Chapter 17

Dylan

At least Hunter didn’t keep backup with him in the Falls. When he said he had something to do, I worried it was because he wanted to see Kade. I hope he does. I’m just glad he seemed to go wherever he was going alone because the Rebels would only encourage a fight.

But Hunter went his own way, and the rest of us stopped at Breaker’s for cheeseburgers on the way home. They’re getting drunk in the street now, but I need a shower.

Just in case the night isn’t over yet. I smile to myself, my mind working overtime with the possibilities.

I close the front door, hearing a phone ring upstairs.

But I have my phone. I pull it out of my jeans. Why do I hear ringing…?

Then I remember the burner Hawke gave me. Right. I bolt up the stairs, into the bedroom, and yank open the bedside drawer, pulling the second phone off from the charger.

I swipe the screen. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Hawke replies. “I got your text. Sorry, I had a ton of classwork.”

“Why are you calling this phone?”

“Because your other one was going to voicemail. Is it dead?”

Is it? I press the Power button, seeing it is, in fact, dead. I plug it into the charger.

“So, what’s up?” I ask, remembering I texted him a rundown of the story Bastien told me yesterday.

“I’ve looked into the names.” I hear a shuffle and a bunch of chatter in the background. He’s probably at his dorm. “Conor Doran declared dead twenty-two years ago. Supposedly buried at Esplanade Street Cemetery. Check it out, okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” I walk to my window, gazing over at Hunter’s dark bedroom. “Dig him up?”

“Just confirm the gravesite and take a picture for me.”

“Anybody could be buried in that grave,” I fire back.

“You watch too much TV.”

Oh, whatever. He knows Murphy’s Law as well as I do. Anything that can happen, will happen, and a gravestone for Conor Doran proves nothing.

“I’m checking Winslet,” he says, “seeing if she’s on any radars after that year.”

“And—”

“And I’m on Deacon,” he assures me. “Deacon Doran. So far, nothing. No social media, no credit history, no transfer paperwork for colleges… Just a birth certificate.”

“No death certificate, though?”

He pauses, but only for a moment. “No.”

So, he’s hiding. Probably because he killed a girl two decades ago and is trying not to get caught.

But it’s too easy. If it were that simple, why would there be any mystery at all? Why the varying versions? Why the confusion about what exactly happened?

We need to start piecing together what she did when she was here. She attended classes, met new people, probably endured a few pranks like I have…

And then I stop in my tracks, thinking.

Like I have…

“If Winslet’s experience mirrors my own at all, being a hostage here, then the Rebels weren’t the only ones targeting her,” I point out.

“Meaning?”

I pace the room. “Is there any proof it was the Rebels at all?”

“You mean other than the creepy text conversations we uncovered?”

I roll my eyes, but at myself. That’s true. The Doran boys, judging from those cell phones Hawke found in Carnival Tower, had a nefarious plan.

But still, that’s not proof they actually went through with anything.

“The Pirates aren’t happy with me being here,” I point out. “What if it was them? What if Shelburne Falls killed her?”

He’s quiet, and I can almost picture his eyes shooting up to the ceiling as I hear the quiet sigh, because I just made his pursual of this legend a lot more complicated.

“I’ll let you know what I find,” he finally says.

“Love ya,” I tell him, my tone apologetic.

“Bye.”

We hang up, and I check the time. It’s just after ten.

I glance over at Hunter’s bedroom window again, still not seeing any lights on.

I’m not sneaking into his room for my vibrator. I’d rather use it with him.

But I’m not tired yet, either.

Sweeping my hair up into a ponytail, I pull off my sweater and slip into a black T-shirt, grabbing my jacket on the way back out of the house.

I step onto the porch, seeing Constin and Luca pull up in front of Hunter’s and grab a duffel bag out of the trunk. They carry it over to Farrow who stands just outside his and Hunter’s front door. He looks inside and nods, taking it from them. They glance at me, and I look away, suddenly feeling like I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.

Farrow works for Green Street. I keep forgetting that.

He wouldn’t keep illegal things in the house, would he? With Hunter there?

I spot Coral’s car across the street and spy a group of girls in the barber shop. It’s late for it to be open, but I don’t think that guy keeps regular business hours. Fletcher’s sign, the letters that still light up anyway, is on all the time.

I jog across the street.

Entering the shop, I see Coral in the chair, one foot propped up on the counter as the elderly dude shaves the back of her head. Everything above her ears is parted and wrapped in two buns, one on the left side and one on the right, the bottom half not quite bald as he etches a butterfly into the back of her scalp. She drinks from a tumbler filled with ice and something pink.

Mace sits in the chair along the storefront window, and I almost don’t notice Tommy Dietrich leaning against the opposite wall by the old Coke machine.

She stares at me.

