Tell Me Pretty Lies(75)

“You ready?” I ask, pressing the eject button, making the tray slide out. I don’t know what we’re about to find out, but I know it’s going to change everything.

Instead of answering, he sticks the disc into the tray, then pushes it shut.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance to the falls!”

My heart slams against my ribs when I hear the voice come through the speaker.

“What’s the emergency?” the operator repeats.

“He’s not fucking breathing!”

My stomach drops and I clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack under the pressure.

“Who is he?”

“Danny—uh, Daniel Ames.”

My eyes squeeze shut hearing his name.

There’s commotion in the background as he yells in response to something that I can’t make over the sound of the water. An image of Danny facedown on the shore pops into my mind, unbidden, and I ball my hands into fists, my throat getting tight.

“You said he’s not breathing?”

“Just fucking send someone.”

“An ambulance is already on the way, sir. Who am I speaking to?”

The caller doesn’t answer. The line cuts off, and the recording ends.

But we both know who it was.

Neither one of us speaks for a beat, but then Holden rips the monitor off the desk, launching it onto the floor.

“Why the fuck would Dad have this? Why wouldn’t he tell us?” Holden’s eyes are glassy as he looks at me, his chest heaving.

“The better question is why is he protecting him?”

Holden steps over the broken parts of the computer, making his way to the shelves that line the wall, half of it filled with books, the other half bottles of liquor. He cracks open a bottle of scotch, taking a long pull as he walks back over to me. He takes the chair opposite me, reaching over the desk to hand me the bottle. Not my first choice, but right now I don’t give a fuck. I take it from him, welcoming the burn as it slides down my throat.

We don’t talk. We sit in silence, drinking, thinking, sinking. By the time the sun comes up, the bottle is gone, and Holden’s passed out in the chair. I stagger back to my room, using the wall for support. I pause in the doorway, leaning my weight into the frame as I look at Shayne. Her blonde hair is spread out across my black pillowcase, her pink lips slightly parted, long eyelashes hitting the tops of her cheeks. My sheet is gathered at her hip, exposing the dip in her waist and her arms cover her chest, one hand underneath her cheek. She looks so fucking peaceful when she sleeps. Angelic almost.

And now I have to figure out how to tell her that her brother killed mine.





Shayne



I wake up alone. The sheets are cold, telling me I’ve been alone for a while now. I sit up, stretching my arms above my head. Last night after Holden left, I climbed on top of Thayer and rode him long and slow as he lay there with his hands behind his head, watching me move. My feelings for him only get stronger each day we spend together, and if I’m being honest, it scares the shit out of me. But I’m in too deep to walk away now.

I snag Thayer’s black shirt that I wore last night, pulling it on over my head. Padding over to my gym bag that I stuffed with clothes from my house, I sift through it to find a pair of clean underwear and a pair of Soffe shorts. After I’m dressed, I grab my phone, walking out into the hall. The house seems quiet. Too quiet. Holden must be still asleep. I use the bathroom and brush my teeth before I head downstairs in search of Thayer.

“Thayer?” I call out at the bottom of the stairs.

No response.

Dread creeps into me slowly. I can’t explain why. But it’s an overwhelming feeling that something isn’t right.

I walk into the kitchen, but he’s not there either. I check every room I can think of—the poolroom, the living room, the downstairs bathroom. I open the front door, but his car’s parked in front of the fountain. I look down at my phone, scrolling through my call log and click on his name, bringing it to my ear.

No answer.

I give up, heading back upstairs to gather some of my stuff. If he’s gone, I’m not just going to wait around for him. When I get to the top of the stairs, a sound coming from the other end of the hall has me pausing. It’s a repetitive noise. A thump…thump…thump…every few seconds.

Danny’s room.

I make my way to his door, hesitating with my hand hovering over the door handle. I haven’t stepped foot in here since before. It feels like it’s off limits. Wrong. But if Thayer’s in there…

Taking a deep breath, I twist the handle, pushing the door open. I find the source of the noise. Thayer’s standing in the middle of Danny’s room, surrounded by trophies and ribbons and plaques, bouncing a basketball.

“Thayer?”

His vacant, bloodshot eyes lift to mine and the look in them sends a chill up my spine.

“Are you okay?” I take a step toward him, but his voice stops me in my tracks.

“Get out.” His voice is cold. Emotionless.

“What happened?” I try again.

“Get. Out.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” I shake my head. “You’re pushing me away,” I accuse. He stares at me, not speaking, and my sadness gives way to anger. “How can you do this to me again when you know how much it hurt? When you know how hard it was for me to trust you again? Are you that selfish?” My voice rises in pitch.