"It's his birthday," I explained feebly. "So... what are you doing here?"
Jonathan remained contemplative for a moment, unable to move past the scene he'd walked in on. "I need to talk to you. It's important." He turned toward the living room as the timer for the brownies sounded.
I removed the pan and shut off the oven. After seeing the perplexed, yet disappointed, look on Jonathan's face, I wasn't concerned with how the brownies came out. Without inspecting them, I set them on the cooling rack and fretfully followed him into the living room.
Jonathan was staring out the front window with his arms crossed when I entered.
"What did you need to tell me?" I asked, tearing him from his thoughts.
"I understand why you're still with him," he began, turning toward me. "He really cares about you, and he's a good guy. It doesn't mean I like it, but I understand."
I needed to sit down for this. I slowly lowered myself on the couch, preparing for where this conversation was headed.
"But, Emma, you and I have both admitted that we have this inexplicable connection between us, right?" He paused for me to respond. I could only nod slightly. "We trust each other with secrets no one else knows. I can be completely honest with you about everything. I've never been able to do that, not even with Sadie. Have you ever told Evan about your nightmares? Your fears?"
I swallowed audibly, knowing he was right. I'd never shared the darkest part of me with anyone other than him. I never wanted Evan to know that side of me. I shook my head, shifting uncomfortably.
"I've been where you are, remember? I thought Sadie was it. But in the end, they don't understand people like us. They never will, because they never had to go through it. You and I are the same. We share a bond that's stronger than what you think you have with Evan.
"So... I'll wait. I'm not going to force you to decide, because in the end, I know you'll see it, too. I'll wait because I love you, and I promised to always be here for you―for whenever you need me."
The air seeped from my lungs. His words rushed through my head in a dizzying blur.
"Is that why you're here?" I rasped. "To tell me you'll wait for me?"
Jonathan approached the loveseat and sat across from me. He pressed his elbows on his thighs, shortening the distance between us. I knew he wanted to touch me. He grasped his hands to contain himself as I subtly leaned away.
"No, I didn't actually intend to tell you I loved you," he confessed, averting his eyes. "I wanted to wait until I knew you'd be able to say it back." He took a deep breath. "That's not the reason I'm here." His intensely troubled expression distracted me from his confession.
"Why are you here?" I asked, but was suddenly afraid to know. My gut twisted in nervous anticipation.
"The police came to see me today," he revealed, forcing my heart to skip a beat.
My body responded before I could completely comprehend what he was saying. "What? Why?"
"They found a partial print on the car, and matched it to me."
"Wait. What car?" I drew in a sharp breath when I realized, "Oh no. But why would..." My words were lost with the conclusion, "He's dead."
Jonathan eyed me carefully as I took it all in. "Yeah."
"Oh no. Oh God, no." I shook my head, still in shock. "What did we do?"
"You didn't do anything," he returned adamantly. "He was hurting you, Emma. I'm not going let anything happen to you, I promise."
"I can't believe... he's dead." I kept shaking my head, unable to accept it. "Can't we just tell the police the truth?"
"We covered it up," Jonathan explained patiently. "I cleaned any trace that he was here. So no, we can't tell them the truth. They haven't charged me with anything; they're just asking questions right now. And I've spoken to a lawyer. It sounds like they don't have much to go on."
"What did you tell them?" I asked, the panic subsiding enough to allow some coherent thoughts to surface.
"That I noticed his car at Rachel's party the night before he was found, and that I'd stopped by here to talk to her so I may have inadvertently touched it."
I nodded slowly, consumed by a thousand thoughts and images all at once: what we'd done, the lies we'd told, the bloody mess left behind, what could happen to us if the police ever discovered the truth. And above all else, I couldn't stop thinking about the battered body we'd abandoned in the parking lot. A cold sweat ran down my spine with a shiver.
"Just stick to your story about not seeing the guy's face who broke in, and they can't connect him to being here after the party."