Page 115 of One Killer Night

I cut him off, suspecting he’s going to say “to the cops.”

“No. I can’t do that. They’re just gonna say I’m wrong because they ruled him dead thirty years ago. Nobody’s helping us ... or me, rather. You shouldn’t be helping me either.”

He scowls, then rubs his chin thoughtfully, and I shake my head.

“We need to bait him,” he rushes out like the idea just sprang to life.

I frown. “You really don’t have any regard for your own safety, do you?”

Chase looks back at me, and for the first time, I truly see it in his eyes—the belief he has in the words I’ve been saying. But for reasons I’ll never be able to accept or explain, he’s not scared away. He shrugs.

“I’m not looking to die young, Noah. But I’m also unwilling to let my best friend handle this shit alone. We’re family. We don’t quit on each other. So get on board, and let’s figure out a plan.” The sharp sound of a knife unsheathed from its holder slices through the room before he twists it around his fingers. “Your mom wasn’t the only person good with a knife.”

He’s serious.

I chuckle. I can’t believe it, but I do. God, I hate him for giving me this feeling of hope and for forgiving me when I can’t even do that for myself.

“I’m pretty sure Billy’s gonna be harder to stick than a rack of lamb.”

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve mentally given up changing Chase’s mind or that we’re casually talking about murder, but I’m tired again. A deep exhale sags my shoulders as I run a hand over my jaw.

I just need a minute.

“Honestly,” I say on an empty laugh, “I don’t know what the plan is. I’ll get back to you. All I know is I need a shower ... And if you don’t mind, I’d like to dothatalone.”

Chase picks up what I’m putting down because he nods, not saying anything back. I push away from the counter, pocket my phone, and turn around. I hear him pick up his fork to gently cut another piece of the omelet before he talks through a mouthful. “You know, you might feel a little less dirty if you told her.”

I freeze in place, my back to him. My jaw tenses, but I stand in silence long enough to remember how to breathe. Jesus, he doesn’t even have to say her name to level me.

“Heroes are supposed to save the girl,” I say over my shoulder, turning my head but not looking at him. “Right? They sacrifice themselves.” My hand grips the back of my neck as I finally meet his eyes. He gives me a nod. “I’ll never be able to make it right, Chase. And she’ll never forgive me. But I can keep her safe ...” I turn back this time as I walk, saying the rest loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t bring her up again.”

The moment I close the bathroom door, my ass hits the counter as I lean back and grip the edge, breathing too fast and too hard. My knuckles rub the middle of my chest, feeling the tightness. This feels like a panic attack, but it’s grief.

Fuck, I miss her. I think about her, I dream about her. She’s still all over me.

The past few days have felt like a lifetime.

My eyes close, and I hate and love the ache in the center of my chest because at least it’s something that still connects me to her. The memories come slowly, as if they’re testing the waters ... making sure I don’t break.

I see her laughing. The way her hair swishes when she walks. I remember the night we lay in bed and I counted her freckles, stopping at 642. And that morning she burned the quiche, then FaceTimed Chase to make him teach her how to make me a new one.

All the happiest moments of my life run through my mind until they crash down around the last picture in my mind—the look on her face as I begged her not to leave.

The fear on it ... She was looking at a stranger.

I am no one to her now.I love you, don’t hate me.

I blink my eyes open, clear the lump in my throat, slowly pull out my phone, and stare down at the message I received last night. The one I didn’t want to tell Chase about because I’m still unsure how I want to handle it.

617-999-5757:Hello, this is Matthew Wright from Origins Investigative Services. I would like to clarify some information obtained by the Monroes. They’ve asked me to contact you privately, and they request you don’t contact their daughter. Please call or textback as soon as possible.

My head begins warring with itself again because she deserves the truth. But what if when she finds out, she gets as pigheaded as Chase? Then again, maybe if I tell this guy, he could help her understand that she’s better off without me.

I shake my head as I stare down at the screen, realizing that in all my scenarios, Goldie wants me back, but no matter what subconscious thoughts I have, we’re done. She’ll never be able to look at me the same. I ruined us.

The truth is the least I can give her back. Her parents will know the right time to share it with her. I know that in my bones. Her heart’s protected by her family. Thinking it makes me close the message and go to the one that’s been burning a hole in my gut ever since Monday at one a.m. when I received it.

Evie:Saw the apartment. Stay the fuck away from my sister and my family or I’ll kill you myself. Don’t contact her either. My parents are taking her home, away from you. What you did ... who you are. You fucking broke her, and I hope you burn in hell.