Townsend is outside her apartment building now. Somehow, his body knew he was coming here when he left his place, even if his mind wasn’t consciously aware of it. As he feared, that familiar white Honda Accord is parked in the lot beside the building, the same one he saw waiting for him after the birthday brunch with Mother. He wasn’t crazy; itwasAmanda’s car.
After he ran into Talia back in May, Townsend drove over to Amanda’s place with a head full of steam. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, exactly. Just scare her a little bit. Make it clear that he wasn’t someone who could be pushed around. He had his paintball gun in the trunk from going to the range the weekend before with his friends. As much as he wanted to, he knew he shouldn’t fire a round into Amanda’s window. There were too many eyes around—everyone had a Ring camera these days—and he didn’t want to risk getting tagged with a vandalism charge right before his next round of investor meetings.
So he just took a picture of the gun on the dashboard. In the shadowy light of the streetlamps, it almost looked like the real thing. He sent it to Amanda, along with the reminder that—even thoughhe was stupid enough to have told her about some of his concerns about AutoInTune—she had shared things too. She’d admitted to not-so-funny stories of things she’d done while drunk or high, involving break-ins and fender benders and almost setting her shower curtain on fire with a curling iron. And one night, when they were lying in bed, legs tangled under the sheets, she confessed to something even worse, about her parents and how they died. She broke down crying, and Townsend felt a surge of protectiveness as he pulled Amanda’s naked body tighter to his chest.
In that moment, he really thought he knew her.
Now, he’s got the police at his door, questioning his whereabouts, looking for any sign that Townsend might have done something to Amanda. Thank God he was hungry enough to grab tacos on his way home from East Austin that night. At least now he has a verifiable alibi for being in that part of town.
He thinks back to the text messages and phone calls he got a week ago, allegedly from Kaitlyn Reade, looking for her sister. Townsend didn’t trust them. He feared it might actually be Amanda, using her sister as a screen to get Townsend to answer her. But now he doesn’t know what to believe. He hasn’t told Talia about the harassment, about the constant unhinged messages. He almost did last night, but in the end, he didn’t want to burden her. It wasn’t worth pulling her into his mess when it seemed like Amanda might finally be gone for good.
Butisshe really missing? Or just lying in wait?
All at once he feels dizzy, and thirsty, and like he might be sick. He sits on the sidewalk, already sizzling hot from the late-June heat, and holds his head in his hands. He wants to cry from the injustice of it all—would he be punished forever for pursuing the wrong girl? But he can’t stay here, where anyone could see him. He checks his watch; it’s getting late. He stands, wipes his face on his shirt, and starts toward home.
Talia will be awake soon, wondering where he went, and he can’t give her any more reason to question him.
Chapter Ten
Talia
On Tuesday morning, Talia arrives at work and does not stop, as she normally does, at Meera’s desk to say hello.
She’s still angry at her friend. It’s classic Meera, really, to jump to the worst possible conclusion about a man. She’s always had what seems like a personal vendetta against Townsend—even before he made that mistake with Amanda. Can’t Meera see that Townsend’s words were empty threats said out of desperation? Can’t she see that Amanda was the problem, that Amanda was the psychotic one?
Yesterday, after she and Meera read through Townsend’s and Amanda’s Cuff messages, Talia hid out in the bathroom for twenty minutes. Crouched on the closed lid of a toilet in the handicap stall, she held her face in her hands and tried one of the breathing exercises that her Pilates instructor taught her.Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and exhale fully. Then, inhale for a count of four, hold your breath for a count of seven, and exhale slowly for a count of eight.
Townsend wasn’t a killer; this much she knew to be true. He was a thoughtful gift giver, a meticulous bed maker, the proud creator of an exceptional chicken salad recipe. A murderer? Absolutely not. What bothered Talia most was the fact that Meera (and Amanda’s sister ... and perhaps even the police ...) could eventhinkTownsend capable ofsuch a thing. Was it possible they saw something dark and disquieting in her boyfriend that she—the person who arguably knows Townsend better than anyone—had failed to see herself?
When she returned home last night, Talia poured herself and Townsend a glass of wine and sat him down on the couch. Then, as calmly as she could, she said, “I think we need to talk about Amanda.”
Since that night at the Blue Starlite Drive-in, when they officially got back together, neither has addressed the elephant in the room: the reason they broke up in the first place. For Talia, avoiding the subject of Amanda had been an act of self-preservation—why poke a wound that’s still healing? And for Townsend, she imagined it felt like a gift, not having to answer for his mistakes. But Talia knew they needed to discuss what happened if they were going to have a life together—a life in which Amanda Reade was nothing more than a teeny, tiny, insignificant blip.
“You’re right,” Townsend said. A moment of awkward silence. Talia stifled a sigh. Apparently, he needed to be fed his lines.
“Did you love me? When we were together last year?”
“Of course I did.” Townsend touched her hand. “I still love you now.”
Her heart fluttered—he loved her! But no, she wouldn’t be distracted so easily. “Then why did you let her ruin everything?”
Townsend let his eyes float up to the ceiling, as though the correct response might be written there.
“Just talk to me. Look at me.”
He did, and Talia was surprised to see that he was teary-eyed. “I was the one who ruined everything,” he said. “I had the greatest thing going with you, and I was so afraid of losing it—of losing you—that I pushed you away. It was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, and I feel like the luckiest guy in the world that you’re here now, giving me a second chance I probably don’t deserve.”
He was saying all the right things, and Talia appreciated that. But he could never know how broken she’d felt in those months following his betrayal. Sitting on the couch in front of him that Monday evening, she wondered how a man could love two wildly dissimilar women atonce without being fractured inside. It reminded her of what happened with Malcolm, which was something she tried to think about as infrequently as possible.
“Just . . . why her?”
“It wasn’t even about her. She could have been anyone. I was just so hell bent on destroying my own happiness that I—”
“Did you like that she was younger? Blonder? Was she more fun than me? More adventurous in bed than me?” Talia knew how silly this line of questioning sounded, how shallow and juvenile, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Did you love her more than me?”
“Love her?” Townsend scoffed. “I’m not even sure I liked her. I thought she’d be someone who’d let me indulge my worst habits without judgment. As it turns out, her habits were way worse than mine.” He gave Talia a tentative smile. “I guess it just goes to show that you never know what you’re getting into when you meet someone on an app.”
Reluctantly, she smiled back. “They really should hire better people to monitor those things.”
