Can't Look Away(75)

But the universe is not on my side today, Molly. Because there is your car, pulling back into the parking lot. A knife stabs my gut. A sharp, unfurling pain.

You run down the beach toward the gazebo, toward Jake, your ponytail a flash of yellow dancing behind you. I watch the two of you collide; I watch him wipe the rain—or tears?—off your face.

There’s a loud crack of lightning, and the rain falls faster, slapping the umbrella at a steady pace. Water gathers in the lenses of the binoculars, and it’s harder to see, but there are Jake’s hands, running down the length of your body, pushing you against the rail of the gazebo. I want to die, Molly. I really want to fucking die.

It’s pouring now. The bottom half of my leggings are soaked, and I can’t see a thing. I stand and jog haphazardly toward the gazebo, and that’s when I see the two of you heading toward Jake’s Jeep, ducking your heads as you run through the rain. You climb into the back seat, and the knife inside me twists, burrowing deeper. I stop in my tracks. I can’t risk getting any closer.

Time stands still. I drop the umbrella and stare at the car through thick silver sheets of rain. I am drenched and sick and helpless. I don’t know how much time passes—ten minutes, or maybe it’s hours. Eventually, the back door of the Jeep flings open. I watch you climb out and run across the parking lot to your own vehicle. I watch your engine rev; I watch you speed away from Skipping Beach, your taillights flashing red in the blur of wet, gray darkness.

You won’t get away with this, Molly. Not on my watch.





Chapter Twenty-nine

Molly




2015

It was September, but the summer heat hadn’t cooled. Despite the AC unit that hummed in their bedroom window on Driggs, Molly still woke up sticky with sweat. Beside her, Jake stirred. She was almost afraid for the moment when he’d open his eyes. She never knew what kind of mood he’d wake up in.

“Morning, Moll.” His voice was scratchy. He reached for her underneath the covers, wrapping one arm around her bare abdomen and pulling her in close.

“I’m too hot, Jake.” Molly wriggled free from his grasp and climbed out of bed. “I’m going to put on some coffee.”

In the kitchen, she filled the percolator with water and loaded the basket with ground beans. Jake wandered in a moment later, rubbing his eyes. He wore the boxers printed with little guitars that she’d found for him at J.Crew. He’d been running lately, and his chest was toned and golden brown from the late summer sun.

“Why are you in a bad mood?” He slid onto a counter stool.

“I’m not,” Molly lied, mainly because she couldn’t pinpoint the source of her residual annoyance toward Jake. She’d simply grown weary of his erratic, volatile existence. The hot and cold of it. Since Precipice’s release, the music world had made it clear that Danner Lane’s sophomore effort was a flop. The scorching Rolling Stone review had been followed by similar sentiments from Billboard, The Times’ Jon Caramanica, and countless others. Jake, who’d poured his heart and soul into writing the album, let every word of criticism convince him that he was a failure. And the backlash was Molly’s to endure.

She placed a mug of coffee in front of Jake—black with sugar, the way he liked it. They both drank it hot, even in the warm weather.

“Thanks.” He took a slow sip.

“My student loan payment is overdue,” Molly said, eyes on her phone. “I just got an email.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Can you transfer money into my account? Remember I asked you last week?”

“Right,” he muttered, hesitant.

“What?” Molly glanced up, scanning his face.

“I just—” Jake sighed. “Money’s kind of tight right now.”

“For real? I thought you got a big advance for Precipice.”

“The album isn’t doing well, Molly. And most of our advance is already gone.”

“Are you serious?”

“Between the insane cost of recording and studio time, marketing, all the new equipment we invested in earlier this year … well, yeah.” Jake stood, walked over to the windows that looked out over Driggs. “Besides, I thought my paying your loans was only supposed to be temporary? I thought we agreed that once you got a book deal, you’d start making the payments again.”

“You’re the one who wanted to pay my loans, Jake.”

“Right.” A beat of silence passed.

“Well, we should talk about this,” Molly broached. “Because, frankly, my advance is chump change next to yours, and I only got a third of it up front. I don’t get the next third until my manuscript is accepted, and the rest when it publishes. If you want me to start making the payments again, I need to get a waitressing job or something.”

“This isn’t about what I want, Molly. I don’t want the album to be failing.” Jake pressed his forehead against the window, exasperated. “Can we not do this right now? It’s early.”

“Whatever.” She picked up her mug, her fingers trembling in frustration, in fear. This wasn’t about money—or was it? No, it was that Jake had always had her back, her best interests at heart. It had always felt like they were on the same team. But lately, the two of them seemed to be opposing factions.