“Five minutes,” Matt said. “I’ll be right here.”
“I won’t need five minutes.”
I opened the door.
The room smelled of burnt coffee grounds and the sour edge of someone who’d been sweating through his shirt. Travis sat hunched in the chair in front of Matt’s desk, jacket zipped to the throat like armor that no longer fit. His hands were locked together so hard the tendons stood out in white ridges across his knuckles. When the door clicked shut, he jerked, head snapping up.
“Becca.” The word came out wet, half-choked. His pupils were blown wide, the way they used to get when he knew he’d crossed a line and was waiting to see how far I’d let him fall back.
I didn’t sit. I planted myself in the center of the room, feet shoulder-width apart, weight forward on the balls of my feet like I was ready to lunge at him or bolt out the door. The air between us felt charged, thick enough to taste. I could smell the stale cigarette smoke that still clung to his collar.
I let the silence press down until his breathing turned audible—short, ragged pulls through his nose.
“You deleted my podcast episode,” I said. “It was you, wasn’t it? You figured out it was me and got rid of it.”
His eyes flicked to the side, then back. “Becca?—”
“Don’t.” I took one step. The floor squeaked under my shoe. “I spent weeks trying to figure out how someone got into my laptop. Then I realized the only other person who ever knew my password was you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed violently.
I took another step. Close enough now that I could see the pulse hammering at the base of his throat. “You broke into my trailer,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “You sat at my table, opened my laptop, and erased my podcast. While I was out. While I was trusting that my own home was still mine.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “I?—”
“Admit it.”
Silence stretched, brittle. Then, quietly, “Yeah. I did.”
Ripples of nausea rolled through me.
“I was trying to protect Whitaker,” he said, voice cracking. “And you,” he added as an afterthought. “We hired someone to find out who the podcast belonged to. He didn’t want people talking. I thought if I could just get rid of that episode, in case you decided to post it again?—”
“You thought you could erase me,” I cut in.
He flinched. “No. I wanted you to be safe. I wanted you back home with me. These people don’t play fair, Becca, you have no idea?—”
“Bullshit,” I snapped, “If you were really worried, you could have just talked to me. Or Matt, remember him? The cop. Oh my god, you left the comments too, didn’t you? And were you the one driving through the campground at all hours scaring Aggie?”
“Was I checking on you? Yes, I was. I had to make sure they weren’t watching you?—”
“You idiot! I was so scared.Youscared me. It was all you.”
“If you were so scared, why didn’t you come home? Damn it, Becca!”
“Stop! You’re impossible. You know I was in Aggie’s trailer tonight.” The words scraped out of my throat. “I went back in for Gerald. The smoke was so thick I tasted it in my lungs, felt it coating my tongue. I couldn’t see the door. I thought—” My voice cracked for the first time, just a hairline fracture. I swallowed it down. “I thought we were going to die in there.”
His eyes darted to the side, then back. “I didn’t set the fire on purpose.”
My lip curled as I glared at him. “Explain.”
He exhaled, shaky. “I started smoking again. After us. Couldn’t stop. I was outside the meeting, waiting to hear something for Whitaker, something I could use—he was under a lot of pressure. He had a deal riding on this, a lot of money. Anyway, I lit one at Aggie’s trailer. Then Eileen saw me through the window, so I ran off. I also, um, I parked on the main road and snuck in, I smoked all the way to Aggie’s trailer and flicked them all. I don’t know where they went. It was stupid, I know.” His voice broke. “I panicked. I took off and kept driving. I didn’t mean to start a fire. I swear. I would never want you to get hurt. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I swear it, Becca. You have to believe me.”
I stared at him. The man who once made me question my own sanity now sat there, pale and sweating, trying to explain away burning down Aggie’s home with a bunch of flicked cigarettes and self-induced panic.
An ugly, bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You flicked cigarettes and nearly killed Gerald. Nearly killed me. You selfish, thoughtless, prick.”
His shoulders jerked as if I’d hit him.
