Chapter 37

Ten minutes earlier

"Go fast, but don't kill us," Damien says, his phone pressed to his cheek. "We won't be any help to them if we're dead."

He's right, which doesn't make me feel any better. We were together when we got the message—Damien, Rosie, and me—working on Nicole's special project.

Rosie wanted to come to Rex's house with us. She wanted to come with us so badly I had to hoist her over my shoulder and carry her back inside the building we were working on, then rush out the door like a kid playing keep-away and lock the accordion scaffolding on it behind me, leaving her beating away at it and shouting obscenities. So there's every chance that'll be the talk of Marshall for half the afternoon.

Only half, because soon they'll find out about Rex.

Rex, who's always talked too damn much, asked too many questions.

Rex, who'd thought it was so funny to take down those Christmas wreaths the night before Dick and a few other people would have won their bet.

Dick must have retaliated. That was his way, to take jokes too far, always. I can get being pissed—I'd been pissed at Dick plenty of times too—but to kill him for it?

It means I never knew Rex. It means I made the same mistakes with him that I made with my uncle, believing he was a decent person, someone with humanity.

My mistake burns, especially because Claire's there in that house with him, probably only feet away from a violent end.

I only got her message after we were halfway to Rex's—

We think he's actually bringing Nicole to Dick's house. Don't worry. We're hiding.

Then, in response to my message urging her to get the fuck out:

I love you.

I'd nearly back-ended an old Buick when I saw that. I love you, like she was saying goodbye. Like she knew it might be the last thing she wrote. As a gesture, it was like me grabbing on to the last beautiful woman I thought I'd ever see and kissing her.

"Fuck, fuck," I'd shouted, something wild unleashing in me. Because I love her too. Because she is good—the kind of person who deserves to be protected and honored. The kind of person who makes the world a better place just by existing. I let myself connect to the world again, and if it's wrenched away from me…

My mind fills with images of Claire.

I can't entertain that possibility, because the thought of anything happening to her makes me want to burn Marshall to the ground, leaving behind nothing but a patch of scorched earth, where not even a cherry tomato can grow.

Damien had pulled the phone from me as I swerved into a gas station to turn around, nearly taking out half the pumps. His jaw flexing, he'd told me, "Go faster," but apparently I'd taken things too fast for him, even.

"Maybe someone will get off their ass and call the cops," I say between my teeth. He's on the phone with the 911 operator, so at least the authorities have been roped in, but it doesn't feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. Even going this fast, flying up the mountain and taking the curves twenty miles too fast, we're still minutes away. I know better than most that a lot can happen in a few minutes. My parents' car going off the road, my uncle teetering on those steps, Dick taking that fall…

No. Dick, being pushed.

"Thank you," Damien says into the phone. The only sign he's freaking out is the tension he's carrying in his body—every muscle poised as if he's preparing to beat the shit out of someone. He ends the call and pockets my phone. "They're on their way, but we'll get there first. I'm guessing he'll be down by the greenhouse. We've got to assume he has a gun. You got any way of getting us down there without getting shot?"

I don't think Rex will shoot us.

I suspect this has probably gotten bigger than he ever thought it would be, faster than he'd feared it might. Pushing a man and making it look like an accident is easier than murdering several people in broad daylight. Or at least I hope it is. Maybe, for some people, once you cross the line, it becomes easier to cross it again, and again, until there's only a mess of footprints where a line used to be. It wasn't like that for me, but then again, there was no premeditation with what happened with my uncle, no forethought. Just a shove, then lights out.

Damien's still watching me, waiting for an answer.

"A wish and a fucking prayer, my friend," I say. "We can go down on the side opposite my house. Try sneaking up on him from behind the greenhouse."

He nods. "That'll have to do it."

We don't talk for the rest of the drive. We don't talk when we see Rex's fucking truck, parked outside of Dick's house at an angle, the front door still partially open, but I see Damien's jaw flex, and I know I'm not the only one seeing red.

He's down there, with the women we love.

The second I park, we spark into motion—getting out of the car and racing around the side of the house so we can get a look at the lay of the land below. The trees block most of our view, but we can see movement close to where the greenhouse is nestled. A guttural growl escapes Damien as he starts picking his way down the hill, using the brush and trees as cover but moving fast. I'm right there with him. Just before we reach the back of the greenhouse, I hear Nicole shout something. Damien and I exchange a look, and we race toward the front, because fuck subtlety. We need to get to them, and we need to get to them now, and nothing on this earth will stop us.

But we're too late.