Page 10

Ten

Now

Jena gapes at me and then whips around to look back between the seats. “What do you mean? Why would someone follow us?”

“I don’t know, but they’ve been on my ass since that red light.”

“Oh.” She flops back into her seat with a laugh. “You almost had me worried. This is the only highway out of town. Everyone takes this road to get home from the coast. You’re so dramatic, Brooke.”

She’s right. This is the only road out, eventually branching off to highways that lead further inland—east toward Salem, and north, up the coast. It makes sense that someone else would be headed in the same direction as us, even at this hour. And if that was all they were doing, I might actually feel as dramatic as Jena thinks I am. But factor in the switching lanes and the closeness of their bumper to mine, and it doesn’t feel right.

The Bronco looms behind us, much too close for anyone simply in a hurry. All I can hear in my head is Time’s up, Brooke. No amount of coffeeshop indie music or BFF placation can loosen this knot building in my chest.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say, forcing another smile.

Because what else am I going to say? I might have a stalker and they could be in that car. Yeah, that would go over well, and if it ends up being some drunk idiot or random asshole driver, I’d have told her for nothing.

The last markers of town start to fade, replaced by long stretches of trees as we leave civilization behind. Rows of stores become spread-out singular shops, or the occasional weathered home built just a little too close to the side of the road.

I barely see any of it.

All my attention is on the vehicle behind me.

I will the driver to turn off into one of these businesses or driveways or take a sharp turn onto a side road and prove Jena right. They don’t. And the longer they stay on my bumper, the tighter I grip the steering wheel.

Fingers snap in my face and I jump.

“Brooke,” Jena says. “Would you snap out of it? Nobody’s following us.”

Tell that to the car on our ass. “I know.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

The Bronco inches closer and I fight to keep my voice even. “Nothing. I’ll be fine as soon as I get home.”

Or as soon as I get this guy off my ass. Whichever comes first.

I spot the sign for Devil’s Lake up ahead. It’s a little strip of water surrounded by vacation houses, but the turnoff is one of the last big intersections before it’s nothing but forest and farmland for miles.

The turn looms and I make a decision. If the car is following me, they’ll turn. If they’re not, they’ll keep going up the highway.

God, I really hope Jena’s right.

I turn at the last second—best not give any notice with a blinker, just in case. Jena grabs for the door handle as I take the corner like we’re in a Fast and Furious movie.

“Where the hell are you going?” she shrieks. “Are you out of your mind?”

I ignore her, and as soon as the Subaru is straightened out again, my eyes are glued to the rearview mirror. The Bronco continues down the main highway in a flash of white and then it’s gone.

They didn’t turn.

My entire body feels weightless with relief. “Oh, thank god.”

“Did you seriously pull off the road because of that stupid car?”

I shrug, looking for a driveway to turn around in. Now that the Bronco didn’t follow us, her mocking feels more justified than it did a few minutes ago. “Maybe I don’t want to be tailgated the whole drive back. Ever think of that?”

“So you turned off the highway like a madman?” she asks.

Our eyes meet in the dim console light. “It worked, didn’t it?”

I pull back up to the intersection on the main highway and, seeing no cars in either direction, I hit the gas. The empty road soothes my nerves. What did I think was going to happen? This highway is full of impatient drivers. Nobody is content going ten over the speed limit on a mostly deserted road. Well, not until they get pulled over by one of three cops that hang out along this highway. Did I really think it was more than that? All because of some stupid voicemail?

God, I need to calm the hell down. It’s not that serious.

My headlights cut across the pavement as I get the car back up to the speed limit. I reach to turn up the music—the near silence in the car is suffocating.

And apparently intentional. Jena smacks my hand away from the volume knob and turns her whole body to face me again. “Absolutely not. You need to tell me what’s really going on.”

“Nothing is going on. I told you—”

“Don’t give me that. I’m not an idiot, Brooke. You’ve been jumpy and off ever since Brandon crashed that party.”

“No mood of mine has ever been impacted by Brandon Heck. For better or for worse.” I gesture to the phone. “Feel free to change it to another playlist. We don’t have to keep it on the coffeeshop one the whole drive. I know indie isn’t your thing.”

“Is it because of Claire, then?” she asks, undeterred.

I force my jaw to unclench so I can speak. “What about Claire?”

The dash lights illuminate the frown on her face. She looks down at her lap. “I don’t know. Do you ever think about her?”

“Of course,” I say automatically. “I think about her all the time. It’s hard not to.”

Silence stretches after my answer.

Then, she asks, “Do you think about what happened?”

My eyes are on the road, but in my mind, I see a flash of water. Jena’s hair fanned across a bench seat. A floating key chain beneath a manicured hand. The road snaps back into focus, and I blink away the memories. “More than anyone, probably.” More than I should. More than is healthy.

“And?”

I take a slow breath and blow it back out again. “And what? It was an accident: you know it, I know it, her parents know it, the cops who investigated know it. Brandon seems to be the only one who doesn’t. He needs someone to blame and that someone is clearly me.”

Jena shrugs. “I guess that’s true.”

“Like I said. Feel free to change the song.”

She starts to say something else, but headlights wash through the back of the Subaru. I wince, and squint into the light reflecting from my mirror.

My stomach drops.

The Bronco is back.

“ No ,” I breathe. “No, this can’t be happening. Where did they come from?”

Jena looks over her shoulder. “There’s no way that’s the same car, right?”

The headlights sink into the backs of my eyes. “No, there’s a second psychotic driver in a white Bronco who also decided to tailgate us, Jena,” I snap.

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it!” she says, sounding scared for the first time.

The road whips around a sharp turn, then back the other way. The second it straightens out again, the Bronco creeps closer and closer. Fear shoots down my spine.

My fingers tingle in my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. This is not good.

“What do they want?” Jena asks. “Is this road rage or what?”

I swerve to the right, and back again, but it’s like they know what I’m going to do. They mirror our movements. When I’m back in my lane, they flash their brights at me.

“I don’t think this is road rage,” I say. “I need to put some space between us.”

Another long curve veers to the left, and my headlights disappear into open air over the guardrail. I hit the gas, but it doesn’t matter. The Bronco accelerates too, and I drive in full panic as they get closer and closer.

Their front bumper kisses the back of the Subaru.

We lurch forward, and Jena screams.