16
I wake up when the sunlight filtering through the blinds over the air conditioner hits me. Seth’s arm is warm around me, which feels good in the cold room. I don’t want to move, to wake him; I want to stay in this weird alternate reality in this attic in Pennsylvania where I can sleep in a bed with the one boy in the world who knows the worst thing about me and doesn’t care.
I lie there, listening to his breathing behind me, watching the sun get brighter behind the blinds. I don’t want to get up, deal with all the things we’re dealing with.
But I need to find out who killed Fiona and Thatcher. Because I don’t trust the police to do it, because I don’t want to get kicked out of college before it even starts for being a murder suspect, and most of all, because I want this person to pay.
I turn in bed just as Seth stirs. His breaths turn into grunts, his arm lifts as he stretches, and the night is officially over.
His eyes open, fall on me. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
I can’t read the expression on his face. After a moment, he scratches his head. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Okay.”
While he’s in the bathroom, I get dressed in a new black T-shirt and underwear and the same jean shorts I wore yesterday. The mirror over the dresser shows my hair’s gotten frizzy overnight from sleeping on it wet, and I have mascara under my eyes. I run my hand through my hair, rub at the mascara and apply a fresh coat, all before Seth reappears in the doorway in nothing but a towel.
I haven’t seen him without a shirt on since that night, and it had been dark then. Now, in the filtered daylight, I can see the muscles of his chest and shoulders clearly. He looks like he’s gotten bigger, and he has more hair on his body than before, I’m pretty sure. Little black curly hairs across his chest, forming a trail downward, disappearing into the towel—
“Um.” He averts his eyes from mine. “I left my clothes—”
“I’ll go brush my teeth.” I hurriedly slip past him into the hallway.
I brush so hard I make my gums bleed. When I come back, Seth is fully clothed, thank God. We head down to the kitchen, where Tess and her wife are leaving for work, but they tell us to stay and eat from the plate of pastries they’ve left out, and to drop the keys in the box outside when we’re ready to go.
Once they’re gone, Seth clears his throat. “So—”
Just then his phone rings.
He picks it up while I text my brother. Dad didn’t notice anything?
Davy’s message back: No. He’s at his golf thing. When are you home?
Prob around lunchtime, I write back, hoping it’s true.
“The car’s ready,” Seth says. “We can get an Uber to pick it up.”
But he’s frowning down at his phone.
“What?” I want to know.
“The mechanic’s not positive, but he thinks someone might have messed with my car.”
“What? How?”
Seth launches into some technical explanation I don’t understand, but the bottom line is that the car seems to have been scuttled deliberately.
“Someone didn’t want us to make it to Philly.” Seth looks grim.
“But who even knew we were going?” I ask.
“Kendall,” he answers. “But she wasn’t home last night; she went back to the city, and when I drove my car yesterday, it was fine. Besides, she was the one who told us about Caleb. My mom and dad knew I was coming to Philly, but not why. Oh, and Marion knew.”
I frown. “Did you tell her why we were coming here?” I don’t want Marion telling Davy where I am, or that I wasn’t with Kendall.
“No, just that I was meeting up with a friend.”
I try and process all this. “I mean—it could have been just a problem with the car, right?”
Seth nods, but he looks unsure. “Or—” He hesitates.
“What?”
“Maybe someone was following us that night. Heard us say we were coming here.”
A shiver goes down my spine, even though it’s broad daylight. “You really think that?”
“I don’t know.” Then he frowns. “Or it could have been someone just trying to mess with me, not even knowing where I was headed.”
“Who? Has anyone given you weird looks when you’re out and about? Like they suspect you of something?”
He shakes his head. “Do people do that to you?”
“I assume they are, so I just don’t look at anybody.”
An exhale that may be the start of a laugh. “I still think you’re letting those posts from that one guy get in your head.”