The Lies About Truth(45)

His body on top of mine transported me back to the last time he hovered above me.

The Yaris smoked. I was on the ground. Pain.

On the island, Gray said into my ear, “Hold still.”

He fired two rapid shots and a girl walked off the dunes with pink and yellow paint on her chest.

There was blood in my mouth. There was blood, blood, blood everywhere.

On the island, his body pressed against mine. Pinched me between him and the ground. “I think she was alone,” he said.

I tried to sit up and couldn’t. Gray pressed his shirt against my face. Gray said, “Sadie, are you okay? Sweetie, are you okay? Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m okay,” I told Gray. I wasn’t okay.

Island Gray rolled off me and whispered, “Seems we’re in the clear.”

I bulldozed those memories to the side with a steady, internal voice. I do not have a time machine.

“What I was saying before,” Gray continued. There was the sweat again, gathering on his skin. Not from the heat of the sun, but from the heat of what he had to say. “He makes you happy. Max, I mean, and—”

“Gray, stop.”

“I kissed you the other night, and I shouldn’t have . . . I wanna say I’m sorry. Anything that makes you smile, after this past year, I’m on board. Even if it’s not me.”

“You don’t want it to be you. You made that pretty clear last fall,” I said, keeping my eyes on my gun sites.

“Gina was a mistake,” he said. “There’s a reason it happened and you wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t what? Understand? Because trust me, I would rather understand how you and Gina ended up kissing than be left to my own theories.”

“Really?”

My answer came slowly. Eye to eye. Pain to pain.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he said. “Here you go. Gina wasn’t driving the day of the accident. I was.”

Gray’s words sliced into me. The sharp knife of truth.

Fumbling for a response, I said, “You . . . can’t . . . drive a stick.”

“I know.” Gray rolled onto his stomach. Tears fell from his eyes to the sand. “That’s why the Jeep stalled out.”

“But—” I squeezed the trigger of my gun so tightly that several rounds fired off toward the tree line. “Why would you risk that?”

Gray buried his face in the crook of his elbow. “It’s complicated.”

“More complicated than both of you lying to me, to everyone, for a year?”

Was this what Gina meant to confess?

He caught the fear in my eyes, and lowered his head again without speaking. He still didn’t think I could handle what he had to say.

Righteous indignation overtook me. I put my mouth against his ear and gritted out two sentences. “I am not an effing china doll. Now, tell me the truth.”

“If you think about it,” he said, “you already know the reason. Trent broke up with Gina for you.”

“No, he didn’t.” That was the refrain of my life.

“You don’t know what she said happened. You weren’t in our car.” He cringed as he said that statement. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the truth, and that you finally know. I swear to God, I planned to tell you. We both did, but then, there just wasn’t any good way to do it. It felt like if we told you, you’d blame yourself, and I didn’t think you needed any more pain this year. But that’s clearly Not. A. Problem. You don’t even blame yourself for messing with our relationship and theirs.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have to blame myself because I didn’t do anything. I certainly didn’t drive a vehicle that I don’t know how to drive.”

The fight drained out of him. He wore guilt like I wore scars. When he spoke this time, there was hardly anything left. “Sadie, you nearly died. I almost lost you. I could barely wrap my head around that. And losing Trent . . . knowing I killed him . . . can’t you see how confusing this has been for me, too? I was angry with him, and you, and then me. It’s been a damn carousel. So, hate me if you want, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, pull another rug out from under you. And then, it was too late.”

“I . . .” The words stopped. Nothing came.

Gray wasn’t usually a crier. Now, his eyes and nose leaked in a constant stream. “What happened to you and Trent and Max . . . It’s all my fault.”

I stood up, vulnerable to the playing field.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Two shots pounded me in the arm. Another shot exploded against my leg. Purple paint splattered against my shin. I was out. But I wasn’t playing the game anymore.

“Please say something,” Gray said. “Anything.”

“I don’t know what to say. What am I supposed to do with this?” Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I got nailed again on my hip.

“Blame me. Hate me. Punish me. Anything you need. I just want this . . .” He balled up his fists and pressed them into his thighs. “I want this . . . to be behind us.”

I said nothing. I felt everything. I wanted to shoot him.

Gray read the cacophony of feelings perfectly. He stood up and faced me. “Shoot me, then.”