the bitter reminder of what Lawrence is about to face.
“I’d better go in for dinner,” I say, my heart heavy. “Mom’s
probably wondering where I am.”
Lawrence brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucking
it behind my ear. “Will you sneak out when your parents go
to bed?”
I nod, hoping I’ll be able to shake this gloom by the time I
come back. If these really are my final hours with Lawrence, I
want them to be like last night, not this.
“See you later,” I say.
Lawrence pulls me into a hug. “I’ll be waiting.”
My feet feel like stones as I head back to the house. The last
thing I want to do is leave Lawrence. I should be in his arms,
not moping a hundred years away. Sitting in the kitchen with
Mom, Frank, and Eddie and pretending to be fine. Dodging
questions from Mom. Torture. But when I step into the house,
it’s not Mom waiting for me. It’s Brandon.
A zing of terror cuts through me. Is he back to fight with Lawrence?
Is he planning to reveal my secret to my mom and Frank? It’s as if
all my worst what-ifs are suddenly coming true at once.
“Who let you in?” I ask.
The silence in the house rings like a heavy note in my ears. I
don’t think anyone’s even here. Maybe they went in to pick up
something for dinner and bring it back.
“Let’s go for a drive,” Brandon says.
For a moment, I don’t move. What is he up to? Maybe he’s
planning to kill me.
I almost roll my eyes at my own thought. Brandon is many
things, but murderer isn’t one of them. Still… I don’t completely trust him. But I need to get him back on my side.
Maybe there’s a chance I can make this right.
“A drive where?” I ask cautiously.
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose it doesn’t, provided we avoid dark alleys and abandoned warehouses.”
Brandon maintains his stone expression and walks away.
Tossing a nervous glance at the back door, I discretely text
Mom and follow him.
For the first seven minutes of the drive—I watch each one
pass on the dashboard clock—neither of us speaks. Then I stare
at the tailored lawns and summer trees rolling past in a green
blur. The thoughts in my head seem to be passing in a similar
way. What do I say to Brandon? How am I supposed to make
this better? He saw what he saw. I can’t feed him some line and
pretend that he didn’t. He needs some kind of explanation.
Trouble is, when I think about it, there are very few ways I can
envision this going well.
“Brandon…”
His gaze cuts to me, sharp and yet full of an unreadable emotion. Fear? Anger? I can’t say.
“I want answers, Cass.”
“I know.”
Brandon waits. “Well, what in the hell happened back there?”
I’m tempted to gaslight him, to pretend that I didn’t see anything, that he’s crazy. But my instincts scream out that if I do, he’ll go searching for proof of his claims. Besides, Brandon
deserves the truth. All things considered, he’s not a bad guy.
Had this summer gone differently, he and I could have been
friends. Maybe even more. It may be the biggest risk I’ve ever
taken, but somehow, deep down, I know I need to be honest.
“Pull over,” I say, setting my hand on Brandon’s arm.
He hesitates but parks his car on the side of the road. The
ocean glows in the early evening sun just beyond the bluff,
strengthening me.
“Logic is going to resist what I’m about to tell you, Brandon.
You’re not going to believe it. You’re not going to want to
believe it. But you have to trust what you saw. Hold on to that.
It was real. You’re weren’t imagining it.”
“Enough. Tell me what I saw.”
I steady my voice. “You were right. Lawrence isn’t from
around here. Well, he is. But not in the way you’d think. He’s
from a different Crest Harbor. One that existed…in nineteen
twentyfive.”
Brandon’s eyes narrow slightly, but his gaze stays on me.