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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TATE

One Day Before Disappearance

I don’t like lying to Celine, but at this point, what choice do I have? Everything could be falling apart at the seams, shredding the carefully placed pieces of my life, if I don’t figure out what happened to Bradley or at least make sure he never told anyone what we did.

I don’t know, maybe Dakota has gotten in my head. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but if there’s even the slightest chance that Bradley told his fiancée about what we did—or anyone else for that matter—I have to know and then decide how to handle it. I just don’t know yet what that means.

I’m not sure what I’m willing to do to keep our secret—to keep my life intact—anymore. I’m not the person I was back then.

I’m making my way out of the office when I hear Dustin calling my name. I spin around to find him chasing me, and my heart sinks. He’s holding my phone in his hand, a bright smile beaming on his face. “Don’t want to forget this,” he sings. “It was lying on your desk.”

“Oh, shoot. Right. Thanks. I must’ve…forgotten it.” Well, this works out great, doesn’t it? Absolutely perfect.

His smile falters just a hair, and I can’t help wondering if he suspects I’m lying, so I grin wider, tucking my phone into my pocket and patting it. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Have fun with all those projects,” he teases, zipping back inside.

I make my way to the car door, cursing my luck. I can’t take the phone back inside now, and I also can’t take it with me out of town. I could tell Celine I was meeting a client, I guess, but I don’t deal with properties two hours outside of the city, so I’m not sure she would believe it. I could say I’m meeting a client who lives outside of the city but owns a property or is looking for a property here. It wouldn’t be the most illogical thing, but I also can’t risk her starting to make connections between Nelson Insurance and me. It’s just too big of a gamble.

If I turn my phone off, my trusting wife will become suspicious. At least, I know I would be if the roles were reversed. I could call a cab, I guess, and leave my phone in the car, but the charge to get hours away and back would be astronomical. So I do the only thing I can think to do at this moment.

Dakota picks up quickly as if he were expecting my call.

“I need you to pick me up.”

“When? Now? Why?”

“Yes, now. I did what you said. I took the week off, and I’m going to talk to Bradley’s fiancée. But I need to leave my phone at the office so my wife doesn’t know where I’m going, which means I need to leave it in my car. Which means I need another car to get me to Dublin.”

“You were going to go without me?” he asks.

“Didn’t really feel like a two-man job.”

“Got it,” he says, sounding slightly offended but clearly trying to hide it. “Well, I’m not in town right now, so it’ll take me like thirty or so minutes to get there, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Cool. Thanks. See ya.” I end the call and tuck my phone into the glovebox, checking my reflection in the car mirror. I’m exhausted and it shows, but I’ve always been good at putting on the bravest of faces.

True to his word, Dakota shows up less than an hour later, rolling his truck up right next to where I’m parked. I slip out of my car and into the truck quickly, shutting the door before muttering, “Thanks again.”

“When I didn’t hear from you yesterday, I was starting to think you were going to ignore me.”

I was, but I’m not going to admit that now. “I just needed some time to get a game plan figured out.”

“And what is the game plan?” He pulls out of the parking lot, glancing over at me. “Obviously for you to go to Dublin alone.”

Ignoring his apparent attempt at wit, I buckle in. “We’re going to Dublin to check on his fiancée and see what she’ll tell us about his death.”

I can’t tell if he’s on the verge of laughing or screaming at me. “That’s it? That’s your plan? We just stop at the house of a woman we’ve never met, who doesn’t know us from Adam, and say, ‘Hey, give us the scoop on the dead guy you almost married’?”

I scowl. “Well, obviously not like that. I figure we can stop and pick up some flowers on the way.” I pat the pocket where I’ve stored a bit of cash. “Tell her we are old friends of Bradley’s and we’re sorry to hear about his death. Just sort of get a feel for things. Play it by ear. If we find out he’s told her about that night, we’ll tell her it’s a lie. That Bradley was always a little off.” I feel disgusting even saying it, lying like this, but I have no real choice. I made my decision back then, a decision I’ve regretted every day since I made it, and I can’t go back on it now. I can only accept the consequences of what I’ve done and try to move forward and be better. “We’ll offer to help her however we can.”

Dakota nods and shifts his gaze as we stop at a red light. When he speaks again, he’s looking directly ahead. “I need to tell you something.”

I wait.

He clears his throat, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “I’m starting to think…” He pauses, licking his lips. “What if we’ve been wrong about all of this? What if the person who killed Bradley actually wasn’t any of us? What if it was someone else entirely? Someone who knows what we did and wants to get revenge or force us to confess or something?”

“What?” I cock my head to the side, studying him. “Do you mean his fiancée?”

“Possibly. Just someone that’s not any of us. Someone who found out, either back then or more recently.”

