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I called Gideon’s mom and his sister—neither one had heard from him in almost a week now. It was an awkward phone conversation; Gideon hadn’t even told them we broke up.
It’s pretty obvious the sheriff and his two deputies were into some dark shit together—I don’t know why they’d want to break into my house and fuck with me, but I also don’t get why they enjoyed pulling girls into parks for Halloween gang bangs.
They could have targeted Gideon because he was from out of town. Or because they planned to pin it on me. The sheriff was over at my house pretty quick, pointing fingers…
“Maybe one of the deputies will spill his guts,” Dane says. “Rat out the other one for a lighter sentence or something…”
They’re both sitting in a jail cell at the moment, so it’s certainly possible. Sheriff Shane is in the custody of Rhonda’s cousin Annie at the morgue.
I’m relieved that the deputies Dane beat to a pulp and stabbed in the stomach are doing okay, though only for Dane’s sake—as far as I’m concerned, all three of those rapey bastards can burn in hell.
I took the rap for stabbing the sheriff though I know I didn’t. I had the better argument for self-defense, and I couldn’t risk Dane taking the blame, not with six knife wounds in Sheriff Shane’s chest.
But I’d sure like to know who that fourth person was—if they existed at all. My jumbled memories are an exercise in frustration. I was fucked up on a whole new level that night, and I don’t think it was just from hitting my head. I could barely stand after only three drinks.
“I better go,” I tell Emma and Dane. “I’ve got a ton of work to do today.”
“As opposed to your usual laid-back schedule,” Emma laughs.
“I’ll drive you.” Dane grabs his coat.
* * *
Dane dropsme off at Blackleaf, pulling up close to the barn because my Bronco and Jude’s moped are taking up the better parking spaces. As I cut through the garden, I catch a whiff of a weird smell. It might be our trash heap piling up—I haven’t made a run to the dump yet this week.
I head inside through the back kitchen door, and find Jude waiting for me, the mail spread out in front of him on the table. I get a bad feeling as soon as I see his face.
“What’s up?”
“What’sup…,”Jude’s lips are so pale they’ve disappeared into the rest of his skin, “…is I just received my acceptance letter from Portland State. Which is weird because I don’t remember applying to Portland State. Or anywhere else.”
Fuck.
“Okay. I can see that you’re mad—“
“No, I’m not mad,Remi, I’m fuckingpissed!”
Jude stands up from the table, and I remember that he’s taller than me now.
“Look, I’m sorry…” I hold up my hands. “You don’t have to go to Portland State. I just wanted you to have options. I thought if you saw an acceptance—“
“Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?”
Jude’s jaw is so stiff, the words come out tight and clipped. His chest rises and falls in short little jerks. His pale hair is messier than usual, hanging down in his face like he was yanking on it while he looked through the mail.
I’ve really upset him, and I feel like shit about it. I wanted to encourage him, not make things worse.
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Jude. I’ll miss you like crazy when you’re—“
“Then why are you always pushing this?” he interrupts, swinging his arms wide so one of them collides with the pendant light over the table, making it lurch back and forth. “You’re constantly bringing it up, putting pressure on me, acting like I have a choice, but there’s no fucking choice!”
The kitchen seems tiny and claustrophobic and way too hot. But I can’t back down, not on this.
“Because I want something better for you, Jude! I don’t want you to end up a broke-ass loser…,” I swallow, “…like me.”
I wince at the look of our dirty, dingy kitchen. I haven’t renovated anything in here yet other than breaking up the old tile. The floor smells like mold from the overflowed sink. Our fridge is mostly empty. The rest of the mail on the table is unpaid bills.
“This isn’t what I want for you,” I tell Jude. “Not long-term.”
