by Paula Stokes
She snorts. “Doesn’t get much smaller than this. I thought maybe we played you in tennis or something.” She leans in close to me for a better look.
I plaster a smile on my face. “Nope. I’m not much of an athlete.”
“Tazmyn played doubles for Hurricane High,” Halley says. “She and her partner went to State.”
“Where we got creamed in the first round by some girls from Salt Lake City,” Tazmyn says.
“You know, you don’t always have to add that part,” Halley says with a grin.
A new song starts playing. Someone cranks the volume extra high.
“Woo.” Halley jumps up from her seat. “Let’s get this party started.”
She grabs Tazmyn’s hand and the two of them scamper across the rocks and start dancing with each other right in front of the music player. I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Come on.” Elliott grabs my hand and at first I think he wants me to dance with him, but then he leads me toward the river.
I glance over my shoulder. “What about the walking sticks?”
“I won’t let you fall.”
I grip his hand tightly as we make our way into the water. Once again, the chilly temperature makes me gasp. “Where are we going?”
Elliott points upstream. The river disappears between two impossibly high walls of rock. “In there,” he says.
We follow the river into the dark crevasse. He’s right. I can’t see anything in here. Craning my neck, I look up at the sky. It’s just a ribbon of navy blue against the blackness of the cliffs.
“This is amazing,” I say.
“I wanted to get you alone so I could tell you I’m proud of you.” Elliott reaches out and takes my other hand too.
“Don’t be proud of me. I should’ve told the truth a long time ago.”
“I don’t care. I’m still proud of you.”
I turn to face him. “Thank you for not judging me,” I say softly, pulling him into a hug.
“You did the wrong thing,” Elliott says. “But now you’re doing the right thing. We can’t define people by their worst actions, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say. I do know that. It’s why I forgave Dallas, why I forgave my dad. But does the rest of the world know that? I’m not so sure.
Elliott and I stand there, our bodies tight against each other while the water laps at our legs. Neither of us seems to want to let go. Finally he pulls back and kisses me on the forehead. “I’m glad I got to know you this summer. Even if you didn’t want to be stupid with me.”
I’ve still got both arms wrapped around his waist. “Trust me, I wanted to. I just didn’t want you to regret things after you found out who I really was.”
“And now that I know who you really are . . . ?” Elliott trails off.
My face gets hot. “I guess I thought the moment had passed, you know? That it was too late.”
Elliott laughs lightly. “It’s never too late to be stupid.” He presses his lips to my forehead again and I feel his mouth curl into a grin.
I laugh. For the first time all summer, I feel happy. I’m going to do the right thing, even though it’s hard. It’s terrifying to think about, but it’s also freeing. “Good to know,” I say.
His lips move from my forehead to my cheek and then the crook of my neck. “So is that a yes?” he murmurs. His mouth drags hot across my exposed collarbone.
My knees buckle and I almost end up in the river. I tighten my arms around him. “It would seem so,” I say.
Elliott presses my body back against the rock wall for support. He rests one hand on my waist and the other on the side of my face. His lips brush gently against mine. “I’ve missed you,” he says.
I reach up in the darkness and trace the contours of his face, my fingertips making their way from his chin, to his jaw, and then up into his hair. “I’ve missed you too.”
Emotions I’ve been working hard to hold back all summer start to spill out of me and I pull Elliott’s mouth toward my own. I’m so eager and impatient that our noses bump and teeth knock together before our lips slide into place. The frigid water is still lapping at my legs, but I can’t feel it anymore. My entire body is flush with heat, with desire. If it weren’t for the faintest hint of dance music from the clearing, I’d think that the two of us were completely alone.
I wish the two of us were completely alone.
I coax his mouth open with my tongue. It doesn’t take much coaxing. Elliott pins one of my hands back against the rock, his other hand tracing the waistband of my shorts, his fingertips hot against my skin. I close my fist around a handful of his hair and arch my back against the canyon wall. I forget everything but the feel of Elliott’s lips on mine, the feel of his hands caressing me.
And then there’s a flash of light.
I freeze, confused, disoriented. I’m temporarily blinded by the flash. I realize the music has changed from dance music to something slower. My stomach drops low as I realize what song it is, the second single from Dallas’s album. The love song he wrote for me.
Elliott doesn’t seem to recognize it. “What are you guys doing?” he asks.
My vision has returned to normal. Tazmyn and Halley stand at the opening of the slot canyon. Tazmyn has her phone out, pointed at Elliott and me. She clears her throat. “I remember why you look familiar now, Jennifer.”
CHAPTER 33
Halley is staring at me, her face a mixture of confusion and betrayal. “You’re Genevieve Grace?” she asks.
I can barely look her in the eye. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. I swear.”
“She was.” Elliott rests one hand on the small of my back.
“I don’t understand,” Tazmyn says. “How can you be here kissing some other guy? Didn’t Dallas Kade write this song for you? I mean, it’s been less than two months since he died. What’s wrong with you?”
Halley turns away from the opening in the rock. I push past Tazmyn and go after her, with Elliott right behind me. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, Halley,” I say. “I came here to get away from everything that happened, but the day we met I saw your bracelet and I figured you were a fan and . . .”
