Good as Dead(66)

But I didn’t. Because I was terrified. Not by the accident, or by seeing my dad’s dead body. I was terrified of the impossible coincidence that of course wasn’t a coincidence at all.

I was terrified of him.

“I need to go check on my mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

I slipped out the door and down the hall toward my mom’s room. I pushed open the door to see her sitting up in bed, reading on her phone. As she looked up at me, I put a finger over my lips.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her, careful to keep my voice calm and steady, even though I could feel my eyes bulging with fear. She furrowed her brow but answered the question.

“I’m good,” she said, trying to match the brightness in my voice, not the alarmed expression on my face. “I was just playing Scrabble.”

“Oh! Can I see?” I held out my hand, and she put her phone in it.

I closed the game and typed a note with shaking hands:

PUT ON YOUR SHOES WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW

I passed her the phone. Her eyes flickered with surprise, but she didn’t flinch.

“I think I need to go out for a bit,” she announced. I nodded almost imperceptibly, but enough so she knew she was on the right track, and to say more. “I’d love your company.”

She swung her legs off the bed and leaned over to slip on her boots—steel-toed Timberlands I’d picked out for her online, perfect for the drizzly winter nights that would soon be upon us. But before she had the chance to put them on, Logan appeared in the doorway.

“How’s everybody feeling?” he asked. The question was meant for my mom, but he was staring at me.

“Hungry!” Mom responded without missing a beat. “I was just going to drag Savannah to the grocery store.”

“Yeah . . . ,” Logan replied. “I don’t think so.”

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He had something in his hand. He saw me looking at it, so he raised his arm to show me.

It was a kitchen knife. The one meant for cleaving meat. The blade was wide and razor sharp.

“Logan, what are you doing with that?” I stammered. The sight of my boyfriend standing in the doorway flashing a knife as long and thick as my arm made my head spin. I tried to tell myself this wasn’t really happening, that it couldn’t be happening.

“Oh, come on!” he belted. He sounded annoyed, like wasn’t it obvious? “We all knew this charade wouldn’t last. You with my money, living in this house like you belong here.”

Mom looked at me. Her expression was a mix of bewilderment and terror. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, and she suddenly got it—why Logan had pursued me, that he was the one Evan was protecting, that we were in deep shit.

“Let’s all just calm down,” Mom said. “Nobody took your money, Logan. The money to buy this house was a settlement—”

“It wasn’t my fault!” he spat back, then turned to me. His face was red with rage. “Your dad was stupid. What kind of moron steps out in front of a speeding car? This was a setup, he set me up!”

I shook my head in stunned disbelief. Does he really believe my dad died on purpose? The suggestion was as absurd as him standing there waving that knife.

“We don’t want your money,” Mom said. Her voice was steady but tight with fear. “You can have it back. All of it. We didn’t know it was yours.”

“It’s too late,” Logan said. “Don’t you get it?” He suddenly looked exhausted. His lips puckered with frustration. “My dad doesn’t give a shit about you. All this . . .” He waved the knife in the air, indicating the room, the house, all that had become ours. “It isn’t a gift meant for you. It’s a punishment meant for me. You got all this so I would have nothing.”

I raced to put the pieces together in my mind. He killed my dad. So his dad took his money and gave it to us. That’s why he came to my school—to find me and make me fall in love with him. He was never into me. Not even for a second. I couldn’t believe how gullible I had been, believing his compliments and I love yous. He didn’t love me, he despised me. The realization ripped through my heart like a bullet. My disappointment and shame poured out in sobs.

“We didn’t know,” I insisted. “We never would have taken it if we’d known.”

“Why’d you have to keep that video?” Logan asked, eyes boring into my tear-streaked face. “You already had the money, he wasn’t going to give it back to me.”

Mom jumped to my defense. “She had no intention of showing it to anyone—”

“She showed it to me!” Logan snapped back, then raised the knife and shook it at me. “I knew you were weak,” he seethed. “I knew you would show someone. I was never safe from your squealing little fingers.”

“I’m sorry,” I mustered, because he was right. I was weak. Because I did show it to someone. Someone I thought loved me. I cried harder, and Mom squeezed my hand.

“Because she trusted you,” Mom said. “She’s not going to show it to anyone else. We’ll delete it right now.” She snuck a glance at me, and I nodded that I would. “We have nothing to gain by telling anyone it was you,” she reasoned. “Nobody else has to know.”