Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“You have to give me more time,” I beg him. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but trust me on this.”
RJ glowers at me. “That’s not good enough. Do you get what I’m saying? She’s ready to pin the whole thing on you. At the very least, you’re getting expelled. At most, the cops charge you with I don’t know how many counts. Leaving the scene, withholding evidence…”
He’s right. What I did was technically a crime, no matter how well-intentioned. Not like I haven’t considered it.
“That’s if Sloane doesn’t kill you herself and ask me to help her dump the body,” he finishes, sounding defeated. “So please, help me out here.”
I gulp down the lump of sheer misery in my throat. “There’s more to this than you understand. I’m still piecing it together, but I need—”
“What does that mean?” he asks, exasperated. His patience is well exhausted at this point.
“It’s comp—”
“Right, complicated.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Listen, I’ve kept Sloane from telling her dad or the cops for now, but she’s going to tell Casey. That’s a given. I’m here as your brother asking you to tell me the truth. You can’t keep it to yourself anymore.”
My gut clenches harder, frustration and panic warring inside me. I’m nowhere near close enough to a good explanation. I’ve spent months badgering Gabe’s family for a way to contact him, and to no avail, because his parents hate me. I spent hours online compiling a list of every military school in the goddamn country, then proceeded to call each one asking if a Gabe Ciprian was enrolled and was either hung up on, laughed at, or politely told to fuck off. Turns out, schools don’t offer students’ names and information to random callers. Who would’ve thought.
If I had more time, maybe I could figure out a way to get to Gabe and ask him what happened that night. I’m sure it would all make sense if I had the missing pieces. There’s no way he would just abandon Casey to die. He’s not a bad person. Something went wrong, and I simply need to find out what it is.
“Let me talk to her,” I insist, grasping at any sense of charity RJ has left. “Casey should hear it from me.”
His expression is wary. He’s understandably reluctant to put himself out on a ledge for me again.
“Please,” I say hoarsely. “I promise. I’ll tell Casey myself. Let me have this.”
He goes silent for what feels like forever. Then he curses under his breath and says, “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises on Sloane’s behalf. My advice: beat her to it.”
CHAPTER 9
SLOANE
MY KNIFE SCRAPES VIOLENTLY ACROSS THE PLATE AND ITS ANGRY screech makes the whole room flinch. Dad briefly pauses midsentence to pull a face like I did it on purpose. What does he want? It’s a tough piece of meat. Maybe if he hadn’t left it on the grill like he was trying to torture nuclear launch codes out of it, I wouldn’t be trying to coat a piece of charcoal in mashed potatoes to trick my throat into swallowing it. I doubt even the dogs would find tonight’s protein portion palatable. As if to prove that point, only Bo bothers begging tonight. Penny is asleep under the table, her head resting on my foot.
“Why didn’t Silas stay for dinner?” Dad asks from the head of the dining table.
Because he’s a lying, backstabbing prick, and he’s never coming for dinner again.
I swallow my fury along with the bone-dry bite of steak. “He had homework,” I say instead, because as much as I appreciate my dad is making an effort to stay involved in my life, I’m not about to start confiding in him about personal stuff.
My ex-friendship with Silas falls under “personal stuff.”
So does my relationship with RJ.
And my newly formed, intense hatred for Fenn. That absolutely needs to remain a secret right now. If Dad found out what Fenn did, he might actually kill him.
Speaking of killing Fenn, apparently RJ did no such thing tonight, judging by the texts that keep making my phone buzz in my lap. We’re not allowed to have phones at the table, but I knew RJ was talking to Fenn after soccer practice, and there was no way I was missing this update.
RJ: He says it’s complicated.
My gaze flicks to my lap.
Complicated?
It’s complicated?
That’s his reason for leaving my unconscious sister in the dirt and not telling a single soul all these months that he was the one who’d pulled her from the sinking car?
No.
No, I refuse to allow that to be his explanation. I refuse.
I draw a calming breath, but it does nothing to soothe the eddy of anger swirling in my gut along with Dad’s charred steak.
“What do you think about sitting down with Mrs. Dermer sometime next week?” Dad is saying. “She’d be more than happy to offer her advice.”