by Lexi Ryan
“This is more than some stupid jealousy!” My voice booms, echoing off the walls of my study, and I have to take a breath. There are people out there who’d be destroyed by this conversation if they heard it. Mia is out there.
“That’s my point,” Trish says. “I thought hurting him like he’d hurt me was so important, and then suddenly none of that mattered. It didn’t matter how many pictures there were of you and me on Facebook. Brogan couldn’t look at pictures. He couldn’t get jealous.”
“You were in the car?” I can’t wrap my mind around it, and my brain keeps going back to the morning after the accident. I got a ride from the hospital to Coach’s house, and that damn deer was hanging in the garage, bleeding all over the place. I grabbed a bucket and some bleach water and scrubbed at the garage floor until my hands were raw, as if I could clean it up, wipe it away, change the thing I couldn’t even remember.
“It was a terrible night for everyone,” Trish says.
“If you’d just made me stop and call the cops, your dad wouldn’t have had the chance to cover it up.” I press the flat of my palm to my chest and rub it around, as if it might be able to rub away the hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You’ve known what I’ve been living with.”
“Dad wouldn’t let me to talk to you about it. He didn’t want you knowing I’d—” She looks away and shakes her head. “And I was scared. It was awful. You’re lucky you can’t remember.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Because I see it on her face now—the evidence of torment I should have recognized months ago. The torment of living with a horrible secret that’s eating you from the inside.
“I remember it all. The sick thunking sound. The screeching tires. The silence in those seconds after.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, because I can’t apologize to Brogan’s parents. To Mia. To the people who really deserve to hear my apology. “I can’t figure out why I would have thought I was okay to drive. I’m not that guy.”
“I’m not looking for your apology, Arrow. Stop apologizing.” She draws in a breath and straightens her shoulders. “I just wanted you to know that I know.”
“Okay.”
Mia opens the door and steps into the room with Katie in her arms. She spots me and Trish and does a double take. “Oh. Sorry, I was just looking for a quiet place to . . . I’ll get out of here.” She rushes out of the room and down the hall.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Trish raises a brow. “Are you two . . .?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“I want to hate her,” she says, staring down the hall where Mia disappeared. “Hate is so much more comfortable than the guilt. But I can’t help it. I try to hate her and can only hate myself for what I did.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “It’s not like I thought he’d broken up with her. I just thought it was only a matter of time. I think I always loved Brogan, but she had him under some spell. I couldn’t compete, so I played dirty.”
“Forgive yourself, Trish. Carrying around this regret isn’t going to help anyone. Try to forgive yourself.”
She releases a puff of air that’s probably supposed to be laughter, and her lips twist into something that’s probably supposed to be a smile. It’s all so much uglier than the girl she was before the accident. The girl who lost the guy she loved.
“Have you forgiven yourself for that night?” she asks me.
“Of course not.”
“Then you understand why I can’t forgive myself either.”
Mia
He’s free to be with whomever he wants, I tell myself. But it doesn’t feel that way. Finding Trish in the study with Arrow—behind a closed door—felt like as much of a betrayal as the night I walked in on Trish and Brogan.
That’s not fair. He’s not mine. But tell that to my waking heart.
I go to the nursery to give Katie her bottle and rock her to sleep, and after she drifts off in my arms, I settle her into the crib.
When I got back from Indianapolis this afternoon, everyone was at the house. Again. It seems like they spend more time here than they do at their own homes. And I know for a fact that Mason and Chris just got a new apartment off-campus, and I thought they’d want to spend some time there.
But no. Arrow has the pool. Arrow has the cool theater room in the basement with the state-of-the-art sound system. He has the rec room and the air-hockey table and the always-stocked fridge.
So they’re here. And I’m actually starting to like it.
At first it was torture, a reminder of the life I used to have. The life Brogan used to have. It was a reminder of normal when it felt like normal was an insult to the man I loved. But now it’s the new normal, and I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s okay. We don’t know how much longer Brogan has, and I’m starting to feel like that’s okay, too.
