"I'm just thinking." I shift and take a deep breath. He's going to think I'm crazy. I should be able to drop this, but I can't. "I have this big list of people who got body work done, but except for my crazy gut reaction about Coach, nothing's jumping out at me. And I know you're right and I should probably let it go, but I have this list and I feel like I should do something. What if one of those people is responsible for what happened?"
He puts down his fork and swallows his bite. "Why is it so important that you find out? You don't strike me as an eye-for-an-eye type. Is it just about revenge? Justice?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah. The truth."
"I can't stand everyone thinking my brother was responsible. He screwed up. He was a teenager and thought it'd be easier to take care of me and Dad if he was dealing. And I'm not saying it was right, and I'm not saying there aren't other ways to get by, but he wasn't the horrible, hardcore gangbanger the people in this town paint him as. After my mom left, he saw an easy way to make money, and he took it." I take a drink of my tea, hoping to wash down the memory of the disappointment I felt when the police found the meth in Nic's trunk. I was in high school and had always idolized him, and he let me down. But I do believe he learned his lesson, and when he was released from prison, he didn't touch drugs. No using. No dealing. "As long as no one is arrested for this crime, people will go on thinking Nic was dealing again. They'll think this horrible tragedy happened because he couldn't stay out of the game."
"I guess I understand that," he says. "The accident reports weren't any help?"
"Accident reports?" I ask.
He grins. "Yeah. You can get them online-assuming a report was filed."
"I didn't know that."
"I'll tell you what. I'll do it for you. I should have some free time in the next few days or so. You have a lot going on with the Woodisons and Brogan and everything."
"Thanks. That means a lot to me."
"I do want to help you," he says. "I like you, Mia."
I stare at him a long time. "I like you too, Sebastian. But . . ."
He groans. "I knew that but was coming."
This should be easy, but it's not. After months of feeling so little, I'm overwhelmed with emotions that seem to contradict each other. One moment, I'm frustrated with Arrow and confused about where I stand with him, and the next I'm so swamped by grief I can hardly breathe. Brogan is dying, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Even if I should give Sebastian a real chance, I don't have the emotional energy. "No, it's just that I like you too, but I'm not ready."
He picks up his fork and nods. "Okay, but for now . . . friends?"
I smile, relieved. "Yeah. Friends would be great. Thank you."
I lie in my room in the darkness and listen to the fall of Arrow's footsteps down the hall.
When I came home from my date with Sebastian, Arrow was out at the pool with Mason, Chris, and a few others I don't know very well. I heard everyone leave half an hour ago, and I've been lying here trying to convince myself not to go to Arrow. I don't care what Gwen thinks. My reluctance to go to him isn't about her. But every time I think about Brogan dying-about putting him in the ground in the same cemetery where my brother is buried-I feel numb all over. I'm scared. I'm the tightrope walker standing on her platform and knowing her net is gone, knowing the only way forward is to take a step.
Arrow keeps telling me I didn't die that night, and I want that to be true, but I'm not sure it is. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to keep going.
With a deep breath and shaking hands, I go to his room and open the door without knocking. He stands by the window, illuminated by the bedside lamp. He's in a pair of gym shorts, his chest bare.
"Did I wake you?" he asks.
Closing the door behind me, I shake my head. "I wasn't sleeping."
"How are you holding up?"
I walk to him. I don't want to talk. And I know I shouldn't, but I take his hand and slide it up my shirt, pressing it between my breasts and against my beating heart.
He draws in a ragged breath and squeezes his eyes shut. "Mia."
I guide his hand down again, lead his fingertips to sweep across my belly and under the waistband of my shorts. Through every inch I guide his hand, his eyes lock on mine, dark, intense, as if he's searching for truth.
"Touch me again," I whisper. I'm reaching out, trying to take that first step. Every inch of me trembles.
He grips my hip tightly and his eyes scan my face, study my lips, then he releases me and steps back. "I can't, Mia." He turns back to the window and buries his hands in his hair. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I just can't."
This is my fault. I touched her. I lied to myself and touched her when I had no right.
I want to touch her so badly, I can practically feel the slick heat between her legs, but I can't. Not tonight.
Last semester, I tried everything to erase the memory of her from my mind. Pot, meth, alcohol binges, lines of coke-nothing worked, and I was lucky because even though the judge made me go to rehab, I wasn't an addict. Even when I was chasing my next high, there was nothing I wanted as much as I wanted Mia Mendez.
"You . . ." she whispers. "I thought . . ."
It's still true. I can't think of a single thing I want more than her. Especially at this moment when these secrets are too much and my guilt is too heavy. I could lose myself in her. Touching her would chase away the ugliest parts of this world, let me hide from the ugliest parts of myself.
And that's exactly why I can't do it.
"Mrs. Barrett called before I came up." I swallow hard as I watch her moment of mortification melt away. "I'm sorry, Mia."
"He's gone." She wraps her arms around her waist and squeezes her eyes shut. "Shit. I'm sorry I came in here. I'm sorry I . . ." She shakes her head and rushes from the room.
"Mia." I go after her, but she closes her door before I can get there. I lean my head against it and spread my fingertips over the wood. "Don't shut me out." I'm not being fair. I pushed her away, and now I'm asking her to let me in.
"Go away, Arrow. I need to be alone."
Turning my back to the door, I lean against it and spot Gwen just outside the baby's door.
She studies Mia's closed door and then looks at me. "Would you tell Mia that Uriah and I are taking an impromptu trip to Louisville? Mom's keeping the baby, but we'll be gone a few days."
I grimace. "Brogan just died. The funeral will be this weekend."
She sighs heavily. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Dad should be there. It's not a bad drive. He could come back and-"
"It's not always about you, Arrow."
I clench my fists and bite my tongue. "Fine. Have fun."
She nods and starts toward the stairs, then stops and turns back to me. "Piece of advice, Arrow?" She tilts her head to study my face. "About Mia?"
I don't want any advice from her-especially not now and especially not about Mia-and I can only set my jaw and stare at her, hoping she'll go away.
Her façade seems to crumble with every second she stares back. No more perfect trophy wife, only a vulnerable young woman. "Don't try to compete with a dead man," she says. "The dead always win. Take it from someone who knows."
The line at the visitation extends out the door of the Blackhawk Valley Catholic Church and all the way around the block. It's full of college students, football players, coaches, Blackhawk Hills University professors and administration, and residents of Blackhawk Valley who have probably known Brogan from the day he was born. Some of the crowd he grew up with gathers here and there. Some of them make jokes, tell stories, and laugh together while they wait. Others wait in complete silence, stepping forward when they can, pausing when they must. A receiving line of grief.
I keep thinking about what Brogan would think of this line. I think he'd be surprised to see all these people came out for him. I think he'd say, "Don't you all have something more interesting to do than stare at me? I mean, I'm good-looking, but I'm still a dead guy."
But in a world full of ugliness, you just have to take the time to say goodbye when you lose one of the good guys. And despite what Brogan thought in those last lucid moments on Deadman's Curve, despite his mistakes and terrible judgment that night, he was one of the best.