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He took Paige from me. He knows what happened thatnight, and he’s been lying about it all along. His eyes begin to drift closed, and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming at him.
“Why don’t you tell me about that pool,” I tell him, and he glances over at me, half awake. “You said there’s a pool?” I quickly back out of the parking space and pull around to the exit. I feel the power in the rumble of the V8, my hands tightening on the steering wheel as I struggle to manage my rising anger. “You should put your seatbelt on,” I warn, then floor it. The tires squeal out of the parking lot and down Beach Drive.
Evan sits up, struggling to become more alert as he pulls on his seatbelt. “It’s um… private. An infinity pool that looks right over the edge of…” His voice fades beneath the blare of the stereo as I crank it up and roll the windows down. Being nice to Evan hasn’t gotten me anywhere, and I need another approach. As the bass from the speakers vibrates the bolts out of Evan’s Tahoe, I tear down the highway.
I weave through traffic with a confident determination, no turn signal, gas pedal on the floor. As the speedometer needle climbs, the truck’s interior becomes a wind tunnel, billowing the seatbelts until they make a steadythrumrivaling the beat of the bass. Up ahead, two cars ride side by side, blocking the lanes, and I veer into the shoulder to pass, pulling ahead.
Evan glances over at me. “You sure I shouldn’t drive?” He questions.
I shake my head. “You said you don’t get pulled over. I’m testing that.” The speedometer climbs over eighty. Then ninety. I slow, then pull onto a side street. As we pass the sign for Coral Cove Road, I see Evan straighten in his seat.
“My exit is further down,” he instructs nervously, and I nod.
“I know. I’m taking a shortcut.” I follow the curves in theroad winding through the pine forest, speed climbing. I turn the radio down and look at him. “You wanted to go out, get to know one another. So let’s do that. I can ask you what your favorite band is. Your favorite movie. Maybe your favorite dish at Thanksgiving dinner. Or we can skip all that and go right for the tough ones. How about… what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
“What?” He asks, glancing between me and the darkened forest flying by the truck windows. I ease the gas pedal closer to the floorboard, and the engine roars in response.
“Come on, Evan. You know what I’m talking about,” I coax, weaving across both lanes to stay on the winding highway at this speed. “I’ll ask you again. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
His hand reaches for the door handle to steady himself as we careen around a curve. “I don’t know,” he answers anxiously. “I lied on my taxes last year.” I floor it. “Okay, for the last six years.”
I swerve off the road and into the grass, hitting a bump and sending us airborne for a moment before swerving back onto the road. Evan yelps, his frightened eyes meeting mine.
“Wrong again.”
“Look, why don’t you pull over, and we can talk about this,” he says carefully.
“Not a chance,” I reply, swerving back into the grass, riding the tree line so close he could reach out and touch the pines only inches from the side mirror. Years of mountain trail riding in the Bronco have prepared me for this moment.
“Okay! Okay,” he screams in fear as I slide back onto the asphalt sideways. “Eight years ago, I sold a batch of pills to abunch of kids, and three died. Seven more ended up in the hospital. We’d just started manufacturing in-house, and the recipe was off.”
I slam on the brakes and skid to a halt, slamming Evan’s head into the dash. Smoke and the overwhelming stench of burnt rubber rolls in through the truck windows. Evan leans back, blood dripping down his face from a gash in his forehead, and throws up all over his shirt.
“Hold on,” I say, shaking my head. “What?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Drake?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
He nods.
“Fuck,” I yell. “I didn’t know I needed to specify WHO you killed.” I take a breath, then reach over to take his hand. His gaze drifts to mine, but he looks fucked up. He’s already drunk and nearly passing out, and I just gave him a head injury. “Rose. Evan, I need you to tell me about Rose.”
He shakes his head in denial, fighting the urge to answer. When he finally speaks, the words are broken and distant. “It was an accident.”
“What kind of accident?” I pry, but his head drifts off to the side, his eyes closing. I shake him hard, trying to keep him conscious. “No! Evan, what accident? Tell me about that night!” I shout, but it’s not registering at all. He’s snoring.
“FUCK!” I scream, beating my hands against the steering wheel and laying on the horn as it echoes into the night. I glance out the truck’s front window and notice we’re stopped beneath the lone streetlight, with the sign for Danny’s Grocery just up ahead. I’m back where this all began, with a confession of murder, but not the one I need.
I fall forward until my head rests on the steering wheel, tears burning in my eyes. I failed. All I have is the necklace in my pocket and whatever confession can be assumed from Evan’saccident.
I pull away, taking the shortcut behind Danny’s until I hit Beach Drive. I pull into the lot for the Aurora, and park his truck off on the side. It’s packed, with lights flashing and music pounding on the walls of the club. With a quick glance around to ensure there are no witnesses, I use all my strength to pull Evan into the driver’s seat. My stomach protests at the smell of him, and I step back before I start gagging. He slumps over the console, snoring loudly. I crack the windows so he has fresh air, toss the keys in the floorboard, and shut the door. Maybe he’ll wake up and think it was all a dream.
The clock on the dash of the Tahoe says one in the morning. I’m exhausted, and I have literal miles to go before I can sleep. I turn East, and start walking toward the Sunrise Motel, the wind whipping my hair around me and plastering my clothes to my skin. The crash of the waves echoes in stereo through the condos on either side of me, forcefully pummeling the beach. Clouds darken the stars, and the beach beyond the streetlights fades into an unfathomable darkness.
The storm is coming. It’s a perfect time to be homeless, jobless, and alone.
I miss you, Paige.
