To the Stars (Thatch #2)(98)

“Us? Was that your truck?” the prosecutor asked me, and I nodded once. “Were you injured?”

I glanced at Harlow for guidance, but she was still looking at her in-laws with frustration and hurt. “I was shot,” I finally responded, but didn’t expand on the details.

From the way Mr. Doherty’s face fell, I didn’t need to. He was piecing it together on his own. “Collin has said for so long that you were depressed, and you looked it. With the weight loss, it wasn’t hard to believe that everything else was true—it still isn’t. We want to get you help.”

When Harlow spoke again, the anger was gone. “I don’t do drugs, but, honestly, I don’t have to prove that to you. I’m sorry you lost your son—I’m so sorry. But I’m not sorry that I’m finally away from that nightmare. Depressed doesn’t even come close to what I felt. It felt like I was dead, and I remember praying to be taken away from him. I’m sorry if that’s hard to hear,” she said when Mrs. Doherty began crying. “But even though I understand that you loved your son and want to believe he couldn’t do this, you have to understand that I lived it and it hurts that you can’t believe me when the evidence is right in front of you.

“I know you went by the house yesterday and took whatever you wanted to keep, but I want to know if you want what money is left in Collin’s bank account, or our cars. I don’t want them—I don’t want anything. I don’t want the house, you can have it.”

Shock swept through me. I’d known she wanted to rid herself of everything that had to do with Collin, but I hadn’t known about all of this. Other than paying her first and last month’s rent, as she already had, she wouldn’t be able to afford her apartment . . . or anything. And with the fight she’d already had with her family about wanting to do all of this herself, I doubted she would let me help.

I looked over to the Dohertys, and saw my shock multiplied on both of their faces.

Shock slowly morphed into confusion, and it was Mrs. Doherty’s turn to ask, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I don’t want any of it,” Harlow said, exhaustion laced through every word. “I just want to know if you do, before I find something else to do with all of it, like I did the things in the house.”

“But that house, that house is paid for,” Mr. Doherty said. “The cars are only a year—the money—Collin said . . .”

“From some of the things he’s said, we were sure you’d take the money and valuables, and run,” Mrs. Doherty finished. With a quick look at her husband, she said, “We don’t want those things. They’re yours. If—if he really was that kind of—no. Uh, those things belong to you, Harlow. Just . . .” She trailed off with a quiet sob.

A moment passed, and it looked like Harlow was trying to figure out if she should go comfort them or not. Eventually, she said, “I’m sorry you lost your son.”

With a look at me, she nodded to the side of the house, and we quietly walked away from the Dohertys as their guilt for missing so much settled, and confusion with what they’d thought they’d known of their son mixed with their grief of losing him.





Chapter 24


Harlow

Present Day—Richland

I’D BEEN SITTING in my car in front of the house for nearly forty minutes. I didn’t know what was so hard about what I was trying to do, because when I’d made the decision to do it, I hadn’t had any hesitations. But now . . . now I was shaking and wringing my hands and considering just leaving instead.

It’s not him, and it’s not what you came to do . . . it’s where you just came from, I reminded myself.

It’d been three weeks since I was released from the hospital, and I felt like I hadn’t stopped running the whole time—which was probably a good thing. It kept my mind off of things for too long.

I’d moved into my apartment after selling both BMWs, buying a brand-new Camry in their place, and using some of the leftover money to furnish my new apartment. Since Collin’s parents hadn’t wanted any of the money, I’d tried to help the guys, but had been met with rejection after rejection. Graham had refused to let me pay for his truck repairs, and Knox had laughed before giving me a firm “No” when I’d tried to pay for his new truck, even though I knew insurance hadn’t covered the entire cost. So after fighting with Knox on what I could do with the money since I didn’t want it, we’d figured out how to go about dispersing it the way I wanted to. We were putting the two-part plan into action today now that the house was finally up for sale—which was where I’d just come from.

I’d taken my last walk through it to make sure we’d gotten everything. It was the first time I’d been in the house alone since the night Collin had tried to drown me. Every beating, every mental game, and every fear had flashed through my mind as I’d slowly walked through. And an odd mix of relief, exhaustion, and grief for the person I’d been while with him had filled me as I’d locked the door and left for the last time.

Which led to now, as I waited at my first of two stops.

My eyes darted to the clock, and I sighed. I’d been sitting there for fifty minutes now.

Movement in front of the house caught my eye, and I knew if I didn’t do it now, I might not ever, as I saw the man walking his dog toward the car sitting in the driveway.