Halley spins around so fast she nearly falls in the water. “And what? Did you think I would gossip about it? Now I get why you’ve been so quiet all summer. You know, I could’ve helped you if I had known.”
“Looks like she found help from someone else,” Tazmyn says coolly.
“Enough.” Elliott’s voice carries through the night. A couple of people by the coolers stop talking and look over at us. “You don’t know Genevieve,” he continues. “You don’t know what she’s gone through.”
“Clearly, she’s suffering greatly.” Tazmyn’s eyes drop to the level of my waist, with Elliott’s arm hooked protectively around it.
“She’s right. I shouldn’t—I’m sorry—I have to go—” I pull away from Elliott and hurry across the river, almost falling twice on the slippery rocks.
“Do not post that photo,” I hear Elliott saying as I reach the paved trail that leads back to the parking area. And then, “Genevieve, wait!”
I don’t wait.
I don’t turn around.
I hit the parking lot and keep going. When I reach Zion Canyon Scenic Drive, I accelerate into a sprint as best I can in my soggy tennis shoes. The road is completely black, with only the faint outline of cottonwood trees illuminated by the moon. I’m miles away from the entrance to the park, but I don’t care. My breath catches in my throat as I push onward. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have thought going to a party with a bunch of kids my own age with Elliott was a good idea? I should’ve known something like this would happen.
All the hashtags I’ve been running from flash through my head: #Hypocrite, #Coward, #Liar, #ControlFreak, #JealousBitch, #Killer. My brain adds one more to the list: #Slut. My shoes rub against my heels, chafing my skin to the point where I have to slow down. I peek over my shoulder, but all I see is darkness. In front o
f me, something moves in the roadway—a porcupine. Yellow eyes glow as it stares me down for a moment before scurrying across the road and down into the underbrush.
I can just barely see the entrance to the Grotto Picnic Area ahead when I hear the sound of a vehicle. Elliott pulls up next to me and flashes his lights. He pulls over alongside the dark road and gets out.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “You should go back to the party. You’re Halley’s ride home.”
“Halley is fine,” he says. “She can catch a ride with Tazmyn and Nephi.”
“I’m fine too,” I say. “Really. I don’t mind walking home.”
“Do you realize how long of a walk it is? It’d take you over an hour.”
“It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”
“Well, I’m not letting you walk. It’s dark and you’re not even wearing light clothes. You could get hit.”
“Maybe I should get hit,” I say. “Maybe that’s what I deserve.”
“Why? Because you made a mistake? Because you kept something secret? Because you kissed me?”
I shrug. All of the above?
“No one deserves to get hit,” Elliott says. “Get in the truck, Genevieve.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“Get in the truck or I’m calling Rachael,” he says firmly.
“You’re going to narc me out to my stepmom? Some friend.”
“Some friend is right.” Elliott opens the passenger door.
I don’t want to be around anyone right now, but I’d rather deal with Elliott than stress out Dad or Rachael, who may or may not decide my distraught state and disheveled appearance warrant a late-night call to my mother.
“Fine.” I step up into the truck and Elliott shuts the door behind me. I wrap my arms around my middle and turn away from him as he slides into the driver’s seat and heads down the road. I don’t say anything until the park’s exit comes into view. Then I sigh. “I’m sorry I ran off. I just couldn’t deal with it. Tazmyn’s probably right, you know? Maybe it is horrible of me to have feelings for you so soon after Dallas died.”
“You can’t control how you feel,” Elliott says. “Though if you don’t want to act on your feelings, I totally respect that. But don’t let some friend of Halley’s, or the internet, make that decision for you, okay? You decide what’s right.”
I bite back tears. “You’re one of the only things that has felt right all summer.”
Elliott reaches out for my hand and wraps his fingers around it. “Then don’t let strangers take that feeling away from you. You don’t have to be miserable for the rest of your life just because you survived. Or because you fell asleep. Or because you lied.”
When I don’t respond he continues. “Sorry it took me so long to catch up with you. I was talking to Halley. She’s trying to convince Tazmyn not to post that picture.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“It’s our truth,” Elliott says. “Maybe you have things that the public deserves to know, but they don’t need to know about you and me. They don’t have any claim to your personal relationship with Dallas. That’s your business, just like we’re our business.”
“I don’t even care,” I say. “It’s such a tiny thing compared to the other stuff I’ve done. Let her post it if she wants to.” And I mean it. It’ll just be a preview of things to come. “Does Halley hate me for lying to her?”
“No,” Elliott says. “She doesn’t understand why you would keep everything a secret, but that’s because she doesn’t know the things that I know.”
“I really was going to tell her tomorrow. First my dad, then everyone else.”
“I know.” Elliott turns off the main road onto the street where Dad and Rachael live. He pulls up across from the house. “I think you’re going to feel a lot better after you talk to your dad.”
“Maybe.” Right now the word “better” seems very far away. A mirage. An illusion. An impossibility. “Thanks for the ride.” I slide out of the truck and head across the street.
Elliott follows me to the door. “Genevieve, wait. I don’t want to leave you like this.”
