Page 53 of The Guilty One

They exchange looks, and I bellow, “Jump!”

Two of them jump and the others ask, “How high?” Fucking idiots.

I widen my stance, staring them down. “I thought the deal was that I tell you to take my test or give me your sweatshirt or wash my car or fucking wipe my hairy ass, and you do it. Have I been wrong about that?”

They scowl, looking at each other.

“We’re your friends, Tatum. Your brothers. But we aren’t your servants,” Bradley says softly. “We will fight for you. Die for you. But the way you’ve been acting is…” His voice goes soft, and I don’t hear whatever word he’s saying as I stalk toward him.

“Is what?” I demand.

He doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Is what?” I shout.

He looks up finally. “Unhinged, bro. You’re scaring us.”

I stare at him for a long time, letting several uncomfortable seconds pass before I step back and scan each of their faces, waiting for someone to step in and defend me, to tell him he’s wrong. “Is that how you all feel?” I demand.

No one agrees with him, at least not aloud, but they don’t disagree either.

“I’m in charge,” I say firmly. “I say, ‘Run.’ You say, ‘Where?’ I say, ‘Hide.’ You don’t come out until I tell you you can. I say, ‘My car needs gas.’ You say, ‘I’ve got it.’” I turn and look at Matteo, my eyes drilling into him. “I say, ‘I want to fuck your girl.’ You say, ‘Have at it.’ You hand me the fucking condom. Hell, maybe you even put it on. Am I making myself clear?”

Every other head turns to look at Matteo, but his eyes are locked on mine.

“And before any of you even thinks about arguing, let me remind you that I have enough dirt on all of you to take you down ten times over. Videos. Photos. You will do as I say, or your lives are over. Is that understood?”

The boys stare at me with rage in their eyes. It fuels me like nothing I’ve ever felt. My entire body feels electric, like lightning. I’m shaking with adrenaline and spite.

“No?” I dig in my ear, pretending to clean it out because I obviously couldn’t hear their enthusiastic agreement, then grab my phone, opening it to my videos. I scroll back a few months and hold it out to Aaron. “Remember when you got so drunk you tried to suck your own?—”

“Stop!” he shouts, covering his eyes. “I’m with you, okay? I’m with you, dude.”

“We’re all with you,” Bradley says. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Good,” I say when I spot the woman walking toward us through the woods, her pretty black hair pulled up in a ponytail again, bag clutched to her chest. I’m hard already. “Because things are about to get a whole lot more interesting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CELINE

When I wake up the next morning, there’s a sense of peace settled over me that I haven’t felt in a long time.

For once, I have an answer about Tate. I don’t know where he is or what has happened, but I know he’s alive. I know he’s coming home to me, even if it won’t be to give me the answer I’m hoping for. Even if it won’t be to tell me this has all been a misunderstanding, and he never wanted to leave and only took all our money so he could put it in a better investment account he just hadn’t had the chance to tell me about yet, at least I will know. And knowing is always better than wondering. If I know, I can move forward. I can choose strength.

As of right now, the only thing I can do is try to understand what feels impossible to understand.

The house is still quiet, which takes me by surprise until I realize that it’s nine a.m., and my parents must’ve already taken the boys to school. They let me sleep in, and for the first time, I was actually able to. It makes me sad I didn’t say goodbye to the boys and wish them a good day, but I’ll make it up to them as soon as Tate is home safe. Maybe I’ll even make a cake—or, let’s be honest, buy a cake.

I wash my face and brush my teeth, running a comb through my curls before tying them up off of my neck. I’m starting to feel better already. More normal. No one prepares you for how quickly that happens, how quickly an unthinkable reality becomes normal.

But it’s almost over. Just one more day. Less than a day, really.

In the hall, I pop my head into the boys’ rooms to make sure they’re both gone, and when I’m positive they are, I text my mom to say thank you and make my way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed the silence. I guess I didn’t realize it until right now, but the entire house has been buzzing lately with concern and expectations. My parents and in-laws are well-meaning, of course, and I can’t fault them or say I wish they’d do anything differently, it’s just nice to have a few moments of silence for the first time in a while. To be able to feel what I’m feeling without an audience.

In a sort of cruel irony, a knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. My chest tightens, blood running cold.

Is he here already?

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