“Why would you think that? Why would anyone who knew back then have waited this long to do something about it? And if they just found out, that means one of us talked. Did you tell someone?”

“No,” he says, his voice steady. “No, of course not. I’m not stupid. We said we wouldn’t tell a soul, and I haven’t. Not even Tosha. We’ve been married three years, and I haven’t brought it up once. I wouldn’t do that to you guys or myself.” He pauses. “Why? Did you?”

“You know I haven’t. You said it yourself, I have the most to lose.”

“Not even when you were drunk or something?”

“I don’t drink.” My brows draw together. “This is getting oddly specific, and now I feel like you definitely told someone.”

“No.” He cuts a line through the air with his hand. “I didn’t, but I’ve just been wondering lately because I’m starting to think I’m being followed.”

I cut a glance over my shoulder, checking out the back window. “What are you talking about?”

“No. Not right now,” Dakota says. “At home. At the store. On my way home from work. It’s always the same black car. A Lexus, I think. I just keep seeing it. They’re following me. Watching me. What if they did the same thing to Bradley before—” He cuts his words off, nodding with wide eyes. “What if they’re coming after me next?”

“Well, you should’ve mentioned all of this before you agreed to drive me to Dublin, don’t you think?” I check over my shoulder again.

“I want answers as much as you do,” he says. “Besides, I haven’t seen it yet today. They usually follow me home after work.”

“Why didn’t you mention it before now?”

“Would you have believed me?” he snarls with disbelief. He’s not wrong. I don’t know if I believe him even now. “There’s more,” he adds after a few minutes.

Unbelievable. “Of course there is. What else could there be?”

“Last night, when I got home from work, there was a burned book lying on my welcome mat with a note that said, ‘Shhh.’”

“A burned book?” My brows draw down. “Seriously?”

He nods, twisting his lips. “Look, believe me, I know it sounds crazy, but it was there. How else do you explain that?”

“What book was it?”

He cuts a glance my way, and something in my gut flips. “That’s the worst part. It was The Catcher in the Rye. Which would mean absolutely nothing to me, except…” He doesn’t go on, doesn’t need to. The second he said the title, my entire body went rigid. We both know what that book means, and only someone who knows about that night would understand its significance. “Even if I could write everything else off—being followed, Bradley’s death—there’s absolutely no way that book being on my doorstep is anything but a sign that someone knows, especially with a note that all but tells me to keep my mouth shut. Or…” He scratches his head. “Maybe they meant shhh as more of, like, a tease. Because of the secret. Because we kept it quiet. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Whether it’s someone who wants us to stay quiet or someone who wants what we did back then to come out, I’m not sure. But I think they’re targeting us all. And I think I’m next.”

I turn to look out the window, trying to process everything he’s telling me. “I don’t know, man. It seems far-fetched.”

“More far-fetched than our friend being murdered?”

“We still don’t know that he was murdered. Just that he had a head injury. Maybe he fell.”

“Sure,” he says, sounding defeated. “Maybe.”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, just that I hope you’re not right. It’s like I said earlier, I can’t make it make sense in my head. If they knew what we did back then—enough to know the detail about The Catcher in the Rye —why would they have waited this long to come after us?”

“Unless they just found out. Like if Bradley’s guilty conscience led to him telling a friend or a therapist, if not his fiancée.”

“Even if he did, how would they have known to track us down? Why would they be following you instead of just reporting it all to the police? And why not me? I’m the one who killed—” I cut myself off, refusing to replay that night ever again. “I’m the one they should target. The guilty one.”

He doesn’t agree, but I doubt he disagrees either. “What other possible solution is there, though? What else could that book mean? Give me one viable, plausible theory, and I will latch onto it like a life preserver.”

I rack my brain for one, a single idea that makes sense as to why that specific book, or any book for that matter would be burned and placed on his doorstep. But there are no explanations that make sense, so I say nothing.

We make the rest of the drive out to Dublin mostly in silence, both seemingly lost in our own thoughts. It’s strange. I once knew everything there was to know about this person sitting beside me. I knew his fears, his goals, the girls he liked, the music he was into, the movies he hated. Now he’s practically a stranger. I don’t even know where he works. We went through something so terrible and formative, and it forever changed us. We can’t go back to being the boys who were friends. The scar from that night is permanent and disfiguring, forever a stain on who we were. Try as we might, neither of us can escape it.

We stop at a grocery store a few miles from Bradley’s home address and grab a bouquet of flowers. Celine prefers tulips, though she’d rather have chocolates than flowers any day of the week, but I have no idea if this woman likes flowers or has a preference for which ones we pick up.

I’m sure her house is filled with flowers from the funeral at the moment. Still, it feels wrong to show up empty-handed.

With the flowers in hand, we arrive at the address Bradley had listed in the school’s alumni directory. It’s a quaint blue house with black shutters. One story with a large porch spanning the length of the house.

