Relief hits her face so fast it makes my chest ache.
Then confusion.
Then something worse.
“Why are you here?” she whispers.
Sheriff Dix turns toward me. “This ain’t a spectator sport.”
I ignore him and look at her. “Did you tell them anything?”
Her brows knit. “I told them what happened.”
“Exactly what happened,” I press.
“I ran for help,” she says, voice trembling now. “When I came back she was gone. I didn’t push her in the lake, Oaks.”
I know.
But that ain’t the problem. The problem is Pearly Gates doesn’t need truth. They need doubt.
The sheriff clears his throat. “Oaks, unless you’re here to…”
“I am,” I cut in.
I look at Brittany and see the edge of the cliff we’re standing on.
If she gets charged, whoever’s framing her wins. Pearly Gates wins. And she becomes the story. They’ve already planted evidence. They’ll plant more.
I won’t let that happen.
“She didn’t push her,” I say calmly.
Sheriff raises a brow. “You were there?”
I hold his gaze. “Yeah.”
Brittany’s head snaps toward me. “What…”
I don’t look at her.
“It’s my fault,” I say evenly. “I did it,” I lie. “Not Brittany.”
The room freezes.
The sheriff blinks. “Excuse me.”
“I’m the reason my wife fell into that water,” I repeat. “She came at Brittany. Pulled her hair, slapped her. I got between them. Brittany ran off. I yelled at Beth. She was pissed that I fucked Brittany. Bethany backed up. She slipped. I didn’t catch her in time. I dove in after her but couldn’t find her. Brittany never knew. I told her Beth ran off.”
The lie tastes like rust on my tongue, but I keep my voice steady because this ain’t about my conscience.
It’s about her not going down for something she didn’t do.
Brittany stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Oaks,” she breathes, and it sounds like a plea and a punch both.
I finally look at her.
