One of Us is Lying(28)
“Go on,” Jake says. I can’t read his tone at all.
God. How can my heart be hammering this hard and I still be alive? It should have burst out of my chest by now. “At the end of school last year, when you were in Cozumel with your parents, I ran into TJ at the beach. We got a bottle of rum and ended up getting really drunk. And I went to TJ’s house and, um, I hooked up with him.” Tears slide down my cheeks and drip onto my collarbone.
“Hooked up how?” Jake asks flatly. I hesitate, wondering if there’s any possible way I can make this sound less awful than it is. But then Jake repeats himself—“Hooked up how?”—so forcefully that the words spring out of me.
“We slept together.” I’m crying so hard I can barely get more words out. “I’m sorry, Jake. I made a stupid, horrible mistake and I’m so, so sorry.”
Jake doesn’t say anything for a minute, and when he speaks his voice is icy cold. “You’re sorry, huh? That’s great. That’s all right, then. As long as you’re sorry.”
“I really am,” I start, but before I can continue he springs up and rams his fist into the wall behind him. I can’t help the startled cry that escapes me. The plaster cracks, raining white dust across the blue rug. Jake shakes his fist and hits the wall harder.
“Fuck, Addy. You screw my friend months ago, you’ve been lying to me ever since, and you’re sorry? What the hell is wrong with you? I treat you like a queen.”
“I know,” I sob, staring at the bloody smears his knuckles left on the wall.
“You let me hang out with a guy who’s laughing his ass off behind my back while you jump out of his bed and into mine like nothing happened. Pretending you give a shit about me.” Jake almost never swears in my presence, or if he does, he apologizes afterward.
“I do! Jake, I love you. I’ve always loved you, since the first time I saw you.”
“So why’d you do it? Why?”
I’ve asked myself that question for months and can’t come up with anything except weak excuses. I was drunk, I was stupid, I was insecure. I guess that last one’s closest to the truth; years of being not enough finally catching up with me. “I made a mistake. I’d do anything to fix it. If I could take it back I would.”
“But you can’t, can you?” Jake asks. He’s silent for a minute, breathing hard. I don’t dare say another word. “Look at me.” I keep my head in my hands as long as I can. “Look at me, Addy. You fucking owe me that.”
So I do, but I wish I hadn’t. His face—that beautiful face I’ve loved since before it ever looked as good as it does now—is twisted with rage. “You ruined everything. You know that, right?”
“I know.” It comes out as a moan, like I’m a trapped animal. If I could gnaw my own limb off to escape this situation, I would.
“Get out. Get the hell out of my house. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
I’m not sure how I manage to get up the stairs, never mind out the door. Once I’m in the driveway I scramble through my bag trying to find my phone. There’s no way I can stand in Jake’s driveway sobbing while I wait for Ashton. I need to walk to Clarendon Street and find her. Then a car across the street beeps softly, and through a haze of tears I watch my sister lower her window.
Her mouth droops as I approach. “I thought it might go like this. Come on, get in. Mom’s waiting for us.”
Part Two
* * *
HIDE-AND-SEEK
Chapter Ten
Bronwyn
Monday, October 1, 7:30 a.m.
I get ready for school on Monday the way I always do. Up at six so I can run for half an hour. Oatmeal with berries and orange juice at six-thirty, a shower ten minutes later. Dry my hair, pick out clothes, put on sunscreen. Scan the New York Times for ten minutes. Check my email, pack my books, make sure my phone’s fully charged.
The only thing that’s different is the seven-thirty meeting with my lawyer.
Her name is Robin Stafford, and according to my father she’s a brilliant, highly successful criminal defense attorney. But not overly high-profile. Not the kind of lawyer automatically associated with guilty rich people trying to buy their way out of trouble. She’s right on time and gives me a wide, warm smile when Maeve leads her into the kitchen.
I wouldn’t be able to guess her age by looking at her, but the bio my father showed me last night says she’s forty-one. She’s wearing a cream-colored suit that’s striking against her dark skin, subtle gold jewelry, and shoes that look expensive but not Jimmy Choo level.
She takes a seat at our kitchen island across from my parents and me. “Bronwyn, it’s a pleasure. Let’s talk about what you might expect today and how you should handle school.”
Sure. Because that’s my life now. School is something to be handled.
She folds her hands in front of her. “I’m not sure the police truly believed the four of you planned this together, but I do think they hoped to shock and pressure one of you into giving up useful information. That indicates their evidence is flimsy at best. If none of you point fingers and your stories line up, they don’t have anywhere to take this investigation, and it’s my belief it will ultimately be closed out as an accidental death.”