The Darkest Part(13)

“Sam,” Tyler says again, his voice deep, serious. It centers me. “You remember that trip we were planning?”

I jerk back, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Our honeymoon?”

He nods, a thin smile forming on his mouth. “Besides leaving you, it’s my only regret.” He settles down on the floor, motioning for me to join him. I do. “You were right.”

“About what, Tyler?” My heart is being crushed in my chest.

He looks sheepish, young. Boyish. It breaks me. “We should have gone. During our last break, we should’ve just packed up and drove. I regret making us wait.”

And like a kick to the gut, the answer hits me. I don’t know whether to cry or scream or laugh.

As much as I’m not ready to say goodbye, as much as I’m going to miss him . . . I have to help Tyler cross over. Because buried in a deep, dark pocket of my soul, I fear he walked away from the light for me. And now I have to stop being selfish. I love him too much to let him fade away into nothing.

A tear slips down my face, and I brush it away harshly. Then I glance at my clock: 3:46.

“Come on. Time for bed,” I say, giving Tyler my best witchy smile.

His eyebrows hike. “Am I sharing your bed tonight, sexy?” I can’t help but laugh, and I need to. From here on out, I have to laugh and smile and love him until it’s time. Only then can I break.





Holden

Son of a bitch.

I slam my fist on the counter, pissed. “What do you mean the case has been deemed inactive?”

The officer behind the counter stands, approaches, like she’s going to arrest me. I hold my hands in the air innocently. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m just shocked I wasn’t informed, when I specifically asked to be the last time I was here. Please. He’s my brother.”

This last part softens her a bit, and her stiff shoulders relax. “Mr. Marks—Holden—I know how difficult all this has been for you”—she looks down at her folder, flips through—“but it’s been over a hundred days. We can’t keep a case like this on the top shelf unless there’s substantial evidence to follow. There’s no statute of limitation here, so we can always follow up on new leads. But without any evidence that proves your brother’s death was anything but a tragic accident, it will be filed as inactive for now. I’m sorry.”

My jaw tightens. “So that’s it? Did the investigating officer even ask around campus? Did they inspect all the red cars? Did they talk to everyone—?”

“Yes,” she says, cutting me off. “I assure you protocol was followed all the way. I wish there was better news to give you, but unfortunately, cases like this, hit-and-runs, often go unsolved. Maybe you should seek some help . . . for you to work through your—”

Tossing my hands in the air, I turn my back to her and head out of the station. I don’t want to hear yet another cop telling me to “seek help.” I heard it all through high school from them. About how I was a disturbed youth who needed a healthy outlet. Fuck it.

This isn’t about me. It’s about Tyler, and making sure they only discover what I want them to.

Looking up into the overcast sky, I release a strained breath, the tension flowing out of my body. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to hear from them—maybe that some bastard had gotten picked up and questioned, or that they had a suspect in custody. Yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear. But hearing the case has moved out of top priority, I suppose compared to the alternative . . . It’s for the best.

They can’t ever discover the truth.

A twinge of guilt stabs my chest, but I shut it down. Sometimes the truth is better left buried. No matter what, nothing will change anything between me and my father. Or me and Sam. There’s nothing here for me now. No reason to stay.

Opening my truck door, I decide to make one last stop before hitting the road.



My father’s house is just as pretentious as it was the day I left. A huge, gaudy, two-story plantation house with dark gray stucco exterior, black shutters and doors, two car garage, hot-red Beamer in the driveway.

He was already showing signs of a mid-life crisis before Mom died. Now he’s full-blown into one. If the car didn’t give it away, the hot little blonde with tits about to topple her over sauntering up the front steps with a Victoria’s Secret bag does.

It’s the worst cliché I’ve ever seen.

Still, I’m tempted to knock on the door, see his expression—see if he’ll slam it in my face. To say we didn’t get along as I was growing up is not even a comical understatement. But after I left, the distance actually helped our father/son relationship. If you can fucking call it that.