Push(100)

“Right after I saw Michael’s number on your phone. I wasn’t snooping, David. I went to call the Chinese place, and the number was right there.”

“Oh.”

“But after I threw the box out the window, I did snoop. I scrolled through your call log, and I saw that you called Michael before. And Ricky. The day that you took me to poker with you. And I just lost it. My mind was racing with reasons why you would call them, and I couldn’t rein myself in.” As soon as I mention David’s previous calls to Michael and Ricky, his face changes. His eyes start searching the room as his hand rubs his chin. It’s as if he is scrambling for the right thing to say. He closes his eyes and tilts back his head. A few seconds pass before he flips his head back down and looks at me again.

“I’m going to tell you why I called them, Emma, but I need you to promise me something first,” he says.

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t freak out until you listen to everything that I have to say. Don’t fly off like you did last night. Okay? Can you promise me that?”

“Yes,” I say. My ears feel hot, and a boatload of anxiety sits on my chest like an enormous fucking anvil. David shifts in his seat and rests his elbow on the back of the sofa. His eyes look ignited.

“The moment I saw you sitting on the floor holding your dad’s cut-up dog tags I knew I had to do something about Michael. I went from being so fucking happy that you had just agreed to be my girlfriend, to a seething, bitter mess over that man and his motherfucking stunt. And then, hearing you tell me all the things that Michael did to you—it made me want to hunt him down. You spent your whole life on some kind of roller coaster, and I wanted to make it stop. I told him to stay the fuck away from you, and he didn’t. And so, while you slept that night and worked the next day, I found a way to punish him.”

“Jesus, David. What did you do?” I say quietly.

“I looked at the boxes in your closet, and I copied down his name and address. I went online to find out about him. And that’s when I saw an article about TruTimber Imports and the trial. I called Michael up and pretended to be from a collection agency. I told him that I was looking for his stepson, Richard Searfoss, and that this was the most recent number the agency had for him. He gave me Ricky’s cell number without so much as a second thought. And then I called Ricky.” David shrugs. He looks as if he wants to stop talking. As if I am not going to like what he has to say next.

“I made up a bullshit story. I told Ricky that I was involved in his stepfather’s illicit business dealings and that he and I had something in common—we both stood to benefit greatly if Michael was no longer in the picture. I said that if word got out about my dealings with the company, it would cause my family a lot of embarrassment and probably incite criminal charges against me. Ricky asked me what all of this had to do with him and why he should even care. I told him that if Michael was removed from the equation, he and his siblings would inherit a whole lot of money, but if Michael’s case were to go to trial, I would be exposed, and if he was found guilty, there would be nothing left for his stepchildren to inherit.”

“What did you do, David?” I am starting to feel sick to my stomach.

“I told Ricky that I would pay him to get rid of Michael, either by doing it himself or by hiring someone.” There is a complete lack of remorse on David’s face.

“What?” There is panic in my voice.

“He asked me why I came to him instead of just hiring someone else. I told him that he was my insurance policy simply because he had the most to gain from Michael’s death. If the crime was traced back to Ricky, he would never see his inheritance, so, essentially, it was my way of ensuring that it would be done cleanly and anonymously. If Ricky made a mistake, he would lose everything—but if he did it right, he would be set for a long, long time. Paying him to get rid of his stepfather made perfect sense.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” I shout at him, my panic morphing into a full-blown conniption. “I understand wanting to protect me, David, but what the fuck were you thinking? What if this comes back to you? And me? What if the police find out about all this? Jesus Christ.”

“You promised,” he says softly. “You promised that you wouldn’t freak out. I’m telling you the truth, and I’m not finished.”

“Yeah, well, I had no idea it was going to be this fucking messed up when I made that promise.” I slouch back on the couch and cross my arms over my chest. I can’t even look at him.

“Please. Just let me finish.”