Page 115 of The Life She Had

His gaze turns inward, processing.

Not as dumb as you look, are you, Tom? Not as dumb and not as violent, and I’m not sure which is more the pity. Both are just going to make this worse, so I’d suggest that whatever you’re thinking, you don’t—

“You’re the one who took her gun from the shed. Not Liam.”

I say nothing. I don’t need to. He doesn’t wait for a response. “CeCe presumed it was Liam, digging for confirmation of her identity. But you were the one out there that night. You took the gun. You used it to shoot Liam.”

“Into the bedroom,” I say. “We’re done talking.”

He doesn’t move. Just holds my gaze with that same steady stare.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says.

I clench the gun tighter. “No, I don’t think I am. You aren’t who we thought you were, are you, Tom? Liam looked into your prison stint. It didn’t quite go the way you say, did it?”

I expect anger, a flash of temper, even shame. Instead, he meets my gaze. “No, it didn’t, but I think you’ll understand why I make a few creative adjustments to the story.”

“Because the truth is that you didn’t go along with the scheme of some high-school buddies. You caved to the demands of your high-school bullies. They forced you to launder that money. Paid you, yes, but not as well as you let on. When I read that, I actually felt sorry for you. I don’t now.”

He gives a half shrug. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. That’s why I don’t broadcast that version. I think you know what that’s like. Not wanting to be seen as a victim.”

“I’m not a victim.”

“No? Tell me no one has threatened you. No one has ever held a gun to you and made you do something you didn’t want to do.”

I glare at him.

He continues, “You think you’re flipping the tables, but I only flirted with you to get what I wanted. I’m sure you’ve done that before. Doesn’t mean you deserved this.” Another nod at the gun. “And I’m sorry if someone made you feel like it did.”

Rage wells up in me, white hot. His tone is so soft, firm and gentle at the same time, and it enrages me so much that my finger moves, unbidden, toward the trigger.

“Celeste...” he says.

Goddamn you, Tom. You’d be better off being just a pretty face. So much better.

I wasn’t going to force you into anything. I just wanted to see you afraid, and instead, I get this look that’s worse than pity. It’s sympathy.

I look him straight in the eye... and I move my finger to the trigger.

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