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Twenty-Six

Now

Nobody was supposed to get hurt,” Jena shouts. “I only wanted you to tell the truth!”

“The truth?” I yell back. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped you on the ass!”

“The Hecks have suffered enough! They deserve to know what really happened!”

If I needed any more proof that my best friend is part of this whole fucked-up scheme, hearing her echo the words that asshole in the mask said to me, while trying to kill me, is the nail in her coffin.

A tornado of anger, betrayal, hurt, and sadness whips through me until I ache. Tears spring to my eyes and I fight them back.

When I don’t say anything, she keeps talking. “I hoped you’d tell the truth right after it happened, but you didn’t. Instead your dad shows up at the hospital and tells me not to worry because he’s not pressing charges—especially since I’m a friend of the family and I always have your back . Before I even know what’s happening, I’m signing a statement saying you were already home by the time the boat crashed. But that’s crazy, right? You wouldn’t do that. No way would my best friend allow me to take the fall for a crash I had nothing to do with.

“So I figured your dad must’ve had some kind of plan for you to come clean with the least amount of public backlash, but that didn’t happen either. Your entire family doubled down on the ‘accident’ and how tragic it was and how sorry you all were that this happened on your property. And then we thought you’d have to fess up once the special investigation revealed what really happened, but they ruled it an accident too. By then, it was clear you were never going to tell the truth.”

The we in her spiel echoes through my head. Who is we ? Who the fuck is helping her? Who would run me off the road and attack me in a forest?

“So you gathered some friends and decided to kill me?” I spit.

“No! We wanted to scare you into doing the right thing. So we left clues to make you think that someone knew what you did. Like the newspapers about the investigation, or the lake water in your locker, or the boat knife in your tires. Reminders of the party, reminders of Claire . We thought you’d freak out and think someone was about to reveal the truth and you’d confess to get ahead of it. But you just acted like it wasn’t happening, like it meant nothing to you. You didn’t even tell me about it. You pretended none of it was real and kept fixating on Yale like that’s the only thing that existed.

“So we escalated things to get you to crack. We got someone to mention the beach party to Brandon so he’d get mad and show up screaming, like he always does. We thought he’d at least throw you off after your Yale announcement, but none of it got to you. None of it. It’s like you have no conscience at all.”

I can feel myself closing off, shutting down. It’s not even worth responding, but I honestly don’t know what I would say. Jena is supposed to be my best friend in the entire world. I don’t even know the person sitting beside me right now.

The lights of Dallas loom closer. In another ten minutes, we’ll be back to civilization.

It’s like you have no conscience at all.

“Brooke, we didn’t have a choice. We had to force your hand. But the plan was to scare you, drive too close, freak you out with the stupid masks, and make some empty threats until you finally confessed. That’s it . Intimidation only. Rear-ending cars at a hundred miles an hour, smashing up police cruisers, and attacking you in the middle of nowhere wasn’t part of the deal! You were never supposed to actually get hurt—”

I’ve had more than enough. “Who’s in the Bronco?” I shout.

Jena reels back at my volume, but she shakes her head. “Brooke—”

“Is it Felix? Did he do this?”

“Brooke, I can’t—”

“I want names. Right the fuck now, Jena.”

She gasps out another sob. “None of this was supposed to happen! We were only supposed to scare you into confessing!”

“I have nothing to confess! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I was there,” she snaps back. “Claire wasn’t driving the boat that night—you were. You’re the one who crashed it, and then you told the world it was her fault.”

Panic rockets through my stomach, and my fingers tighten on the wheel. That’s impossible. “You have no idea what you’re even talking about. You were passed out drunk in the back of the boat.”

“I was drunk, not dead. And. I. Remember. Everything .”