Page 83 of People Like Us

Andy shrugged. “Nope.”

I stared at him. “Why not? That could be important.”

Another shrug. Casual. Careless. “Because maybe he’s got a good reason to run away,” he said. “One that’s nobody’s business but his.”

I started to argue before the meaning caught up with me. Oh. The truck hummed around us. Tires hissing softly over wet pavement. Maybe Shannon had a reason similar to Andy’s deep desire to leave this town.

Maybe he had bruises hidden under long sleeves too. Maybe everybody in this town was trying to escape something unholy. The whole place should burn to the ground, I thought for a brief moment.

My chest loosened with a different kind of ache with the image of Shannon being anywhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t always have to keep his eyes open.

“I wish you’d planted that thought in my head sooner,” I muttered.

Andy glanced over, confused. “Why?”

I laughed once, dry and humorless, staring out the windshield at the glowing school marquee coming into view ahead of us.

“Because I’ve been stressed out thinking he was what I hit with that rock that night.” My voice cracked embarrassingly. “I thought maybe I killed him.”

For half a second Andy simply stared at me. Then he barked out a startled laugh. “Jesus, babe.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, smiling incredulously. “I told you it was a deer.”

I crossed my arms tightly over myself. “How do you know?”

The smile faltered slightly. Andy winced.

“Look…” His fingers tapped the steering wheel. “I didn’t wanna tell you this because I figured it might upset you.” He glanced at me again before looking back at the road. “But Jack and I found the deer during the search party.” The air left my lungs.

“It’s leg was broken,” he continued more quietly. “The game warden had to come and put it down.”

Something inside my chest unraveled so suddenly it almost hurt. A knot pulled loose after being twisted too tight for too long. My vision blurred instantly.

“Oh thank fuck,” I breathed, and then a hysterical laugh tore out of me.

Andy started laughing too, relief lighting his face boyishly, softening all the hard edges adulthood had already started carving into him. It hit me then how young we really were. Children in formalwear pretending we knew how to survive things like this God forsaken place.

“Well,” he snorted, “I’m glad the dead deer didn’t upset you.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, horrified by my own reaction even while tears gathered hot in my eyes.

“Oh, fuck.” I shook my head quickly. “I mean—poor deer.” Another laugh escaped me helplessly. “But Jesus Christ, Andy, I’m so glad I’m not a murderer.”

The truck bounced roughly as he pulled into the school parking lot, near the gymnasium entrance. Music throbbed faintly from inside already, bass vibrating through the cold night air. Kids in glittering dresses and rented suits clustered beneath parking lot lights smoking cigarettes and taking pictures beside pickup trucks.

Andy shifted the truck into park but didn’t kill the engine yet. Instead he looked at me. “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about that,” he said quietly. “We tell each other everything, Los.”

Guilt prickled instantly beneath my skin. Because we didn’t. Not anymore. I wondered if we ever really had. We were so good at dancing all around the truth, but never saying it outright to each other.

I used to think that was romantic, or mature. That we both knew exactly where each other’s boundaries and vulnerabilities lie, and respected one another enough to never touch them. But after these past few weeks of August picking at all my seams, and letting him peel back every layer with tender care, I suddenly felt like I’d betrayed Andy by having never done that for him. Never forced him to talk about the things he so desperately needed to.

I smiled, small and tight and practiced. “I’m sorry.” I adjusted the corsage around my wrist. “I thought you were gaslighting me.”

The word hit him harder than I expected. Something flickered across his face—not anger exactly, but injury. Like I’d accused him of becoming a criminal. Someone like his father.

But then, almost immediately, he smiled again. Easy. Charming. Handsome Andy Spires. The expression slid back into place so smoothly most people wouldn’t have noticed it happen.

But I noticed. And in that moment I understood something strange and terrible: Andy was good at pretending too.

Chapter Thirty-Two