No one says hi.

I approach Coral. “How much have you had to drink?”

She looks up at me, and I drop my eyes to her tumbler.

“Why, you want some?” she asks, chewing gum.

“No, I need you to drive.” I pull on my jacket, buttoning it up. “I’d like to get rid of what’s in your trunk.”

I’m not really concerned I’ll get in trouble for stealing the locker. Anyone would understand why I got rid of it, but I don’t want it getting put back. I need to make sure no one will ever find it.

“You have any money?” Coral asks me.

I refrain from mentioning the fireworks and party I—well, Hawke—paid for. I simply say, “No.”

“Then how do you expect to pay me for my time?”

I open my mouth to question how valuably she spends her time otherwise, but I decide to play nice. “What would you like?”

A throat clears behind me, and I turn to lock eyes with Mace. She holds out her hand, and I literally bite my tongue, no confusion at all about what she wants.

I rip open the buttons and remove my jacket. Taking three steps, I hold it out to her. “On one condition,” I say.

She grabs for it, and I pull it back. “If the Pirates win,” I tell her. “You give it back.”

She rises and snatches it out of my hand. “I’ll take that bet.”

The man, who I assume is Mr. Fletcher, takes a brush and dusts the hair off Coral’s neck. She hops up, stuffing cash in his hand before taking her keys out of her pants. “Where are we going?” she asks me.

But I pluck her keys away from her instead. “I’m driving. You’re toasted.”

“No one drives my car.”

But I’m already heading out of the barber shop.

“Let her drive your car,” Mace mumbles.

I hold the door open for them and lock eyes with Tommy who still leans against the wall. “You coming?” I ask her. “I think you’re going to want to be in on this.”

I don’t wait. Walking to the car, I slide into the driver’s seat and hear the doors slam shut before I start the engine. As I shift it into Drive, one of the back doors opens again, and I see Tommy through the rearview mirror, climbing in.

I press the gas and pull out into the street.

I barely have to think about it before the only place to bury it that makes sense occurs to me. I drive to the bridge.

I suppose they all didn’t need to come with me. I only need one person’s help to lift the locker. But I’m sure Coral wasn’t letting me take her car anywhere without her.

Still, though. I’m glad they’re here.

I pull onto the bridge, cross to the halfway point, and swerve as far to the left as I can, parking. They follow me out of the car as I walk to the rear and unlock the trunk. Opening it up, I see the yellow locker laying amidst a bunch of other stuff. A blanket, a cooler, a kite, and a shovel. I shake my head. I’ll process that later.

I start to lift the locker, Mace grabbing the other side.

“So, what’s the story with this thing?” she asks me.

We carry it around the front of the car. “Just some family history bullshit that needs to die.”

I throw a glance to Tommy as she leans on the fender. Her expression is blank, but she doesn’t argue.

We lift it over the side of the bridge, Coral coming to my other side as I look down into the dark water. The wind blows, creating a ripple on the river, but I almost think I see the dark form of the car below.

But then, it’s gone.

I grip the locker, hesitating as I turn my gaze on Thomasin, waiting for her to protest. It’s her mom’s old locker, after all.

She doesn’t even blink.

“Ready?” I ask Mace, tilting it.

“Are you sure it’s empty?” she questions.

But it’s already gone.

Plummeting into the river, the steel box slowly fills with water and sinks as we all hang our heads over the side to watch it join the other ghosts at the bottom. There’s nothing inside. We would’ve heard it shift while carrying it.

The girls drift off, and I hear chatter and laughter behind me, only me and Tommy remaining at the edge. She stands several feet away, déjà vu hitting me, because the last time we stood on a bridge together—the train bridge down the road two months ago—we were all jumping off from it.

“Kade will be gone at the end of the year,” I say, still staring at the water. “And A.J. and James won’t come in until after you graduate.”

She’ll have Shelburne Falls High to herself, without any Trents or Caruthers for three years.

“Things will get better,” I tell her.

Although, I doubt A.J. or James would take issue with her the way Kade has. He’s her burden, more so than I think he lets us know, because he knows we don’t like his behavior toward her. Still though, it’ll be nice for her not to hear our names in the hallway, even if sometimes, I wish we were closer in age. Being in the same schools for longer growing up, I might’ve been able to shield her more from him.

The sky, thick with clouds, hangs low, charging the air with the scent of rain. Locks of hair whip across my face, and I tilt my head back, closing my eyes.

“Drink?” I hear Coral offer, nudging my arm.

Hell yeah. But not yet.

“Tomorrow,” I tell her, opening my eyes. “Storm’s coming.”

I think there’ll be a party.

I look over the edge again, remembering what the teacher said about how Conor waited for a stormy night. Maybe hoping his body would be lost to the current.

