His brows come together. “Well, I am, a little.”
Of course he is.
I take a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. I just meant that things are already complicated enough. I’m sorry if I acted like…I regretted it or something.”
His voice is low. “Didn’t you?”
“No.” I don’t know whether I’m lying. “I’m just…confused, I guess. With everything going on.”
A pause. “Yeah, I get that,” he says finally.
I pull my hair out of its ponytail, secure it back up again. “All I meant was, the time we spend doing—that—is time we’re not spending figuring this out. Davy’s never around anymore, I can’t keep an eye on him, who knows what kind of case the cops are building against me, and even if they don’t actually arrest me, Rutgers could rescind my acceptance, and I’m supposed to leave for college in a month, and if we don’t figure this out by then, we—”
My spiral has its intended effect. Seth takes another step toward me, touches my arm. “I know. I get it.” His voice is softer now. “That’s why I came to talk to you.”
I let out a breath. “So we’re agreed? Just focusing on the case?”
His hand on my arm is warm. “If that’s what you want. Sure.”
That look is back in his eyes. My head is throbbing. I don’t know if it’s because of the fall or all the thoughts swirling around inside of it.
I would have noticed if he’d left.
That’s what I told the cops. I swore up and down there was no way Seth Montgomery had left my side that night. But what Gen said is true; I am a heavy sleeper, especially when I’ve had something to drink.
Could Seth really have slipped away from me that night, come back before I’d even woken up?
In those seconds he ran ahead of me the night Thatcher died—was that enough time to push him?
No. Seth loved Thatcher like a brother. There’s no way he had anything to do with his death.
And Seth couldn’t be the person Fiona had gone to for money—he helped me figure out that that person even exists.
He told me he cared about me.
Unless all of that was an act, too?
I try to push the thought out of my mind. But it stays there, stubborn. Because when I actually think about it, it doesn’t make any sense.
Why would he care about me?
“Addie?” Seth asks.
I step back. His hand drops. “I think that’s for the best.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I turn to go. “I’m going to go take some Advil. My head hurts.”
“Do you want me to walk with you? You could have bumped your head—”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll charge my phone and text you when I get there.”
Seth still looks worried, but he lets me go.
I run home as fast as I can.
35
I make it home in record time.
I go straight to my room and plug in the phone, then shoot off a text to Seth that I’m back. And then, heart hammering in my chest, I wait.
Even if I didn’t damage the phone in my fall, it could’ve gotten damaged any number of ways, sitting out there for almost a year. It might not even be Fiona’s at all.
After a minute, it turns on.
I seize it with both hands.
And then falter.
The passcode.
I try Fiona’s birthday, mine, Dad’s, Davy’s, even Mom’s. Nothing.
Then words. Ballet. Nope. I’m locked out for a minute now. When I get the chance to try again, I put in Sadie. Nothing. Now I’m locked out for five minutes. I can’t keep doing it like this.
I’m just about to run upstairs to Fiona’s room to look at the names of the dancers on her wall when I stop in my tracks.