I reach up to touch the caribou pendant hanging in the hollow of my throat. “Thank you for loaning me this.” I start to pull the black cord over my neck.
Elliott grabs my hand. “Keep it,” he says firmly.
“I can’t ke—”
“At least until you’ve dealt with stuff. That pendant has given me a lot of strength over the past few years. Maybe it’ll work for you too.”
Tears hover on my eyelashes. All I can do is nod.
Elliott pulls me into a hug. The two of us stand on the porch for what feels like forever. His arms are tight around my back and my head is tucked firmly under his chin. He smells like hair product and river water, a hint of smoke from the party clinging to his shirt. I wish I could melt right into him. I wish I didn’t have to let him go.
He pulls back and grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “You want me to come over tomorrow, be with you while you talk to your dad?”
I shake my head. “I can handle it.”
“Okay. But remember I’ll be here.” He touches the pendant around my neck. Then he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “And here. Call me anytime.”
I squeeze his hand. “I will. I know. And thanks.”
Elliott brushes his lips against my forehead and gives me one last look before he turns away from me.
I watch him walk down the driveway and hop back into his truck. Then I turn and open the front door to the house, stepping quietly inside so as not to wake Dad or Rachael. Turns out I needn’t have bothered. The lights are all off, but Dad is sitting on the sofa, staring at the television. He blinks sleepily when he sees me.
“I can’t believe you’re still awake,” I say. “I thought you’d be exhausted after your trip.”
“You haven’t heard, have you?”
“Heard what?” My muscles go weak at the sound in my dad’s voice. I reach out for the edge of the sofa to steady myself. I lower my body to the cushion next to him. “Is it Rachael? Mom? Did something happen?”
“I know you’ve been worried about the possibility of having to testify in a wrongful death lawsuit,” Dad says quietly.
“Oh. I’ve actually kind of come to terms with that. What I wanted to talk to you about—” My words fade away as Dad holds up a hand.
“Glen Kade left me a message earlier tonight,” he says. “There isn’t going to be a lawsuit. You won’t have to testify.”
“Okay.” I pause. “Well, I think that’s good. I know the Kades don’t want to profit off Dallas’s death. I’m sure they only considered it because drinking and driving groups and crazy Kadets were pressuring them.”
“Yes,” Dad says. But it’s as if he didn’t even hear me. He’s staring past me at the television, which is on mute.
I spin around, my heart sinking into my gut when I see the headline splashed in red across the bottom of the screen: “Dallas Kade Fandom Responds to Brad Freeman Suicide Attempt.”
CHAPTER 34
My chest starts to burn. I realize I haven’t taken a breath in a few seconds, so I inhale sharply. “Suicide attempt? Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure,” Dad says. “But I wanted to be the one who told you. I know you feel like the whole world has been coming down on him really hard.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Was it because of the lawsuit?”
“No one knows the exact details yet,” Dad says. “According to the news, Freeman got into a physical altercation with some men at a park today and he got charged with assault. He left his ex-wife a strange apology message saying he was going to do the one thing that would make everything go back to normal. It concerned her enough that she sent the police over to check on him. He was alive but unresponsive when cops arrived. He had tried to hang himself.”
I perch on the edge of the sofa as a video clip begins to play on the TV. It’s wobbly and
washed out, like the one of the Eight Ball Bar & Grill being vandalized. Someone’s cell phone, I realize. I recognize the setting—a popular St. Louis water park that Shannon’s family used to take us to when we were little.
I watch as Brad Freeman strolls past the end of the wave pool carrying two large sodas. A younger guy in royal blue swim trunks looks up from his lounge as Freeman passes and says something. The TV is still on mute, so I can’t hear the words, but whatever he says is enough to make Freeman pause. The younger guy hops up from the lounge and pushes Freeman. One of the sodas falls to the pavement. Freeman says something in response and suddenly more people enter the frame. You can’t tell who throws the first punch, but it doesn’t matter. About thirty seconds later both Freeman and the guy in the blue trunks are being restrained by security guards.
My eyes flood with tears. Dallas is dead, and Brad Freeman tried to kill himself, and both of those things are on me. Maybe Dallas was an accident—I didn’t mean to fall asleep behind the wheel—but Freeman . . . I should’ve known, I must have known that the constant accusations and threats could lead to this. After all, that’s the major reason why I’ve stayed silent for so long—because I didn’t want that bullying directed at me. What if he dies? The hashtag #Murderer blinks on in the back of my brain again.
“Genevieve,” Dad says. “Are you all right? I know how hard all this has been on you.”
“I’m all—” I can’t bring myself to finish the lie. I’m not all right. I will never be all right. I didn’t put a noose around Brad Freeman’s neck, but my inaction, my silence, let things escalate to that point. All he wanted was for people to believe him. All he wanted was for people to accept the decision made by a judge who had more facts than anyone else.
But instead we took everything away from him—the idea of safety, his friends, his job, his sense of self-worth. Some people did it with harsh words and accusations. I did it by saying nothing. He reached out to me for help and I ignored him.
“I don’t know.” I struggle to keep my voice level. “I just want Brad Freeman to be okay.”