I say a prayer every night that he’ll wake up and be himself again so they can start dialysis before it’s too late.
The first time Sebastian comes in from the pool, I wave him into the kitchen. He doesn’t quite fit in with this group yet. He’s more like me than like them. But they’re trying to include him. He’ll be an important part of the team next year, and for BHU to have another chance at a bowl game, they’ll need him.
He steps into the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“So, I’ve been looking at that list.” We’re alone in the kitchen, but I still check to make sure no one’s around to hear our conversation. “And Bailey talked Denny’s Garage into giving us a list, too. I compiled the names and have been going through them.”
“Okay. Any luck?”
I shake my head. “I keep thinking about that night and what I saw. Did you ever take a criminology class?”
He nods. “A couple.”
“You know how they teach you that memory’s not static? It’s dynamic? So someone can suggest an idea, and you might layer that idea into your memory without realizing it.”
“Right,” he says cautiously.
“I don’t know if that’s what’s happening, but ever since I saw Coach’s name on that list, I’ve been thinking about what I saw that night. Now when I close my eyes and recall the car driving away, I see a white bumper sticker on the tailgate of the car.”
He folds his arms. “Okay.”
“I keep thinking maybe it had a streak of red through it. Like a Blackhawk Football bumper sticker. Like the one Coach has on the tailgate of his car.”
He shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Mia. I worked on that job. I remember it. He hit a deer.”
“I know it’s ridiculous. I know it, okay? But I have this idea in my head, and sometimes when I get an idea in my head, I just can’t make it go away.”
“You’re talking about my coach,” he says.
“I know.”
He sighs heavily and turns to look out the back window, where Keegan tosses a long-legged blonde into the pool. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I actually know how I can put your mind at ease.”
“You do?”
“If I can prove to you that Coach wasn’t involved, will you drop it?”
“How are you going to prove that?”
“You’ll see.” He grins. “What do you say? I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. I’ll show you what you need to see, and then you go on a date with me as payment.”
I open my mouth to say no and then remember Trish standing in the study with Arrow.
Sebastian is adorable. Well, okay, Bailey would say he’s hot, and he’s definitely got the sexy body thing happening, but he’s adorable in that floppy-eared puppy kind of way. His hair’s always falling in his face, and he keeps flashing that lopsided smile, like he can’t be bothered to bring the other side of his mouth up to meet the first. He’s adorable and he likes me and he doesn’t confuse the shit out of me.
“It’s a deal.”
* * *
“You didn’t need to come today,” Mrs. Barrett says behind me.
“I cringe to think of what you’ve been spending on gas.”
“It’s worth it,” I tell her. The truth is, I’m afraid he’s going to die before I’ve said all I have to say, but every time I stand by his side, the words dry up on my tongue. “How is he?”
She steps forward and squeezes my wrist. Sebastian’s picking me up from the Woodisons’ in two hours, but I wanted to squeeze in a trip to the Barretts’ first. Instead of answering my question, she says, “Have you thought any more about singing at the funeral?”
Then again, maybe that’s her answer.
I don’t know if I’m ready. I’ve squandered so much time with him. Wasted our last good night together and have been holding my breath waiting for a second chance. Maybe half of grief is just accepting that we don’t get one.
I draw in a breath. “I haven’t decided.”
She gives my wrist a final squeeze. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”
I watch her leave, grateful that she pulls the door shut behind her to give me some privacy. Suddenly, I know what I need to say.
I take his hand in mine and squeeze. When I close my eyes, he’s bloody in my arms again, apologizing with his final words. “I forgive you. For Trish. For refusing to take me home. For all of it.” I swallow hard. I’ve been so busy taking the blame onto myself that I’ve never taken the time to tell him he’s forgiven. Maybe that’s what we all need to hear—to believe—if we’re going to find some peace. “None of us are perfect, and I never wanted you to be, either. Thank you for loving me.”
