Page 72 of Fueled Hate

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He took off and didn’t tell me where he was going.” Bryce starts to say something but stops when he looks at Willow. There’s a look of frustration that resembles disgust on his face before he looks back to me. “He’s never thrown a race before. Ever. If you care about him, you’ll make sure he doesn’t get back on that track again.”

“Why would he race again if he lost on purpose? What makes you think he’ll even try again?”

“Because I know him.” Bryce walks away, and Willow and I head back to her car.

“Can you take me by his apartment? He might be there.” I give her the directions and she drives across town. Willow waits in the car while I quickly make my way to his door, knocking before turning the knob. Surprisingly, the door pushes open. The empty apartment is just as it was the last time I was here, only Dylan isn’t here.

What if he left town? What if he doesn’t come back? My hand clutches my stomach as I hurry back to Willow’s car, quickly shutting the door. We head back to our apartment when I tell her he wasn’t there.

Shortly after we arrive at the apartment, we’re both ready to sleep. Willow says she’ll give me a ride to work in the morning, so I head to the shower, then pull on a T-shirt afterwards as I climb into bed. Exhausted is an understatement as I lie there, but I still can’t get my thoughts to stop racing.

It’s about three hours later when I hear a knocking on the door. Please. Let that be who I think it is.

Quickly hurrying out, I press my palms against the door as I look through the peephole. The weight that is lifted off my shoulders when I see his face is astonishing.

Pulling the door open, I watch as he slowly walks into the apartment and sits down on the couch. Noticing Willow’s door propped open a little, I head over to close it but stop when I see her bed is empty. Peeking into her room, the bathroom door is open and the light turned off. Where is she? She must have decided to stay at Parker’s and didn’t want to wake me.

After I pull her bedroom door closed, I swiftly walk towards the couch, hesitating as I approach him and take a seat beside him. He sits with his elbows propped on his knees, his hands cupping his face as he rubs his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I whisper into the unnervingly quiet room.

His hands drop, and his head turns to look at me. I want to wrap my arms around him, hug him, get close to him, just be with him. But recalling how he’d jerked away from me earlier, I refrain. I don’t believe he would hurt me, but that angry reflex frightened me.

Swiftly, he moves forward, his hand reaching out for my face, I reflexively back away.

Horror covers his face as his hands drop to his thighs, rubbing his palms along his jeans. “Sadie, I’m sorry. I just … I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. You scared me.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

“Did you let him win?”

Dylan entwines his fingers, rubbing his hands together as he looks to me. “Yes.”

A soft gasp escapes before I whisper, “Why would you do that?”

“You,” he responds so lowly that I think I misheard him as he closes his eyes.

Reaching over, I place my hand on his thigh. No sooner does my hand touch his leg than his hand drops on top of mine to grasp it. Bringing it to his mouth, he kisses my wrist reverently. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“Yes, I will. I was sitting in my car, ready to launch down the track, and I had every intention of winning until the last second. If I won, it would be final. I would have to finish what I set out to do. Then what? Every one of them would suffer, but I wouldn’t have you, and Noah will still be dead. And my mom would find out everything I’ve done. My brother is dead.” He repeats the words, his voice breaking like he’s hearing the news for the first time. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. He was here because of me. I set him on a course that led straight to his death.”

“You didn’t know. There was no way you could’ve known what would happen or change it.”

His fingers cling tighter to mine as his head drops. “I saw his face. When I was sitting in the car, waiting to take off. I saw his face. That’s when it hit me. He’s gone and there’s not a fucking thing that will make the pain go away. It’s not some cruel joke, some catastrophic mishap, a horrendous mistake. He’s really gone. Noah was the one who constantly told me to be safe, lecture me about wearing a seat belt, told me to slow down when I was barreling down a dead-end path. Everything I should’ve done for him. And when I saw his face, I knew he’d be disappointed, hate what I was setting out to do. But I can’t stop. He’s not here to tell me to stop.”

“It’s your choice. You can stop. You don’t have to get back on that track. You don’t have to do any of it. He would want what’s best for you.” I try to convince him, but I feel him fighting my words. He’s so focused on tunneling a path straight ahead and can’t get off the course. “Dylan …”

“I was supposed to protect him, make sure he was safe. Instead, I killed him—my little brother.”