What Lies in the Woods(76)

He’d said he didn’t do anything to Jessi—and hadn’t attacked me. He could be lying. He’d known Jessi. She’d spurned him. That could have been enough to set him off.

It wasn’t enough. I needed more. But first I needed to get back to the motel before Ethan panicked.

I focused my mind on Ethan, on my destination, and tried not to think about what was behind me as I drove away.





When I opened the door, Ethan was pacing. He stopped mid-stride and turned to look at me, anger and relief twinned in his expression. “Where the hell did you go?” he demanded.

“Nowhere.” It was still my first, gut reaction—lie, even if the lie was absurd, even if you fully intended to tell the truth. “I went to talk to Oscar.”

“Alone? Are you insane?”

“It was broad daylight. There were employees around. He wasn’t going to talk with you there anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He called you a string bean,” I noted, not as proof, just because it suddenly seemed funny. Ethan looked affronted. “Don’t take it personally. He’s basically a ham hock with a face. Everyone looks like a string bean to him.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Ethan. Relax. I got information, I’m fine, no harm done.” I told myself it was true. Oscar hadn’t even touched me. And he never had, not unless I asked him first—not since that day behind the gas station. Yet every time he did, it felt like a punishment.

Maybe that was the point.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Ethan asked. “You act weird every time Oscar comes up. That isn’t ‘generic asshole’ weird. Something happened.”

“It’s not important.”

“Sawant thinks he’s a suspect in your stabbing. He’s definitely a suspect in Jessi’s death. So it’s pretty fucking important,” Ethan shouted, his frustration boiling over. He looked away immediately, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Sorry.”

I let out a little breath. It was like a tiny crack had appeared in him, and I could see through to the parts of him he tried to keep locked away. It was a relief, in a way.

“I had sex with him,” I said flatly.

“What?” Ethan jerked, staring at me. “Just now?”

“Jesus. No,” I said, making a face. “A long time ago.”

“You said he was an asshole.”

“He is. He was,” I said. I paced, one hand braced on my hip.

“But you dated?”

“No. Not even remotely,” I said, turning back to him. “We don’t have any kind of relationship. We hooked up a few times here and there, that’s all. But I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want him to say anything. I’ve slept with a lot of people I shouldn’t have and I don’t mind talking about it, but Oscar … I just didn’t want that to be what you knew about me.”

“When was this?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, but that was a lie. I knew exactly when the first time was. And the last. I sat down on the motel bed, my fingers finding the scar at my wrist.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “Really. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“The last time was eight years ago,” I said, ignoring him.

I’d come back to town to be with Liv after she got out of the hospital. She wouldn’t talk to me, Kimiko and Marcus would barely talk to anyone, and I’d been suffocating in the silence. I’d gone to the bar I knew my dad didn’t frequent, and Oscar had been there.

I took a breath and made myself say the rest. “The first time was eighteen years ago. And a handful of times in between. Every couple years when I was in town and feeling shitty enough that Oscar seemed like an improvement.”

“Eighteen years ago you were a kid,” Ethan said. Trust him to do the math.

I shrugged and didn’t look at him. “Fifteen. It was my birthday.”

“That would make him—”

“Old enough to buy the booze,” I said lightly. “It was my idea. I made my own decisions every step of the way. They were terrible decisions, but they were mine.”

“That’s statutory rape,” Ethan said. “It doesn’t matter that it was your idea. It was his job not to be a fucking rapist.”

“I don’t—I’m not telling you this to get sympathy or something,” I said quickly.

He sat down beside me. “All right,” he said. “So why are you telling me?”

“Like I said. I just wanted you to know— I didn’t want—” My voice choked off into silence. “I don’t know. I’ve never told anyone before. Cass would kill me. Well, she’d kill him first. Then she’d kill me.”

“Is that why you hate him so much?”

“More like it’s part of why I hate myself so much,” I said. The room was too cold, and my skin prickled with the chill. “There was a reason I knew Oscar would say yes, when I told him to bring a bottle of rum and a condom and meet me in the woods. When I was eleven, right before…” I waved a hand. I didn’t need to spell it out; before was enough. “Oscar was joking around. Shoved me up against a wall and put his hand up my shirt. Scared the shit out of me.”