When I open my eyes, they see a body on the bed that once belonged to Brogan, but he’s not there anymore. Maybe he hasn’t been for months. I brace myself for another blow to the chest—the kind of grief that steals my breath—but instead I find myself exhaling and then refilling my lungs.
This is what it feels like to let go.
I brush his hair from his face, close my eyes, and say a prayer.
* * *
When I get back to the Woodisons’, I feel lighter than I have in months. It’s not the happy lightness of submitting your last final exam or the giddy lightness of having a crush. It’s the weight of a burden lifted from your shoulders.
I’m running late, so I rush to my room to figure out what to wear. My black-and-pink polka-dot sundress used to be my favorite, and I pull it on, step into a pair of flip-flops, and head downstairs to wait for Sebastian.
Arrow’s in the living room, and he stands up when he sees me. “You look nice,” he says, dragging that slow, hungry gaze down my bare legs. “Where are you going?”
The doorbell rings, and I turn to open it without answering Arrow’s question. Sebastian stands there in a pair low-slung jeans and a fitted black T-shirt. He grins at me and offers me the trio of bright yellow daisies in his right hand.
“For the pretty girl,” he says.
I can practically feel the moment Arrow realizes who’s at the door. He comes to stand behind me, and it’s as if the temperature in the house drops ten degrees.
“Hi, Arrow,” Sebastian says, inclining his chin.
I feel a little guilty. This is the guy who’s replacing him, but at the same time, this is the guy who will smile at me. Who will give me the time of day without looking at me like he resents my need to hear his voice. I don’t know that I want to be with Sebastian, but I need a friend.
“Sebastian,” Arrow finally responds. “How are you?”
“Good.” He holds up the flowers a little awkwardly. “You?”
“Hunky-dory,” Arrow says dryly. “Living the dream.”
Sebastian laughs. “Let me know if I can get you anything, okay, man?”
Arrow releases a long, slow exhale and shakes his head. “Don’t be that guy.”
“What?”
“Just don’t be a nice guy. If you want to do me a favor, pretend to be the asshole I need you to be.” He turns around and goes to the stairs, leaving us.
“Well, that was awkward,” Sebastian says, making a goofy face.
I want to laugh over how ridiculous that exchange was, but I’m too confused by the guy walking away. “Yeah,” I agree. I don’t want to think about Arrow right now and wouldn’t know what to think if I wanted to. I grab the flowers and take them to the kitchen, popping them in a small vase with some water before heading back to the front door where Sebastian’s waiting. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“We’re going to Dad’s shop,” he says. “Come on.”
I follow him to his car and he opens the door for me. I turn around as I start to climb in and see Arrow watching me from his bedroom window, his arms crossed, a frown on his face.
Sebastian follows my gaze. “Should I assume he’s going to punch me in the face the minute he’s no longer on probation?”
“Don’t worry about Arrow,” I say, climbing into the car. “He doesn’t want me.” Our history is too complicated, I think, but I don’t explain that to Sebastian. I don’t have the energy to answer the questions that explanation would invite.
Sebastian grunts. “It’s cute that you believe that.”
I toy with the radio as he drives, and when he pulls into the lot in front of his dad’s body shop, I cross my arms and look at him. “You have me curious,” I admit. “What are we doing here?”
“You’ll see.” He unbuckles and grabs a backpack from the back seat. “Come on. In the back.”
I climb out of the car and follow him around to the gate at the back of the shop. He unlocks it, pulls it open, and nods me on through.
A chrome bumper lies in the grass.
“That’s Coach’s,” he says, nodding to it. “I pulled it out of the scrap pile for you this morning.”
I step forward, my insides trembling as I near the mangled chrome. “That’s it?”
“Yeah,” he says. “And Mia, he hit a deer. I know that without doing anything else, but I know you need some kind of closure on this. I took a chemistry class at BHU last semester. It was called the Chemistry of CSI, and they taught us about the chemicals and tests used in some basic crime scene investigations.” He slides his backpack off his shoulder and to the ground and pulls a couple of tubes from it. “You’re lucky Professor Drew liked me. He gave us the chemicals we need to run the test.”
