Page 5 of Not Another Dark Romance

I can’t go to jail! I’m only twenty-five. I have so much of my life left to live. I haven’t even had a real career yet. Or a serious girlfriend. I’m an only child, so I need to give my mom grandchildren. Oh my god. All my hopes and dreams for my future are gone because of this one moment. This one mistake.

My life is over.

What the fuck did I do to deserve this?

Moving to Kansas City was supposed to be the start of the rest of my life. Not the end of it.

This can’t really be the end, can it?

No, I refuse to let it be. I need to figure something out and fast. I can’t just keep sitting here with a dead body next to me. Anyone could see. I need to pull it together. It’s now my life on the line here.

Shit, even more than that, Grant and Eric would be completely fucked too if I went to jail for murder. There’s no way the business would survive that kind of negative press when it hasn’t even opened yet. They’ve put everything into the brewery. This could completely ruin their lives too. After everything we’ve been through together growing up, they’re more like family than friends. I can’t do that to them.

Not to mention I’d absolutely shatter my mom’s heart. She’s worked so hard to give me a good life. I can’t throw it away.

I shake my head, trying to soothe my panic because right now I need to jump into action. Looking around, it truly seems like I’m alone. There are signs for a towing company, but none about cameras, and almost all the should-be streetlights are burned out. It really is dark back here.

Could I actually be alone?

Did no one see me hit this guy?

Could luck really be on my side?

My heart races even faster as my mind spins over what to do next. Is there any chance I could still fix this? Any way I can prevent myself from spending the rest of my life behind bars?

For a moment, I wonder who this guy was. Maybe he was a nice person who did good things for the world. No. Shit, I can’t think that way right now. Maybe this was some divine intervention, and I just killed a complete asshole. That’s probably what happened, but I don’t really have time to worry about that.

His life might be over—and I feel so, so horrible about that, I really do—but I can’t change it. Does mine really have to be over too?

I have an idea, and it’s really, really stupid. But it’s all I can think of right now while my brain is in panic mode. If there’s any chance no one witnessed this, I need to act quickly. I force a deep breath and then another as I try to return my breathing back to normal enough to speak.

“Oh my god, man, are you okay?” I ask dramatically, in case anyone did see. I can’t hear anything over my heartbeat pounding in my ears, but I try to modify my voice enough, speaking a little higher so that it sounds like someone else answers, as I say, “Fine, I’m fine.”

I manage to move into a squatting position next to him and jam my arm under the guy’s shoulders to hoist his upper half into a sort of seated position. Thank fuck I work out as much as I do, so I can lift him pretty easily.

Now that I’ve had this idea, one thought is chanting on repeat in my mind: My life is only over if I get caught, so I can’t get caught.

If no one saw me kill him, then the only way anyone would find out is if there’s a dead body.

So I need to get rid of it. Otherwise, he’s just a missing person.

“Let me help you. I can take you to the hospital to get checked over,” I say aloud as I reposition myself behind him with my arms under his before standing. Who knew all those years of deadlifts would lead to me actually lifting the dead?

Oh god. I’m definitely going to hell.

But who’s to say I wouldn’t have anyway? I might as well try to salvage my time on Earth while I’m still alive.

I’m a horrible, terrible, selfish person, and apparently, I don’t care because I’m not about to give up now and turn myself in. I need to focus on saving my own ass. I can’t go to jail over an accident.

Once I’m standing, I do my best to steady myself as I duck under his right arm. Hopefully it looks like it’s slung over my shoulder, and I’m helping him walk as I lean his small, limp body against mine and shuffle along the passenger side of the car. Fuck, a trunk would’ve been so much easier, but no, I just haaad to get a pickup truck. I definitely wasn’t thinking about moving a dead body when I bought it.

He’s between me and the side of the car now, though, so if anyone notices us at this point, hopefully they’ll assume I’m assisting a drunk friend in getting home. A really drunk friend. I don’t care what they think, as long as it isn’t that I’m hauling my accidental murder victim’s body away from the crime scene in a dark parking lot.

Things like this aren’t supposed to happen in real life.

I shift so his body is pinned between mine and my truck, and I manage to let go with one arm long enough to pull the door open. At least I don’t have to fuck with getting my keys out to unlock the doors since they’re already in the ignition. Small victories, I guess.

“Alright, let’s get you inside,” I announce as I dip to pick him up bridal style and set him in the passenger seat. Once he’s in, I readjust the seat so it’s leaning back in more of a lying-down position that seems less likely to have him slumping over and out of the seat. Then, for good measure, I buckle him in to really sell it.