Just once.
And I try to say everything I need to without speaking.
Don’t fight me. Trust me. Let me do this.
The sheriff leans forward. “You’re admitting you pushed her into the water.”
“No, I’m admitting,” I say slowly, “that if anyone’s responsible for her going over that edge, it’s me. She slipped and I couldn’t save her in time.”
Wilson is already reaching for cuffs.
“You understand this could be manslaughter,” the sheriff says.
“Could be.”
“You’re willing to put that on record.”
“Yeah.”
Because I know something they don’t.
The evidence someone planted wants Brittany to be guilty. It means they killed Bethany. The club will keep looking for the real killer. I’m buying Brittany time.
Wilson snaps the cuffs around my wrists.
Cold metal.
Brittany stands so fast her chair tips over. “No,” she says, voice breaking. “He’s lying. He didn’t…”
I cut her off with a look.
“Sit down,” I tell her quietly.
Tears flood her eyes.
“Why are you doing this,” she whispers.
Because I can take it. Because you can’t. Because they already expect me to be a monster.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I smirk like it ain’t any count, like I’m bored and cruel and careless, because I need the sheriff to believe I’m capable of anything.
“Didn’t like my wife much anyway,” I mutter.
The sheriff doesn’t smile.
They lead me toward the door.
As I pass Brittany, I brush her shoulder lightly with my cuffed hands. Just enough to ground her. Just enough to tell her she ain’t alone.
“I’ve got this,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s about to fight the entire building. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”
I meet her eyes.
There’s fire in her I haven’t seen before.
