You'll Be the Death of Me(79)

    Coach Kendall flicks his eyes between Lara, Ivy, and me. He actually looks like he’s buying her crap, and while that’s good news, it’s also kind of shocking. It’s come to my attention, recently, that I’m a massive sucker, but this is a whole other level. “Interesting,” he says. “Although it throws years of work down the drain. What’s option two?”

I lean forward despite myself. I don’t mind the idea of these two disappearing, but I’m hoping Lara comes up with something even better—like Coach Kendall turning himself in. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but he seems to be putty in her hands. If anyone can persuade him to do it, it’d be her.

Instead, she tilts her head toward Ivy and me and says, “Frame someone else. Like, these two.”

No. No. No no no no no.

Lara is still talking, even though the world just spun on its axis and should’ve knocked her flat on her ass. “This one is supposed to be smart, right?” she asks, lifting her chin toward Ivy. “At least, she thinks she is. But really, she’s a nasty, vindictive little thing. Half the town already believes she killed Brian. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for them to believe she’s a dealer, too, especially if we keep the scale realistic. She doesn’t need to have been running a full operation; it could just be her, Cal, and some stolen prescription pads.” Lara’s voice is all honey and sweetness, despite the poison rolling off her tongue. “All we’d need to do is move a few things to her house, give them both an overdose, and call it a day.”

    Ivy makes choking noises beside me as Lara flutters her lashes at Coach Kendall, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I mean, there’s more to it than that, obviously, but we can figure out the details together. The important thing is, it keeps the situation contained. No one you work with is implicated. No one except the two of them”—she gestures at Ivy and me—“knows you’re involved, or that I use the studio Brian died in. Besides Dominick, and he won’t say a word. He has an airtight alibi since he was giving a lecture out of town, and he doesn’t want any trouble.”

Mateo and Charlie know, I think, but manage not to blurt it out. I told Lara I’d kept her use of the studio to myself, and it’s better for everyone if she keeps thinking that.

Coach Kendall is silent for what feels like an eternity, and my entire being is focused on sending Vote to Disappear vibes his way. I know it’s no guarantee that Ivy and I will get out of here alive, but it has a one hundred percent better chance than the alternative.

But then he smiles. Actually smiles, like the pathetic, gullible creep that he is. “I like the sound of option two,” he says.

Ivy tugs at my fingers, hard. When I cut my eyes toward her, she jerks her head downward and to the left, like she’s trying to call my attention to something. I look at the space between us, but there’s nothing except our interlocked hands.

“No time to waste, then,” Lara says. “What’s in the duffel bag?”

    Coach Kendall’s smile hardens. “Everything we need to get started.”

Ivy yanks my hand more insistently and jerks her head again. Frustration builds in me, because she’s obviously trying to tell me something and I have no idea what. Her head dips more deeply to the left as she squeezes my hand, and then—I get it. Your left.

I glance down while letting my fingertips brush the floor, seeing and feeling in an instant what Ivy has been trying to point out. There’s a crowbar on the ground beside me; I must have stepped right over it without noticing. But Ivy did.

Coach Kendall and Lara are still talking as I close my fingers around the metal bar. “…help you get it ready,” Lara is saying.

Coach Kendall narrows his eyes at her. “I’m not trusting you with a syringe full of fentanyl, Lara. But you can restrain this one.” He jerks his head toward me. “There’s duct tape in the side pocket. Take it out.”

My hand flexes on the crowbar as I gauge the distance between me and Coach Kendall. His gun hand is within reach, if I can get a good enough swing in. The thought freezes me with self-doubt and fear, and I really wish I’d used that baseball bat in my trunk for more than just a prop at some point. Even once would’ve helped.

Coach Kendall’s attention is fully focused on Lara as she unzips one side of his duffel bag, the gun pointed toward the ground. Ivy is almost crushing my hand, her nails biting into my palm with rhythmic, frantic pressure like she’s chanting the word out loud. Now. Now. Now.

She’s right. There won’t be a better time.

    I lunge forward with the crowbar in my grasp and swing it with all my strength toward Coach Kendall’s hand. Lara screams and ducks as I make contact, and a shocked thrill of triumph surges through me when the gun goes flying toward the wall and Coach Kendall howls with pain and rage. I did it, I can’t believe I actually did it, I—

And then I’m flat on my back, the entire right side of my head on fire from the impact of Coach Kendall’s fist. The element of surprise ended way too fast.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lara scrambling on the floor, going for the gun, until Ivy leaps at her and drags her back. They’re a tangle of motion, all blond hair and flailing limbs. Ivy manages to sweep the gun away from them, and I watch it skitter beneath a rusted lawn mower. Then I can’t pay attention to them anymore, because there’s a fist headed my way again. If I could talk, I’d tell Coach Kendall to think twice about beating me senseless, since it doesn’t fit the framing scenario all that well. But my mouth isn’t working, and from the look on his face, he’s snapped beyond the point of reason. So I try to squirm out of the way instead.