“Water’s rising.” I smile to myself.

I should stay away from the river tomorrow, in case they try to get rid of me for good.

I head for the car again.

Coral starts to speak as she follows me, “Hey, so, uh…we’re sorry, okay?”

Sorry?

“For what?” I glance over my shoulder, opening the driver’s side door. “Trying to get me arrested? Kidnapping me? Running me off the road?”

“Again, that wasn’t us,” Mace chimes in. “It was the Pirates.”

“It was kind of us,” Coral adds. “I mean, we were chasing her too.”

Mace rolls her eyes at her friend because she’s not helping. I laugh under my breath.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Coral finally states.

“Farrow’s making you guys apologize?”

“Yes,” Mace replies quickly.

I laugh again.

“But…” Coral points her tumbler at me. “The roller skating was fun and the fireworks.”

“And you always seem up for anything,” Mace allows. “And you’re not afraid of fun costing a price. I like that.”

“And thanks for being kind to Codi,” Coral adds.

I look around, realizing she’s not here. Neither is Arlet.

“You don’t need to give her money, though,” Mace points out. “We’re taking care of her.”

I’m not sure how they knew about that. I only slipped a couple of twenties into her hoodie pocket, but I guess it wasn’t my place to take care of one of theirs. At least not yet.

We climb into the car, and I start the engine.

“What do you guys normally do on Saturday nights?” I ask, thinking about tomorrow.

I catch Mace’s smile through the rearview mirror. “You’ll see.”

“I’m not sure y’all can shock me.” I swing the car around, making a U-turn. “Farrow said I wouldn’t leave this town a virgin, and I’m halfway home.”

“Oh, that’s a challenge,” Mace announces.

“Sounded like it,” Coral adds.

Tommy stares out the window, her face so pale with her white hair up in a ponytail.

Mace rolls down the driver’s side window, hanging her head in the wind. “We can do better.”

“So much better,” Coral echoes. “You’re not going to finish the weekend a virgin.”

My stomach dips, but I keep my expression calm. “And if I do?”

“Then we’ll tattoo the Jolly Roger on our asses,” Mace coos.

I burst out laughing, Coral groaning. “Oh, you did not just commit us to that,” she whines.

I shake my head, but then I worry about what lengths they’ll go to in order to make sure they don’t have to get that tattoo. I’m not in the habit of accepting drinks I didn’t make myself, but I’ll be extra careful this weekend. For sure.

The whole way home other questions occur to me, like how will they know if I do it or not, and does oral count? And right away, an image of Hunter’s head between my legs flashes in my mind, and I roll down my window, too, for cool air.

Taking the car back to the barbershop, I hop out and toss Mace the keys, not Coral.

“Tomorrow,” they remind me.

“I’ll bring the tequila.”

They probably won’t be in bed for hours, but now, I’m tired. At least that’s what I tell myself, because Hunter’s car still isn’t in front of his house.

Closing my front door, I flip on the light and head up to my bedroom, pulling my phone off the charger and putting the one Hawke gave me back on. I restart my phone, tossing it on the bed, because I’m not anxious for a call or a text.

We’re just playing around.

He’s in a weird place, and I’m misreading what we’re doing. Just like I misread any signals I thought I was getting from Kade.

I need to stop thinking about him and just go to sleep.

I tug the rubber band out of my hair and start for the door to go get some water, but I hear a notification go off and charge back for my bed.

I’ll do a sweep of any messages.Get it over with and then get to sleep.

The notification is for Quinn’s Instagram, though. There’s nothing else. No missed calls or texts, a mixture of disappointment and relief washing over me, because no news is good news, I guess?

But he knows it’s getting late. Wouldn’t he like to see me? Or at least say goodnight?

I click to see what she posted, and a picture of Hunter appears, his head bowed as Fallon cuts his hair. I break into a smile, seeing A.J. posing next to him and making a goofy face.

He went home. That’s good. I check the time stamp, seeing the picture was posted almost two hours ago.

That’s really good. He must still be there.

I’m a little sad, though. His hair wasn’t long, but I loved it. It was always sexy-messy, and I liked feeling it between my fingers.

He’ll have to grow it back. I laugh to myself, tossing the phone back on the bed, but as soon as I look up and out my window, my heart stops.

My stomach clenches and needles prick my skin.

His room is dark, but I see her red hair, her naked back…

I narrow my gaze, stepping closer to my window, watching her hips roll on top of his bed and trying to make sense out of what’s going on.

It’s got to be Farrow.

Or one of the other guys.

They’re using Hunter’s bed.

But then he comes up, jerks Arlet’s hips into him, and rolls them both over, his hair shorter now and his profile unmistakable.

A lump lodges in my throat, and I can’t swallow.

It can’t be him. He wouldn’t do that.