The words are concrete pouring over my heart. She’s shaking harder now, her entire body a clenched fist.
“You and I aren’t so different, you know,” I say.
Her nose wrinkles in disgust. She pulls back like I slapped her. “I’mnothinglike you.”
“You’reexactlylike me!” I say, leaning forward. “I was your target, your mark. You studied me. You built a profile. You looked for a way in. You saw I was isolated and alone and in need of connection. And then you exploited those things to get what you wanted. It’s exactly what I would have done.”
Her smile returns. “How does it feel?”
I wilt, the anger rushing out of me. I know what she wants me to say. That I’m gutted. Devastated. Ruined. Which I am. I’m absolutely cored right now. But she isn’t innocent in all of this, either. Not after what she’s done.
“My son’s name was Noah,” she says. “He loved superheroes and playing with toy trucks. When he turned three, I painted his ceiling in glow-in-the-dark stars. I hung planets. We’d lie on his bed, looking up at them, and he’d tell me that’s where he wanted to live someday—among the stars. He wanted to be an astronaut. He wanted to be so many things. And you stole them all.” Her eyes meet mine, and I want to tell her to stop, that I can’t handle this right now, not after everything I’ve been through the last two days. But I can’t speak, can’t do anything other than listen.
“My husband’s name was Ethan,” she continues. “He was anincredible father. You should have seen the way he poured himself into Noah. They went fishing on the weekends. He spent hours in the backyard teaching him how to hit a baseball. They were so happy together. I loved watching them. But what I miss most is the sound of their laughter.” Her voice thickens. “Ethan was such a wonderful husband. He brought me flowers all the time. Lilies. They were my favorite. Anytime I needed to talk, he was there for me. Anytime I felt down, he’d find a way to cheer me up. He was the most giving person I’ve ever known.” She wipes her eyes. “I should have told him that more. I took him for granted.”
“Avery …” Her fake name sounds alien as it rolls off my tongue, but I can’t pull it back before she continues.
“Do you know what the last thing I said to him was?”
No. And I don’t want to know.
“I told him he was selfish.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “Do you know how many times I’ve relived that moment? How badly I want to take that back? All I want is to tell him I’m so sorry for not valuing him like I should have. I want to tell him how much I love him just one more time. But I can’t. I’ll never get to say that because ofyou.”
Her words are arrows that punch into me so hot and deep I can barely breathe. “I never meant for any of that to happen to you.” The statement feels weak as it leaves my mouth—a spoonful of soup spit into a fire.
“No, you only meant to target certain women. But what you did to Evelyn destroyed my life!”
The memory hits with a rush: The intersection and the car beyond it. The burning scorch of rubber as I fought for the brakes. The impact, so brutal I felt it in the roots of my teeth. The smoke and silence that followed. The blood in my mouth. Gushing from my nose. The ringing in my ears. Evelyn lying next to me in a broken tangle of limbs, looking like she’d been throttled at the hands of a giant.
“You framed a dead woman, Reed. Adeadwoman. You tookeverything from her. Exactly like you took everything from me! Everything! So, when you ask me if any of this”—she gestures at me wildly, then at herself—“was real, I want you to understand none of it was. Not a single fucking second.”
And then she leans forward and spits in my face.
I don’t bother to wipe it off,can’twipe it off. All I can do is sit here spinning in the wake of her anger as it drips from my chin and onto my lap, gasping for air beneath her waves. Avery was supposed to be my chance at redemption. My fresh start—a way to finally and forever leave my past behind. But now I know I’ll never be able to do that because Avery never existed. Only Bailey did. And that’s exactly what Bailey is: my past. One I was foolish to ever think I could escape. I’m ruined. I can see that now. And so is she. I know what I need to do. The only thing left for both of us.
I take the gun and stand.
Chapter 49
BAILEY
Reed rises from the chair, and I know—Iknow—he’s going to kill me. I can see the hurt painted in his eyes and the anger splattered all over his face along with my spit. I’ve bathed him in my rage. I’ve lied to him, used him, and manipulated him just like he’s done to so many others. I’ve taken everything from him: his money, his pride, his trust, his heart.
His child.
But that isn’t why he’s about to shoot me. No, he’ll do that because I broke him. Any hope he has of living a normal life is gone. Even if it’s not in jail, he’ll spend the rest of his days isolated and alone. He’ll never be able to trust anyone after this, never be able to give his heart to someone else—not in the same way he gave it to me. That’s what I’ve taken from him. It’s exactly what I wanted.
So why do I feel so empty inside?
Because it won’t bring them back.
The thought burns. It’s a truth I’ve buried for so long now. This revenge of mine—this crusade against Reed—has always been a way for me to keep from letting go of my family. To make it feel like they mattered. To keep their memory alive—if only for a time. Because I can already feel them fading away a little more every day, their edgesdulling, their faces blurring like the lines of a chalk drawing washed away in the rain.
It’s like I’m losing them all over again, but in a way that feels more permanent than before, one grain at a time. I can no longer clearly picture the perfect curve of Ethan’s smile or hear the bright chime of Noah’s laugh. I can’t recall the soft weight of my son as I wrap him in a morning hug or feel the heat of Ethan’s palm against mine when he takes my hand. Their smells, their touch, the way they so effortlessly filled the small spaces around me, all of it gone.
Since the wreck, my grief had only grown steadily deeper and ever wider. Grief like tar forever pressing in, choking me until I could no longer breathe. Grief without end. And then I found out about Reed. And in that moment, when Paula first spoke his name, I was finally able to feel something other than grief: Hate. Hate has carried me for so long now. Hatred is why I’m still alive. And hatred is why I’m going to die.
Reed stands in front of me looking like a zombie, his eyes two empty holes, his face all but drained of life. It’s like I’ve sucked his soul from his body and spit it on the floor. The gun twitches in his hand and I flinch. I can’t help it. I drop my head and wait for him to pull the trigger.
