The Darkest Part(92)

I feel her hand on the side of my face. “I love you,” she says, and I shatter.

Looking into her eyes, I suck in a breath and commit to memory the last time I’ll ever hear those words. “Tyler wasn’t killed by a hit-and-run.” I watch her face transform from compassion to confusion. Before I can back out, I force the words past my lips. “He killed himself.”

Her forehead creases, her mouth parts. But then anger flashes in her bright eyes. “No.” She shakes her head, stone conviction on her face and in her voice. “No, he didn’t. Why the hell would you say that?”

Sharp pain tears through me at my next admission. “He was the one driving his car the night our mom died.” My limbs are quaking, and the words won’t stop. They flow from me unguarded. Like last night when the dam broke, it finished me off. She’s finishing me off. And I’m at her mercy. “I sent him back to his dorm in a cab, and then I left. I should’ve driven him back myself. But I was tired and didn’t want to drive all the way out there.”

She nods slowly. “I know. You’ve told me this.” Then her head yanks back. “Wait. You said dorm this time . . .”

Shaking my head, I admit, “He didn’t take the cab home or to the dorm. He paid the cab driver to turn around and take him back to the bar.” I swallow hard. Her eyes are locked on mine. Unblinking. “After I got a cab for him, I left his car in the parking lot, figuring we’d get it the next day. I drove my truck back to the house, and an hour later, got a panicked call from him. He was talking fast and slurred. Freaking out about an accident.” I have to stop, take a breath. The images banging against my head are turning my stomach.

Sam lays her hands on my thighs, looking straight into my eyes, nothing in her face betraying her thoughts. “What happened?”

I nod once, getting through the rest. Just get through it. “Mom had called him. She’d been out with her friends, and her car wouldn’t start. So she called Tyler to pick her up. She never would’ve called my dad, that’s for sure.” I look away, knowing I’m about to break her heart. “At the time, Tyler was in the bar with the redhead. He went back to be with her, Sam. I’m sorry. He was drunk . . . I tried to stop him . . . but—”

“It’s not your fault,” she cuts me off. Her words are strong, but when I look at her, I can see the hurt dimming her eyes.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “If I’d just stayed for five minutes longer, I could’ve stopped everything. If I’d just driven him to the dorm . . . but I didn’t.”

I drive a hand through my hair, and Sam says, “What happened after he called?”

I blow out a breath, my head light. “I raced through the woods to find my mother dead.” I’m shaking now. “He’d crashed into a tree not far from the house . . . and I couldn’t help her. She was gone.” I close my eyes against the images of my mother’s limp body. Lifeless eyes. The blood. “I got sick on the side of the road, and Tyler was so fucked up. Drunk, freaking out, and when I looked into his eyes, I just broke. I wanted to protect him. That’s all I could think. And I knew when the cops got there, they’d arrest him. He’d go to prison maybe for the rest of his life.” I look into her eyes now, praying. For what, I don’t know. “I couldn’t let that happen. Tyler didn’t mean it . . . it was an accident. He was smashed. And it was beyond wrong and fucked up. But this was our mom. Our fucking mom.”

A violent sob takes me, and Sam moves to sit beside me. I can’t believe I’m losing my shit. “I’m fine,” I say. “Shit. I’m fine.”

Her arm reaches around my waist, her warm, soft skin affecting me. For one moment, I long to be lost in her. Just disappear. Because when the full truth hits, I’ll never feel her again.

Her fingers comb through my hair, and I shiver at her touch. “Tyler wrote in his journal that you always looked out for him. That you always tried to protect him from your dad, and everything.” Her hand takes mine, her tiny fingers lacing through my large ones. “You were just doing what you thought was right at the time. Still trying to protect him.”

She’s right on that. I nod hard. “I’d only had one beer because we spent most of the night arguing. And that was over an hour before then. So I thought . . . I could send Tyler home. Call the police. Tell them it was me who was driving Tyler’s car, and that I’d tried to swerve to miss a deer in the road.” I pull in a breath. “I kicked dirt over Tyler’s puke, told him what to say to the cops, and made him go to the house.”