“Yes.”
Our eyes remain locked. I know we both ache for the same thing—his lips on mine. But our first kiss can’t happen behind Lana’s back. I lower my head away from his, resting it on his shoulder.
From the back row of the train car comes the sound of an acoustic guitar. I turn around in my seat. A twentysomething, scruffy-bearded man is playing, a change cup beside him.
“It’s a busker,” I tell Chace. He begins to sing.
“Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again…”
“Doesn’t Adele sing this?” I hum along.
“It’s originally by the Cure,” Chace replies.
“You know an awful lot about music for an athlete,” I say, looking up at him teasingly. “Where did all that knowledge come from?”
“I guess the fact that I can’t sing on key or play an instrument to save my life makes me appreciate those who do,” he says with a grin. “I’ve always been a giant music fan, but mostly for older stuff.”
“I like that about you,” I tell him.
“And I like everything about you,” he murmurs into my hair.
My heart jumps, and I try to control my smile. We fall silent again, Chace’s arm still around my shoulder as we listen to the acoustic guitarist at the back of the train.
“However far away,
I will always love you…”
There’s a trail that leads from the school woodlands straight up a hill, forming a shortcut into the residential streets of Oyster Bay, where Tyler Hemming’s family estate sits on a plush pocket of land. I follow the trail now, retracing my steps from the night of the party. The day is turning to dusk, and I quicken my footsteps, anxious to get through my task before night falls.
My iPhone buzzes with a text. It’s from Kara.
Where R U? Just saw on the news that there’s a lead on Nicole. Something they found on her computer.
I drop my phone back in my purse. I could just turn around and head back to my dorm right now; anyone else would. Who cares what I do or don’t remember, when the girl I’ve hated for months is the obvious suspect and not me? I should just let the police, my mom, and whoever else is pushing the Nicole narrative along sew this case up. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more, something I need to remember if I’m ever going to recover from this. The problem is, retracing my steps will mean returning to the place I can’t stand to see: the woods where we last argued. The place where his body was found.
Still I press on, the occasional bird chirping and the crunching of my shoes against the leaves providing the only soundtrack. And then I see it, out of the corner of my eye—a flash of yellow tape, the word CAUTION screaming its warning in bold black letters.
Now that I’m nearly at the scene of the crime, I want nothing more than to bypass it. I break into a run, keeping my gaze focused on the dirt beneath my feet.
“Lana.”
The voice calling my name isn’t real. It’s only in my head. I keep running, ignoring the stitch in my side.
“Lana.”
It’s the wind. I’m hearing things, imagining things. But then I feel a pressure against my arm. I spin around, heart in my throat. A bloodcurdling scream escapes my lips.
I can’t explain it—but somehow I’ve run into the very center of the sectioned-off patch of woods, surrounded by the menacing tape. I’m at the beating heart of the crime scene. A familiar figure is standing underneath the weeping willow tree, casually leaning one foot against the tree trunk as he watches me. I fall to my knees in the dirt.
“Chace?” I whisper.
It’s impossible. I don’t believe in ghosts.
“Lana,” he says, and I scramble backward in panic.
“You’re not real,” I tell him, my voice sounding high-pitched and foreign to my own ears. “You can’t hurt me. You’re only in my mind.”
“Am I?” He smiles slightly, revealing the dimples I used to love. They send a stab of fear through me now. “Even if you’re right, if I am only in your mind, I can still be real.”
My breath comes out in shallow gulps; I don’t know what to think, what to say. When I finally speak, my words come tumbling out in a terrified rush.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you. And I’m sorry about the things I said, and the—the thing with the rock. But I didn’t do this to you. You can’t blame me.”
He just watches me, tapping his finger against his lips, as if weighing my words.
“Why are you even here?” I burst out. “Shouldn’t you be, like, on the other side?” I clap my hand over my mouth, cringing. “Wait, I didn’t mean it that way, I just mean—”
“You’re talking an awful lot like someone who wanted me gone,” Chace says roughly.
“No.” I shake my head, pleading with my eyes. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
He pauses, and I wonder if he is deliberating whether or not to believe me.
“I can’t…move on until I know she’s okay,” he says, looking away. “So if you really want this to be the last time you see me, then you’ll help.”