Addy
Tuesday, July 21
A full-body tremor runs through me as I say, “Jake killed your father?”
“And his,” Chelsea says.
“He wasn’t my father!” Jake spits out. “Simon was lying.”
“Simon never lied.” This time, I don’t look away when I say it.
I know what Jake is capable of; I barely lived through it. But all this time, I thought that I was the one who’d brought the monster out of him. I didn’t realize it had been there before we even met.
“Oh, Simon’s a paragon of virtue now, huh?” Jake sneers. “You’ll believe whatever he said, even though he couldn’t wait to ruin your life.”
“Neither could you,” I say quietly.
Chelsea was wrong about Jake; he didn’t believe Simon would take his secret to the grave because he was naïve. He believed it because he was arrogant and self-involved. If Jake had spent a single moment trying to truly understand Simon Kelleher, a boy he’d known since kindergarten, he would have realized Simon would never leave a secret like that untold.
What I can’t figure out, though, is why Simon told Chelsea. Why not address the letter to her mother—who was still alive when Simon died—or one of her brothers? Was it because Simon had met Chelsea once? Because he knew, instinctively, that she’d do something like this? It seems impossible, considering how brief their interaction must have been. But somehow, more than a year after he died, Simon managed to hand a lit match to a powder keg.
Jake snorts. “You were lucky to have me.”
“Bravo, Jake. Thank you for proving that you’re entirely incapable of change,” Chelsea says, taking a step forward. “You understand, don’t you, Addy? I’m not just doing you and me and my brothers a favor. I’m doing the entire world a favor.” There’s a clicking noise as she releases the safety on the gun and lowers her arm, aiming directly at Jake’s heart. “It’s okay, you know. To admit that you want this.”
“I…” I stare at the hunk of metal in her hands as Jake’s breathing gets uneven. I want a lot of things right now: for Nate to be okay, for Phoebe to get out of here safely, for Bronwyn and Maeve to be working the kind of Rojas sister magic that means I’ll get to see my friends and my family again. That I’ll get to meet my niece or nephew this fall.
But I don’t want this.
“You can put Jake back in jail,” I say. “That’s your revenge.”
Chelsea snorts. “Are you serious? They wouldn’t keep him behind bars when he was caught with his literal hands around your neck. Think they’d care about a letter? Even if there’s a way to prove it came from Simon, you heard him, right?” She lifts her chin toward Jake. “He’ll never stop insisting that Simon was lying. And there’s no evidence. What I think happened is that Scott Riordan drove Dad’s car to the beach and tossed his body into the ocean—maybe with Jake’s help, maybe not.” Her voice hitches. “But that car was totaled in the accident that killed my mother, so I can’t even try to prove it.”
“You could prove paternity,” I say. “That would show the letter is at least right about one thing. And it gives motive.”
“It’s not enough,” Chelsea says. “You know it’s not enough.”
“This isn’t the way,” I say. My voice takes on a pleading tone, because I’m running out of arguments. “It won’t make you feel any better.”
“Maybe not,” she says. “But I can’t imagine it would make me feel any worse.”
“Chels,” Gavin says suddenly. He’s been silent for so long, I almost forgot he was here. “Hold up. Do you hear that?”
I’ve been so focused on Chelsea that at first I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then I hear it: the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway out front. My pulse takes a giant leap as Gavin crosses to the window and peers outside. “Who drives a black Subaru?” he asks.
“A what?” Chelsea asks just as I cry out, “Cooper!” Then I want to clap my hand over my mouth and swallow the name, but it’s too late.
Jake starts laughing then, a mocking, bitter sound that puts a quick end to the hope that started fizzing through my veins. “Cooper Clay to the rescue once again,” he says, his lip curling. “But this time, you’re the one getting punched in the head.”
“He’s with another guy,” Gavin reports. “Big, dark hair. I don’t know him.” Luis, I think, but this time I manage to keep the name to myself. Gavin backs away from the window and adds, “Chels, I don’t think I can take them. Even with the element of surprise.” His gaze drops to the gun in Chelsea’s hand. “Unless…”
“Jesus Christ, Gavin, we’re not shooting Cooper!” Chelsea says, recoiling with what looks like genuine disgust. “That’s not what this is about.” Despite everything she’s done, I feel a rush of gratitude at her words. I’m already sick with worry over Nate; I couldn’t take it if another friend got hurt trying to help me.
“Then we gotta go.” Gavin grabs hold of Chelsea’s arm just as a loud, thudding noise comes from downstairs. It sounds as though Cooper and Luis are throwing all their weight against the front door. “Come on, Chels. You did the best you could,” Gavin says.
“Just not quite good enough,” Jake says, still smirking.
For the first time since I saw her in the kitchen, Chelsea looks unsure of herself. “I…I don’t know what to do,” she says.
“Out the back door, babe,” Gavin says. “Come on. We’ll disappear a little sooner than we planned.”
Chelsea’s eyes are like glass as she allows Gavin to pull her into the hall, the gun still in her hand, only now pointed at the floor. I’m frozen in place, my gaze ping-ponging between Jake’s smug grin and Chelsea’s slack face, and I almost miss the moment when her expression changes. The hard mask drops back into place, her mouth curves into that disconcerting half smile I’ve come to know too well, and she raises her arm.
“Just kidding. I know exactly what to do,” she says, and then the thunderous crack of a gunshot fills my ears.