It fits somehow. I can picture him here. Safe. Building a life. If Bradley were a house, he would be this one. Ordinary but comfortable. Welcoming.

That makes losing him so much harder. I have no right to grieve for him. I had been out of his life for more than a decade. I don’t get to be sad or miss him when I made no effort to fix it when he was alive. I know that, and still…I do. I can’t help thinking of who he was. How different I wish things had been.

We approach the house in silence and knock on the door, and I have to wonder if Dakota is thinking the same things. He gets to grieve if he wants. He tried, maybe even more than I saw. He sent emails. He texted. He tried.

He’s the only one of us who did.

Within a few moments, a woman answers. She has long, black hair and green eyes, bloodshot from crying or lack of sleep—or both.

“Can I help you?” she asks before we can introduce ourselves.

“Are you Andrea?” I ask, recalling the name Bradley had attached to his Facebook relationship status and in his obituary.

She nods, crossing her arms and keeping the screened door shut between us.

“We’re old friends of Bradley’s. We went to school together. I’m Tate, and this is Dakota.” I watch for a hint of recognition in her eyes, but there is none. “We were so sorry to hear about him passing.”

“We wanted to come to the funeral, but we didn’t hear about it in time,” Dakota adds. “We’re a few hours away. I live in Groff Park and Tate’s outside of Dale.”

She nods slowly but still doesn’t open the door.

“Anyway, we can just leave these here, if you want. We’re sorry to have bothered you. We wanted to give our condolences in person.” I move to set the flowers down, and she slowly opens the door, stopping me.

“Were you still in contact with Bradley?” she asks, her quiet voice trembling.

“I wish I could say yes, but the truth is we’d lost touch. We hadn’t spoken in years,” I admit. “But we were very close in college. I wish we hadn’t let it go so long.”

“He never mentioned you. He didn’t really talk too much about his past,” she says, studying me. Her eyes dance over my features slowly. My face burns under the intense scrutiny. “But…he has photos of him and his friends from college. I think I recognize you from some of them.”

I give a soft smile and scratch the back of my neck. “Yeah, probably. We were pretty much together all the time. Same sports and clubs. He was roommates with our other friend, Aaron. We’d hoped he could come, but he couldn’t get the time off of work.”

She holds her hand out finally, taking the flowers from me. “Well, thank you. It was kind of you to come. Really. You didn’t have to.”

“Oh. It’s the least we could do,” Dakota says. “Bradley would’ve done the same for us.”

She smiles softly but doesn’t respond.

“I…I hate to ask this,” I say, “but…can I ask how he died? Was he sick or…” My heart races in my chest as I wait for the answer, or for her to tell me it’s none of my business.

“The police think it was a robbery gone wrong.” Her voice cracks, and her tired eyes line with tears. “He was here. My daughter had a dance competition in Savannah, and I’d taken her, so we didn’t get home until late. We came home and found him in the kitchen. He’d been…” She touches a hand to the back of her head gingerly, eyes staring—remembering—in horror. Without finishing, she clears her throat and blinks away fresh tears. “There were no signs of forced entry, but we left the doors unlocked all the time.”

“Was there anything taken?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. Nothing we could find, anyway. We don’t have a lot of money. I don’t understand what they were looking for, but whatever it was couldn’t have been worth his life. There’s nothing here worth dying over. He would’ve just given it to them.” Her voice cracks again, and she covers her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m so sorry.” My hand goes out toward her as if I’m going to touch her arm, but I think better of it and pull my hand back as I picture what she said. “Do you…do you have security footage? Any way to have seen who it was?”

“No.” She sniffles, wiping her nose. “We’ve never had any trouble. It’s a quiet neighborhood, and we just never thought it would happen to us.” With a dry, regretful breath, she adds, “God, how naive does that sound?”

I nod, assuming as much, but I had to ask. “It’s not your fault. I’m just so sorry he’s gone. Is there anything we can do? Anything we can help with or get for you?”

She shakes her head, still not opening the door all the way. She doesn’t trust us completely, and I can’t say I blame her. “No, thank you. We’ll be okay. He’d want us to be okay.”

“Bradley was a good guy. He really loved you.”

Her brows quirk down. “I thought you said you hadn’t spoken.”

“He must’ve.” I amend my words. “He always said he’d never get married, but from the pictures in the obituary, I’ve never seen him look so happy.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes as we say goodbye and head for the truck.

“What do you think?” Dakota asks once we’re inside.

“Well, I don’t think she knows anything.”

His lips pinch together. “I don’t know. I don’t trust her.”

The words aren’t shocking, but I don’t know what to do with them, so I say nothing as we pull down the drive and away from the house of the brother we’ll never see again, the brother we failed.