One of the tubes has a long cotton swab in it, and he pulls it out and hands it to me. He crouches next to the bumper and points to the edge. “It’s still smeared with blood. No reason to scrub it off when you have to replace the whole part anyway. We’ll use this stuff called anti-human serum. You take the sample and put it in this solution. It’ll tell us whether it’s animal blood or human blood.”
“That’s a real thing?”
He laughs. “Pretty cool, huh? Go ahead and swab it.”
My stomach curdles. I’m not sure I want to know anymore. What happens if it turns out that it’s human blood on the bumper? Do we go to the police from here? And what about Sebastian? Could he live with turning in his coach?
“Calm down, Mia,” he says. “I promise it’s deer blood.”
With a shaking hand, I swipe the wet swab across the dried blood and then hand it to him.
He takes it and dips it into the other vial. “What will happen is that if it’s human blood, the solution will react, and if it’s not, it won’t.”
“That simple?”
“The best chemistry is, isn’t it?” We stare at the liquid in silence, and it doesn’t react. “See? Told you. Do you feel better now?”
I stare at the vial, half expecting it to change. It doesn’t. “Thanks, Sebastian.” Why was I so sure it was human? “I promise I don’t have a personal vendetta against the coach. I just saw his name and couldn’t get the idea out of my head that it was his car—that I saw that bumper sticker.”
“He hit a deer, Mia.”
I nod. Did Sebastian test it himself before he brought me here? Does it matter if he did? The results are what they are. “Okay. Got it. Thanks again for doing this.”
“Deer blood to dinner.” I laugh at his grimace. “It’s okay. That was our deal, and I’m actually pretty hungry.”
A few minutes later, we pull up to a casual hole-in-the wall that serves the best Lebanese food.
“This okay?” he asks when he stops the car.
“This is perfect,” I say.
We get a seat and both order iced tea and sampler platters, and they bring our food out quickly. I can’t get my stomach to settle down from the nervous tremors that started back at the shop, and even though this is probably my favorite place to eat, I just poke at my food.
“Did Bailey lie to me?” he asks.
“I’m sorry. What?”
He nods to my untouched food. “I asked her what kind of food you liked, and she suggested this place. You don’t seem very interested in your meal.”
“You asked Bailey where to take me for lunch?” Sebastian hasn’t been hiding his interest in me, but I thought it was more casual than that. I was convenient. But maybe Bailey was right, and he’s been interested for a while now.
He grins. “I wanted to impress you with more than my chemistry skills today.” His smile falls away then. “But seriously, are you doing okay?”
“I’m just thinking.” I shift and take a deep breath. He’s going to think I’m crazy. I should be able to drop this, but I can’t. “I have this big list of people who got body work done, but except for my crazy gut reaction about Coach, nothing’s jumping out at me. And I know you’re right and I should probably let it go, but I have this list and I feel like I should do something. What if one of those people is responsible for what happened?”
He puts down his fork and swallows his bite. “Why is it so important that you find out? You don’t strike me as an eye-for-an-eye type. Is it just about revenge? Justice?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah. The truth.”
“I can’t stand everyone thinking my brother was responsible. He screwed up. He was a teenager and thought it’d be easier to take care of me and Dad if he was dealing. And I’m not saying it was right, and I’m not saying there aren’t other ways to get by, but he wasn’t the horrible, hardcore gangbanger the people in this town paint him as. After my mom left, he saw an easy way to make money, and he took it.” I take a drink of my tea, hoping to wash down the memory of the disappointment I felt when the police found the meth in Nic’s trunk. I was in high school and had always idolized him, and he let me down. But I do believe he learned his lesson, and when he was released from prison, he didn’t touch drugs. No using. No dealing. “As long as no one is arrested for this crime, people will go on thinking Nic was dealing again. They’ll think this horrible tragedy happened because he couldn’t stay out of the game.”