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“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand, voice shaking. “Mom died because I couldn’t get to her quickly enough.”

The familiar pain sears my heart. I was too late. I’ll never in a million years forgive myself for that.

“You weren’t even supposed to be there.” He tosses another match into the living room. “I fucking bawled my eyes out when I learned you’d skipped school and almost died with that meddling bitch.”

I shudder at his words. I’m unable to speak as my mind whirls at his confession. Tate takes a step out in front of me as though he can shield me from this motherfucker. I hate that I allow him to do just that.

Baker lights another match and flings it onto the carpet in front of him. It quickly catches fire and spreads over the cheap material. Although the flames are small, I’m being transported to the worst night of my life.

I can’t move.

I can barely breathe.

“W-What are you saying?” I manage to croak out.

Baker shakes his head and barks out a sinister laugh. “You always looked at my dick, Jude. I didn’t fucking imagine it. You’re the whole reason I found out I like guys too. That night...” He claws at his hair before angrily striking another match. “That night, I got the balls to finally act on the mutual feeling. You were asleep, but I was trying to wake you up.”

What in the ever-loving fuck is he talking about?

“Just let us leave, Sean. It’s not too late.” Tate starts toward the kitchen, but Baker stops him by tossing the match toward the stove.

A hot blast of heat sends Tate hurtling into me. The two of us land in a heap. I gape in horror at the flames that are now billowing out of the kitchen and spreading all too quickly up walls and across the carpet. The smoke alarm shrieks from nearby.

“She walked in on me,” Baker yells, pain and fury dripping from his tone. “Said I fucking ‘sexually assaulted you’ since you were asleep. Told me to leave and that she would be pressing charges.”

I remember the weekend before the fire. Baker stayed over. We got into Mom’s liquor, got drunk, and I passed out. He was gone by morning.

That next day, Mom asked if I was gay and was acting strangely.

With the flames and smoke burning through the small apartment, I can barely make out Baker’s form in the doorway. His voice is loud and clear. Tate is tugging at me and speaking inaudible words. I’m unable to move or respond.

I’m a captive to Baker’s horror story.

“I fucking went mental, man,” Baker growls. “I had a girlfriend and my dad would have lost his shit if he found out I’d been sucking off Jude Park, a fucking guy.”

I really was drunk because I didn’t wake up.

Mom saw him?

Fuck.

“I only had one option,” Baker says with a growl. “Set that bitch’s house on fire with her in it.”

No.

This can’t be real.

Tate’s fingers claw at me, tugging and tugging, but I’m stuck, unable to comprehend the terrible things Baker is confessing to me.

The fire wasn’t an accident.

And Mom didn’t start it like Callum always thought.

She was murdered.

By my best friend.

“It’s too bad you have to die the same way she did,” Baker says sadly, voice trembling with unshed tears. “But it’s for the best. My life was almost ruined back then, but I stopped it. Just like how I’ll stop it now.”