Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(24)
It’s my turn to evade. Rather than answering his question, I tuck my hand under my chin and grapple for the covers. Tug them over me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Revenge.”
The heat of his breath—chocolaty, of course—thaws the ice of my heart as he murmurs, “See you tomorrow, Alex.”
After a few minutes, my eyelashes turn to steel, so heavy they won’t stay open. I dare to lean closer to Revenge … and I pretend. Pretend that he’s a normal boy, that I’m a normal girl. It won’t last, but nothing ever lasts. For now, it’s enough.
He doesn’t move away.
My car struggles to awaken.
I turn the key in the ignition again, and this time the engine catches. As it growls into the morning, I don’t let myself look toward the school doors. Briana and Georgie have no idea that I’m leaving. They’ll be waiting for me at lunch.
A sharp pain pierces my chest, as though someone has shoved a shard of glass into my heart, and Regret looms in the rearview mirror. My eyes meet his. We don’t exchange a word, but we understand each other. His touch elicits images of others: a girl clutching a positive pregnancy test, a man standing over a grave, a boy clutching a paper with an F on it. I’m alone, but I’m not alone in this. I clench my jaw and guide the car onto the county toad that will take me to Green River.
Andrew is on his phone when I get to his office. He startles at the sight of me in the doorway. “Yes, I’ll have them to you by this afternoon,” he says, waving me in. He tugs at his necktie. “Uh-huh. Yes, I have it.”
There’s a clatter when he puts the phone back into the cradle. The moment he’s finished I march up to his desk and slap the flash drive down. “I need to know what’s on this,” I say.
“What’s … ” Andrew frowns. He adjusts his glasses and leans forward. I’m watching his face carefully, and he’s always been a horrible liar. First, recognition flickers in his gaze. Then panic. The office floods with Emotions. “What—” Andrew begins, rising. Before he can touch it, I grab the flash drive again.
“It’s Dad’s. I found it in the pocket of the shirt he was wearing on the day he died.”
Silence. Andrew’s breathing changes, and he looks over his shoulder as if someone might be pressed to the window, peering inside at us. But there’s only the peaceful oak tree and its swaying leaves, and the empty road beyond.
“Let’s go outside,” he says finally, gesturing for me to follow him. He walks past me to the door.
I stay where I am. “No, I want answers, and I know you have them. You were his best friend. He told you everything.”
Andrew’s eyes dart to the hallway. I’ve never seen him so unsettled. No, not unsettled. Scared. He lowers his voice and says through his teeth, “Not here, Alex.”
“Why not? What are you afraid of?” I cock my eyebrow challengingly. Something tells me I’m more liable to get answers in here, where he’s so unnerved, than wherever he wants to go.
As an answer, Andrew opens the door wider. “I don’t know why Will had that or what’s on it,” he says. “But I can find out.” He holds out his free hand. His eyes are almost manic in their desperation.
Lies, a voice in my head whispers. Faltering, I take a step back. There’s a sour taste in my mouth. This is Andrew, another voice protests. Your dad loved him. Your dad trusted him. It’s true. This is my godfather. This is the man who helped me with my math last year when I was flunking the class. Not that grades matter now.
Yet my instincts are telling me that something isn’t right here. “I should get back,” I hear myself say.
“Alex—”
Suddenly it clicks. I see it. And I wonder how I ever missed it. “It was you,” I whisper. Time stops.
Andrew is still holding his hand out, but now it seems less for the flash drive and more to stop me from going. “What?” he asks. Confusion links her arm through his and shares his puzzled look.
The shard of glass is still there, wedged into the flesh of my heart. This truth drives it in deeper. I look my father’s best friend in the eye and say, my voice hard, “You were watching me last night. On the playground.”
Surprise pops into the room, joining the others. Andrew continues to stare at me. Five seconds tick by. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. After a pause that feels like years, Andrew lowers his hand to his side. He must have gotten a manicure recently, because they’re perfectly trimmed and filed. Andrew has a touch of OCD when it comes to his appearance. And his things. Somehow, remembering these tiny details makes the moment hurt even more.
I keep waiting for him to answer. When he does, the words are weak. “I … I’m trying to protect you.”
A few more second pass while I absorb this. He’s not even going to deny it. I’m used to lying to people … but I’m not used to them lying to me. I feel what they must feel, a feeble hope for more, of a reasonable explanation for this betrayal.
“Protect me from what?” I ask, striving to keep the question even. When he doesn’t respond, my nostrils flare and I lose the last of my control. “From what? ” Still he remains silent. “Does this have something to do with my dad?” I ask next, hoping to get something out of him. Anything.
At the mention of Dad, Andrew’s entire body tenses. He clutches the doorknob so tightly it seems like it should shatter. “Please. I’m begging you. Leave this alone.”