“What the fuck?!” he screams.
When I kick his side, he rolls to his back, and I stand over him, placing my boot on his sternum.
“I’m giving you one goddamn chance to come clean, or I’m going to kick in those pretty little teeth of yours,” I growl.
“Fuck you.” He tries to spit at me, only it lands on his shirt.
Pressing my boot into his chest, I apply enough pressure to make him cough and choke for air.
“One fucking chance. Take it or leave it.”
“Nobody would’ve believed it was me anyway,” he said. “You were the damaged one. You were the troubled kid that nobody wanted. You had no future. I did.”
It takes everything I have not to grind my heel into his windpipe.
“You were always trying to show me up,” he said. “You were better at farming than me. You got better grades in school. Didn’t matter how friendly I was, people still gravitated toward you. And I fucking hated you for it.”
I step off of him, letting the sad sack of shit scramble to a standing position.
He sways, adjusting his disheveled clothes and leering at me with unfocused eyes like some goddamned lunatic.
“No one’s going to believe you assholes,” he says, pointing. “Brandt was drunk and you were passed out. The evidence is gone. Nobody has proof that I moved you into the driver’s seat.”
“So you admit it.”
“Of course I fucking admit it. I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret it.” He snickers. “Keeping you under my thumb for the last decade, letting everyone treat you like the reject you are, best fucking thing I ever did.”
A flash of red and blue comes over the hill.
Leighton must have called the police.
“The fuck.” Seth spots the deputy’s car and makes a beeline for his truck, but I grab his arm and twist it behind his back.
“Stay put, jackass.”
The deputy cruises to a quick halt before jumping out and assessing the scene. “We got a report of a drunk driver, possible domestic disturbance.”
Leighton steps out from behind the front door, her phone in hand. “Yes, Officer. I’m the one who called. This man showed up at our house, drunk and disorderly. He also confessed to a homicide, and I have it all on video.”
Sweet Jesus.
I love this woman.
Chapter Fifty
Leighton
“…and now we turn to a story about a recent development in a decade-old hit-and-run investigation,” the local report plays in the background as River and I finish breakfast Sunday morning. “Seth McCray of Bonesteel Creek has been arrested and charged with the death of then-thirty-seven-year-old Rodney Hart, also of Bonesteel Creek …”
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear someone say those words,” I tell River.
He takes my hand in his, kissing the top. “I can imagine.”
“You ready to take Ms. Ada Flowers to church?” I ask.
“Today would’ve been a perfect day for staying in bed,” he groans, standing and adjusting his tie.
“We’ve got all day to catch up on sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?” He takes my hand, pulling me up and wrapping his arms around me. His face buries into the bend of my neck and he nips my flesh between his perfect teeth before soothing it with a kiss. “I can’t wait to have you again.”
“Well, you’re going to have to. Church starts in thirty minutes.”
I help Ada out of River’s truck, standing back as she trots across the parking lot, waving at her friends like a schoolgirl running toward a playground. I hope to be half as spunky as she is in my old age.
The church bells ring, and I take a look around.
“You going inside today?” I ask.
“Nah. Not today.”
Following his gaze to a little field across the street, I’m taken aback. I’m not sure how I missed it before, but across the street is Resting Hills Cemetery. River’s glancing that way, and I realize now that all those times he stayed back while Ada went into church, he was probably visiting his family.
“Mind if I join you today?” I ask. “I don’t want to intrude or anything, but I’d really like to meet them, pay my respects.”
Our eyes intersect and he shifts in his place for a second. I hope I didn’t make him uncomfortable or cross a line that wasn’t ready to be crossed yet.
“Yeah,” he says after giving it some thought. “That’d be nice.”
Coming around the back of the truck, he takes my hand and leads me across the road, and along the way, I stop and pluck a handful of wildflowers from the ditch.
Walking a stone path that leads to a shady maple, we approach a granite headstone with McCray etched across it and the names Allison, Emma, and Cannon beneath.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like a moment alone?” I ask.
He scratches above his ear, pulling in a long breath before taking a few steps back and sliding his hands in his pockets.
I take a seat on the plush grass that covers their final resting place, tucking my knees beneath me and gathering my thoughts. Turning around, I make sure River is out of earshot. I’ve never spoken to a headstone before—Dad was cremated—and it feels a little silly, but there are some things I need to say to Allison, and this seems like the best way to do it.
“Hi, Allison. I’m Leighton.” This feels ridiculous, but I continue. “I just wanted to let you know that River’s in good hands.” I clear my throat, pulling at the tall grass between my fingers. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend your life with him like the two of you planned, but I want you to know that I’m going to personally see to it that he’s happy and loved and cared for, the way you would’ve wanted.” My love of him brings a bittersweet smile to my face. “He’s a good man, and I know you know that. I just want you to know I know it too. He’s got a big heart. Even if he doesn’t always want to admit it, which I’m sure you also know. Anyway, I know I haven’t known him that long, but I’ve known him long enough to know he’s special. And I’ve known him long enough to know that I love his heart. And his soul. And everything about him. I also know he likes his eggs over easy. He goes to the Old Home Diner at least twice a week. And his favorite color is navy blue. I also know that he’s a great dancer, and he’s good with his hands. He can fix just about anything. My dad would’ve loved him. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I’m pretty crazy about him, and I’m going to love all those random things about him just as much as you once did.”
A barn swallow sings a cheerful warble in the tree above, swooping down before landing on top of her headstone.
“I can never be you,” I continue. “And we can never have what you two had. But I believe there’s room for two great loves in this man’s life, and I think that makes him pretty lucky.”
Rising, I inhale the sweet scent of the country wildflowers before placing them along the top of the gravestone.
“Allison … Emma … Cannon …” I say, tracing my hand across their names. “Until next time.”