Sydney blinked the memory away as she filled a mug with coffee and added a single cream, the way Guinness liked it. She wasn’t looking forward to asking him about that note, but she had no choice. She had to make absolutely sure he wasn’t involved with the dares.
But when she returned to her room, she found Guinness lying on his back, breathing the deep, even breaths of sleep. “Of course,” she sighed. She frowned as she looked down at his sleeping form. He’d clearly been in a bad place tonight. She heard his words again. I didn’t want to be alone. They reminded her of that horrible night at the Sunrise Center, the one she’d tried to forget.
She hadn’t known him very long at that point, but she’d sneaked into his room after hours to show him her latest photos. When she got there, she found him draped across his bed, barely conscious, a half-empty bottle of pills in his hands. “Don’t leave,” he whispered, his words a slurred jumble. “I don’t want to be alone.”
She stayed with him all night as he threw up again and again, never leaving his side. It was the night she found out what his tattoo really stood for, the three inky lines wrapped around his wrist: not a prank with friends or a symbol of beliefs, but a mask, a cover for his last suicide attempt. She’d kept him alive that night, and he’d done the same for her a dozen other times, in a dozen other ways. He might have treated her terribly at times, but when she needed someone there, when the last thing she could be was alone, he’d always, always come through.
She went over to her desk, where she’d left the ring he’d given her. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to mention it. She flipped open the box. The stone glittered in its silk bed, its facets catching slivers of light. No one had ever given her something so beautiful, so perfect. It made her want to put it on and never take it off. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be sucked back in. She wouldn’t become her mom.
She carried the ring box to her bed and slipped it carefully into the pocket of Guinness’s coat. She couldn’t keep it. She let her hand linger on his side a moment longer than necessary. He looked so peaceful sleeping like that, his face relaxed, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his breath. He looked like the Guinness she wanted to remember, the one she’d fallen in love with. It made her even more certain Tenley was wrong. Guinness wouldn’t hurt anyone. Especially not her.
Moving quietly, she lay down on her bed and curled up beside him. She’d have to wake him and kick him out eventually, before her mom got home. But for now, she wanted to hold on to this Guinness a little longer. Her head fit right into the crook of his neck like it always had, and she felt something fiery burn under her skin. It had always been like that with Guinness, like their bodies were wired together, short-circuiting at every touch. He was trembling a little, so she wrapped her arms around him. She could feel his hair brushing her cheek and his heart beating against hers. And for the briefest of seconds she could forget it all—the breakup, the notes, the lies—let it all slide off her like water.
Despite everything, she’d loved him. A real love, the kind that stained you, the kind you could never truly wash off. She knew they could never go back to the way they’d been, but there was one last thing she could do for him. She could prove to Tenley—and herself—that Guinness had nothing to do with anyone’s death. And she knew just how to do it.
Years ago she’d caught a glimpse of one of the photos of Kyla’s accident when she was at the firehouse with her dad. Normally, photos like that were filed publicly and could be accessed by anyone, including reporters. But because of Kyla’s young age, the Kerns had them marked as classified, the file locked away in the firehouse. Those photos could prove to Tenley that Kyla’s death was purely accidental—no Guinness in sight. If she had to break into the firehouse to get them, she would.
Then she would put Guinness behind her at last.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tuesday, 8:25 PM
“You’re quite the little cutie, aren’t you?” Emerson cooed.
Holden the duckling responded by taking another peck at her leg. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, giggling as he tried to scamper over her ankles. The whole thing felt so surreal. She’d never had a pet before. The closest she’d come was a goldfish she’d won at a state fair back in Florida—and found floating in his bowl two days later. She used to tease Caitlin about skipping parties to stay home with her dog, but for the first time, Emerson found herself understanding the impulse. She would so much rather stay home and play with Holden than go on this stupid Haunted Boat Ride.
Then again, the boat ride was no party.
She put her hand down, letting Holden waddle onto her palm. He stretched out his tiny yellow wings and gave them a hard flutter—which promptly tipped him over. He landed on his side, his webbed feet sticking into the air. Emerson laughed as he looked up at her with wide, dismayed eyes. “You’ll get it soon,” she promised.
She’d spent her free period at school today researching ducklings. It earned her a zero on her history homework, but she now knew more about ducks than she’d ever thought she would, including that they first flew around two months old. The research had been a good distraction. Thinking about Holden was a whole lot easier than thinking about the person who’d brought him. She watched the duckling climb clumsily back to his feet. She still couldn’t believe that Josh was here in Echo Bay, and that she’d promised him an hour. The thought tangled her insides up into one big knot.
She sighed as she put Holden back into his cage. She couldn’t think about Josh now, not with this dare looming. No matter how many times she’d dissected the note today, she couldn’t figure out the point of the boat ride. Was the darer really trying to scare her with fake ghosts and goblins? Not that the reason really mattered; if she wanted to keep her Matt secret safe, she had to go through with it regardless. Besides, right now it was her only shot at catching the darer in action. She figured the best way for the darer to know if Emerson was on that boat was for him or her to be there, too.
She just wished she didn’t have to go alone. But there was no way she was telling anyone about that note. She’d managed to keep Matt Morgan a secret this long; she wasn’t about to ruin it now. Even if it meant coming face-to-face with the darer on her own.
Emerson’s stomach churned uneasily as she drove to the pier. She couldn’t help wondering about Sean again. He’d definitely been closest with Tricia. But did that make him the darer? And if he was… would she find him on the boat tonight? She’d tried calling him a bunch of times after cheer practice as she’d promised Tenley, but he still wasn’t picking up. And so far, she hadn’t gotten a call back.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than her phone started ringing. She reached for it, hoping to see Sean’s name. Instead, she saw Josh’s.
She froze up at the sight of his name. Part of her ached to answer it, hear his voice again. But another part of her wanted to throw her phone into the street and drive right over it. It reminded her of how she’d felt those first few weeks after returning from New York. After she left six days early without a good-bye—just a note taped to his apartment door—Josh called and e-mailed and texted her every day. She still remembered the last e-mail he sent her. I’ve been going crazy waiting for you to call, Em. Every time my phone rings, I leap for it, hoping it will be you. But it never is, and I have to accept that it’s never going to be. So I guess this is a good-bye. I hope you get every wonderful thing you want, Em, because you deserve them all. She hadn’t responded to that e-mail, just as she hadn’t responded to all the others. How could she, after what had happened? There was nothing she could say that would make up for what she’d done.
Who she’d done.
Her skin flushed at the memory. She’d worked so hard to become this girl: Em, the model who inspired jealousy, whom girls emulated and guys pined for. But it was a mirage—a suit of armor. Inside she was a ticking bomb, self-destructing every chance she got.
Her phone rang out again. Before she even registered what she was doing, she pressed accept. “Hey.” Her voice cracked a little, and she cleared her throat to hide it.
“It’s the duckling police,” Josh said solemnly. “I’m calling to make sure Holden is still alive.”
Emerson made an indignant noise. “Of course he’s alive!”
“Well, I know your history with goldfish, so…”
“Ha, ha,” Emerson said. “Holden is thriving, thank you very much. He even attempted to fly tonight.”
“Did you design any clothes for him yet?” Josh’s tone was teasing, but she knew his interest was sincere. He used to get so excited in New York whenever she showed him an outfit she’d sketched.
“Oh yes,” she said dryly. “A whole wardrobe of duck suits.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Josh joked. “Anyway, I did actually have a real reason for calling. I wanted to see about tonight for hanging out? I finished writing and am suddenly craving a burger. Want to show me a good spot?”