Page 27

She trailed off as she pulled out the letter and scanned the words. Her face paled, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“What is it?” I asked, heart skipping a beat. I knew this couldn’t be good. I knew it.

She looked up at me, eyes filled with tears. “It’s him.”

I stared at her, my brain refusing to make sense of it.

“Joey Whittaker,” she said, her voice shaking. “The boy who hit my car.”

“No.” My stomach turned over, and I clutched at it, fearing I might puke up my carnitas all over our kitchen island. “No, he can’t be.”

He was Joyride. He’s said his name was Joyride.

No, not his name.

A nickname.

“Dear Dakota,” she read in a thin voice. “I’m the guy who hit your car almost six years ago. What you might not know is that I’m out of prison and back in town. I saw you a few weeks ago⁠—”

“What, is he a fucking stalker?” I burst out.

Dakota shook her head, tears streaking down her face. “He wants to apologize. He regrets it.”

“He fucking better. Otherwise, he’d be a goddamned sociopath.”

But maybe he was. Because Joey, aka Joyride, had sought me out in that bar in Omaha. Bought me a drink. Hit on me. Did he know who I was? Did he do that on purpose?

“I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve done.” Dakota’s voice trembled as her eyes scanned the letter. “How I’ve hurt you. Every night I dream of that highway, and I desperately try to change the outcome…”

A buzzing had started up in my head.

I’d hooked up with this guy. Kissed him. Touched him. Gave him my fucking phone number. And the whole time, he was the asshole who put Dakota in the hospital. Nearly killed her.

What did that say about me, that I’d wanted a guy like that? I was a terrible judge of character. I was the shittiest brother of all time.

“I should call the cops,” I said through numb lips, interrupting her reading.

Dakota looked up. “What? Why?”

“This is stalking. Or harassment. I don’t know. How does he know where you live? How did he know⁠—”

Where to find me.

Had the visit to the rehab center also been planned? Did he want to run into me that day?

“It’s a small town,” Dakota said. “He probably just asked around. I knew he was back.”

I blinked at her. “You did?”

She nodded. “I was notified when his parole was approved. He moved back home with his parents.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged, looking smaller and more fragile than she had in months. In years. I should kill him for making her think about that terrible accident. The trauma that partially severed her spinal cord at the T10 vertebra, that sent her into emergency surgery only to wake up to the news she’d most likely never walk again. The pain, the tears, the grief he’d put her through. She had to build a whole new life from the ground up and he got to waltz back into his as if nothing ever happened?

It wasn’t right.

“He wasn’t a danger or anything,” Dakota said in a small voice. “It was an accident…”