"I'm an idiot," she whispers. "I thought the best way I could get Brogan's attention was to hurt him. I thought the worst I could do to him was to be with you. I thought he'd see pictures of us together and hear people talking about how we were all over each other. I wanted to hurt him so he'd wake up and realize he wanted me more than he wanted her."
"This is more than some stupid jealousy!" My voice booms, echoing off the walls of my study, and I have to take a breath. There are people out there who'd be destroyed by this conversation if they heard it. Mia is out there.
"That's my point," Trish says. "I thought hurting him like he'd hurt me was so important, and then suddenly none of that mattered. It didn't matter how many pictures there were of you and me on Facebook. Brogan couldn't look at pictures. He couldn't get jealous."
"You were in the car?" I can't wrap my mind around it, and my brain keeps going back to the morning after the accident. I got a ride from the hospital to Coach's house, and that damn deer was hanging in the garage, bleeding all over the place. I grabbed a bucket and some bleach water and scrubbed at the garage floor until my hands were raw, as if I could clean it up, wipe it away, change the thing I couldn't even remember.
"It was a terrible night for everyone," Trish says.
"If you'd just made me stop and call the cops, your dad wouldn't have had the chance to cover it up." I press the flat of my palm to my chest and rub it around, as if it might be able to rub away the hurt. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? You've known what I've been living with."
"Dad wouldn't let me talk to you about it. He didn't want you knowing I'd-" She looks away and shakes her head. "And I was scared. It was awful. You're lucky you can't remember."
"I'm sorry," I whisper. Because I see it on her face now-the evidence of torment I should have recognized months ago. The torment of living with a horrible secret that's eating you from the inside.
"I remember it all. The sick thunking sound. The screeching tires. The silence in those seconds after."
"I'm so sorry," I say, because I can't apologize to Brogan's parents. To Mia. To the people who really deserve to hear my apology. "I can't figure out why I would have thought I was okay to drive. I'm not that guy."
"I'm not looking for your apology, Arrow. Stop apologizing." She draws in a breath and straightens her shoulders. "I just wanted you to know that I know."
"Okay."
Mia opens the door and steps into the room with Katie in her arms. She spots me and Trish and does a double take. "Oh. Sorry, I was just looking for a quiet place to . . . I'll get out of here." She rushes out of the room and down the hall.
"Fuck," I mutter.
Trish raises a brow. "Are you two . . .?"
"No. Nothing like that."
"I want to hate her," she says, staring down the hall where Mia disappeared. "Hate is so much more comfortable than the guilt. But I can't help it. I try to hate her and can only hate myself for what I did."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "It's not like I thought he'd broken up with her. I just thought it was only a matter of time. I think I always loved Brogan, but she had him under some spell. I couldn't compete, so I played dirty."
"Forgive yourself, Trish. Carrying around this regret isn't going to help anyone. Try to forgive yourself."
She releases a puff of air that's probably supposed to be laughter, and her lips twist into something that's probably supposed to be a smile. It's all so much uglier than the girl she was before the accident. The girl who lost the guy she loved.
"Have you forgiven yourself for that night?" she asks me.
"Of course not."
"Then you understand why I can't forgive myself either."
He's free to be with whomever he wants, I tell myself. But it doesn't feel that way. Finding Trish in the study with Arrow-behind a closed door-felt like as much of a betrayal as the night I walked in on Trish and Brogan.
That's not fair. He's not mine. But tell that to my waking heart.
I go to the nursery to give Katie her bottle and rock her to sleep, and after she drifts off in my arms, I settle her into the crib.
When I got back from Indianapolis this afternoon, everyone was at the house. Again. It seems like they spend more time here than they do at their own homes. And I know for a fact that Mason and Chris just got a new apartment off-campus, and I thought they'd want to spend some time there.
But no. Arrow has the pool. Arrow has the cool theater room in the basement with the state-of-the-art sound system. He has the rec room and the air-hockey table and the always-stocked fridge.
So they're here. And I'm actually starting to like it.
At first it was torture, a reminder of the life I used to have. The life Brogan used to have. It was a reminder of normal when it felt like normal was an insult to the man I loved. But now it's the new normal, and I'm starting to feel like maybe it's okay. We don't know how much longer Brogan has, and I'm starting to feel like that's okay, too.
I say a prayer every night that he'll wake up and be himself again so they can start dialysis before it's too late.
The first time Sebastian comes in from the pool, I wave him into the kitchen. He doesn't quite fit in with this group yet. He's more like me than like them. But they're trying to include him. He'll be an important part of the team next year, and for BHU to have another chance at a bowl game, they'll need him.
He steps into the kitchen. "What's up?"
"So, I've been looking at that list." We're alone in the kitchen, but I still check to make sure no one's around to hear our conversation. "And Bailey talked Denny's Garage into giving us a list, too. I compiled the names and have been going through them."
"Okay. Any luck?"
I shake my head. "I keep thinking about that night and what I saw. Did you ever take a criminology class?"
He nods. "A couple."
"You know how they teach you that memory's not static? It's dynamic? So someone can suggest an idea, and you might layer that idea into your memory without realizing it."
"Right," he says cautiously.
"I don't know if that's what's happening, but ever since I saw Coach's name on that list, I've been thinking about what I saw that night. Now when I close my eyes and recall the car driving away, I see a white bumper sticker on the tailgate of the car."
He folds his arms. "Okay."
"I keep thinking maybe it had a streak of red through it. Like a Blackhawk Football bumper sticker. Like the one Coach has on the tailgate of his car."
He shakes his head. "I'm telling you, Mia. I worked on that job. I remember it. He hit a deer."
"I know it's ridiculous. I know it, okay? But I have this idea in my head, and sometimes when I get an idea in my head, I just can't make it go away."
"You're talking about my coach," he says.
"I know."
He sighs heavily and turns to look out the back window, where Keegan tosses a long-legged blonde into the pool. "I'll tell you what," he says. "I actually know how I can put your mind at ease."
"You do?"
"If I can prove to you that Coach wasn't involved, will you drop it?"
"How are you going to prove that?"
"You'll see." He grins. "What do you say? I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. I'll show you what you need to see, and then you go on a date with me as payment."
I open my mouth to say no and then remember Trish standing in the study with Arrow.
Sebastian is adorable. Well, okay, Bailey would say he's hot, and he's definitely got the sexy body thing happening, but he's adorable in that floppy-eared puppy kind of way. His hair's always falling in his face, and he keeps flashing that lopsided smile, like he can't be bothered to bring the other side of his mouth up to meet the first. He's adorable and he likes me and he doesn't confuse the shit out of me.
"It's a deal."
"You didn't need to come today," Mrs. Barrett says behind me. "I cringe to think of what you've been spending on gas."
"It's worth it," I tell her. The truth is, I'm afraid he's going to die before I've said all I have to say, but every time I stand by his side, the words dry up on my tongue. "How is he?"
She steps forward and squeezes my wrist. Sebastian's picking me up from the Woodisons' in two hours, but I wanted to squeeze in a trip to the Barretts' first. Instead of answering my question, she says, "Have you thought any more about singing at the funeral?"