He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car.
I stare at him closely, examining him. His dark hair is a little too perfect for me. I like it more disheveled. He’s wearing a fucking button-down shirt. He’s not my type at all. He’s not rough around the edges. He’s a goody-goody. Probably spends his extra time volunteering for shit. So why is he talking to me? I’m not that good-looking. I’m certainly not popular. Is he trying to save me? Is there a bet I don’t know about?
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he says, arching his arm around the back of my seat, backing out of the driveway.
“Why didn’t you turn me in that night?”
He shifts into drive and takes off down Janie’s 500-mile-long driveway. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Why do you care, again?”
He turns the corner and gets on the road. The ride is smooth, like we’re riding on piles of money. He shakes his head. “I knew who you were. I’m not really into making people suffer needlessly.”
Who is this guy?
“But what did you get out of it?”
He grips the leather wheel tighter, grinding his fingers around it. “Can’t I just do something nice for you and just have you accept it?”
“No. There’s always a motive.”
He lets go of the wheel and runs a hand through his too-perfect hair, messing it up. It looks better now. “I felt bad. I saw this cute girl and she seemed desperate and unstable. And I don’t know why, but for some reason, which is becoming lost to me the further into this conversation we get, I wanted to help her.”
Desperate. I was desperate. Could he have known what I tried to do?
“I didn’t want to kill myself with the gun,” I blurt out.
His hands grip the wheel tight again. “What?” His voice is shaky and uneven.
“I mean, if that’s what you thought.”
We jolt to a stop. I jerk forward, but the seat belt catches me.
“What are you saying?” he says suspiciously, turning toward me slowly, tentatively like he’s afraid any words he says will break me.
Shit.
I search for a way out of the car. I unhook the seat belt, fling the door open, and start running. I was trying to get him off my trail and I led him right to it. He’ll have me committed or worse. He’ll tell Jackson and then I’ll never be alone and I’ll never be able to leave. God, he could tell his lawyer mom, then I’d really go to jail. I need to get him off my trail so I can make it to Halloween. Tate’s dead and it’s my fault. It will always be my fault that she’s not here.
I run hard and fast, but I hear his footsteps and quick breaths behind me.
“Ell, come on. It’s freezing. Come back.”
I shake my head while trying to keep myself steady. My steps on the cement echo in my head like I’m stepping on steel drums. The wind whips my hair in circles and the breeze cuts into my face like it is made of something sharp and tangible.
He catches me quickly and turns me around. I’m putty. I’m gum. I’m taffy, like Jackson. Tears roll out of my eyes. Stupid betraying tears.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He pulls me into his arms. I resist and try to push him away, but he begins to stroke my hair. His touch is honest and pure, but it feels like flames are slowly devouring my body.
“It’s not okay. You’re wrong. Whatever you think, you’re wrong,” I say, his shirt muffling my words.
“Ellery,” he says in a serious tone. “My brother committed suicide. I know what it looks like.”
I jerk away from him and wipe my eyes. I remember hearing that a couple of years ago. How could I not have remembered?
“You’re wrong.” I say it out loud, but it echoes in my head a few more times.
He wipes a piece of hair out of my face. “Am I?”
I slap his hand away. “Yes.”
His forehead creases in concern and his posture changes to something less stiff. “Jackson doesn’t know, does he?”
I don’t say anything, but I slowly move away from him.
He moves closer to me. “I thought so. I’m the only one who knows.”
Again, I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what wouldn’t incriminate me.
“Please,” I say and I’m not sure what will follow.
“You need to get—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say I need to get help. This is none of your business and you’re guessing things you don’t know. I’m not your brother. I’m me, and you don’t know me. At all.”
“How can I? How can anyone? I saw it with Ryan too. He pushed me away, everyone, before he did it. Stopped talking to people.” He scrutinizes me again, like he did that night at Kmart. “How close were you? You said the gun was broken. Did you use it and it didn’t work?” His eyes widen.
I look down at the street, knowing he’s had me figured out for a while. “I need to go home.”
“I . . . I want to help you. Let me.”
“No, I’m not a fucking charity case. Just go back to ignoring me like before.”
“I never ignored you.”