Page 52 of A Smile Full of Lies (Secrets of Stonewood #1)

Chapter

Thirty-Three

ROS

Twenty Days.

That’s how long I’ve been holed up in Knox’s river house with nothing but coffee, painkillers, Thayer’s journal scans and what Alyssa was able to release to me from the case files, and the kind of grief that mutates when left alone too long.

Tomorrow is day twenty-one, the end of the retreat. The day Knox is supposed to come for me. Tonight, I’ve finally finished the book.

The last chapter cost me everything. Sleep.

Sanity. Breath. But I’d done it. I’d put every ounce of the truth on the page.

Not a version of the story someone else could spin or sanitize.

Not the one Thayer’s family would attempt to spoon-feed the public when they learned who their son really was and everything he’d done, when they realized they couldn’t keep it quiet, not with any amount of money.

I told the cold, hard, undeniable truth, and the final lines made my stomach churn even as I typed them.

The handsome, charming boy pictured in the above Stonewood Preparatory Academy senior portrait didn’t die an honorable man. He died a killer.

But this book isn’t about him. It’s about the girl who survived him.

It’s about the family he slaughtered, and the boy left grieving in the wake of that loss.

That boy would’ve bled and burned this world to ash to bring his family justice, if I hadn’t kept the truth from him, and then nearly died bringing it to light.

That boy is my neighbor, my best friend, and my soulmate.

Thayer Williams shattered us both, each in our own way. We are made of grief and broken pieces that fit together beautifully.

This story is what we buried in Stonewood, and I refuse to let a monster — or that monster’s family — twist the truth and write the ending, not even from beyond the grave.

I sat back in the chair, eyes stinging. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before I clicked save and changed the file name to match the new title: What We Buried in Stonewood.

Done. It was done, and I didn’t even feel relief. Just a hollow, tight sensation behind my ribs, like grief and rage had welded themselves together and I’d never fully separate them again.

My phone buzzed against the desk.

Alyssa

Thayer’s family is holding the memorial service for him tomorrow.

It’s a private affair, but it’s at the waterfront chapel, around noon.

Just wanted you to know. I’ll be there on duty, keeping things from getting out of hand.

Though they didn’t deserve it, we gave them a day before the official news of the closing of the case will go to the reporters.

Of course it was tomorrow, the same fucking day I was going home. That was a sick little twist of fate I didn’t need in my life. But, then again, maybe it’d do me good to see them bury whatever was left of Thayer.

I stared at Alyssa’s text, nausea curdling low in my stomach.

I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Knew his family — grieving or not — would never forgive what my book would do to their illusion of him.

And if the news would go to the reporters the day after tomorrow, then I wanted to have the book ready to go live the day after, or as close to that as possible.

So I probably wasn’t going to sleep much tonight.

I needed to see it. Needed to watch that urn be placed on a pedestal and know there was no coming back. No more smiling through clenched teeth, pretending he was just a shitty ex and not a fucking murderer.

I needed to see the end, even if it meant standing in the shadows while the world lied for him one last time.

A sharp knock on the door made me jump and clutch my chest, pressing a hand against my suddenly racing heart.

I blinked and dragged myself to my feet, my muscles stiff from hours in the chair. When I opened the door, no one was there.

There was only a key in an envelope with my name on it. And parked at the end of the gravel path? There was a sleek black SUV with a big, red ribbon on the hood.

I stepped outside slowly, breath catching as I picked up the envelope, which had my name on it, in Knox’s handwriting. I tore it open and pulled out the note.

Your old car was a fucking death trap.

This one has heated seats and actual brakes.

I expect you to come home in one piece. No excuses.

–K

My throat tightened.

Because of course he would do this. Quietly. Thoroughly. Like my safety mattered more to him than any price tag.

Because to him, it did.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and pressed my hands to the wheel. Sleek leather. That new car smell. A full tank of gas.

No more excuses. No more delays.

Tonight, I’d prep the book for publishing. Tomorrow, I’d go home. I’d watch Thayer’s family mourn the monster who’d wrecked everything for Knox and for me. And after that? I’d hand the world the book that proved just how much of a monster Thayer really was.