
“I’m so sorry.” She pulls away and scrubs at her face.
She’s annoyingly beautiful without makeup, even when crying. Large brown eyes and a pert nose with full lips just a shade paler than cherry red. Her hair is dark black, straightened, and long past her chest. The length just grazes her waist where a studded belt is cinched around black jeans.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, even though it’s not. She killed someone, self-defense or not, and that’s going to royally fuck her up in the head. I know it’s fucking me up. But that’s a problem for after we clean the crime scene. “Let’s just get rid of it before it starts to… you know.” I wipe my eyes and step around her. “You said Nosy Nellie wasn’t home when he got here, right? So only me and you know, and if only me and you know, then we should be—” I stop dead in my tracks. “Who the fuck are you?”
There’s a boy in my living room. Tall, slender, with a mop of shaggy black hair that looks like it costs too much to be that messy. He’s wearing slim-fit khakis and spotless sneakers, the expensive kind, and he looks like a catalog model that got dropped into our thrift-store house. He doesn’t fit here, not with the secondhand couch and chipped coffee table.
“Uh, I’m, uh… I’m…” he stammers.
“Caleb,” Nix supplies, shutting the door and stepping around me like she’s stepping between a bomb and ground zero. “This is Caleb.” She puts up her hands to fend me off. “But it’s okay. He’s not going to tell anyone.”
“Tell anyonewhat, Nicole?” I can’t help but use her full name because there’s no fucking way this kid knows about the body. My sister couldn’t be that stupid. But she doesn’t answer. “Tell anyonewhat?!”
“About… you know…” she squeaks.
A litany of curses wants to fly from my lips, but all I manage is a weak wheeze, my chest tightening.
“I didn’t know what to do!” she cries indignantly. “I didn’t know if you were going to be okay or if you were going to come home, and I knew I couldn’t leave… couldn’t leave the—”
“Don’t.” I will fucking kill her if she saysbody. As of right this second, I’m still not one hundred percent sure what this kid knows, and I don’t think my heart can take it if I do.
