Page 77 of Rebel

“Ah, um, not much more to tell,” he replies, rubbing his hair and mussing the sweaty strands.

Oh, not much more, just that you killed four people, I think idly.

That’s not what I say though. “Oh, come on, there must be.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Want to hear one of my deepest secrets, and then you can tell me yours?”

“Uh, sure.” He frowns, clearly confused about where this is coming from, but he likes me too much to deny me. I’m a bastard, but it’s worth it.

“When I was sixteen . . .” I bite my lip, not sure I can tell him this, but it has to be dark enough for him to feel like he can spill, so I let the secret that I never told anyone else out. “I stole some of my mom’s medication since she was so sick. I was just so tired and stressed, I wanted to forget for a minute, you know? I took too many. I almost overdosed. I was rushed to the hospital. Luckily, my mom had woken up in pain and was searching for her meds when she realized what I’d done. She was so worried, and I felt like such shit after, I never touched anything again, even pain relievers. Every time I even think of that night, I feel nothing but guilt. I was high as a fucking kite, and she was screaming for me not to die. I don’t think I’ll ever live that down.”

“Beck,” he whispers.

“Sorry, I got dark there. I just . . . I like you, Trav, and I want us to get to know each other better. Maybe I went too far.” He covers my hand with his. “You don’t think less of me, right?”

“Never,” he replies, and I see the moment he decides to share and make me feel better. Trav would never let me hurt alone. “You’re not the only one who has done stupid things, Beck.”

“No? Please tell me I’m not. I’m feeling pretty shitty here.” Low blow, Beck.

He takes a deep breath. “I never told anyone this, not even the guys.” He swallows again, sitting back. “I don’t want you to look at me differently, but you’re not alone, Beck. When I was younger, a teenager, I was in a band. I told you about them. Well, we were good friends, and we were going places. I used to skip school to practice with them. People called us bad, but we were just misunderstood. We wanted to play music. One night, we booked a big gig that could change everything for us. We were so hyped and pumped after the gig that the drinks started flowing.”

He’s actually telling me. I can see guilt and pain in his eyes, and my own wars with my need to know.

“I knew it was wrong, and I said something, but no one listened. They were too hyped to care. We had no other way to get home. My friend had driven us there in his car, and we had the equipment, so we got in it. I was drunk, Beck, and I knew it was wrong, but despite protesting, I still went along with it. He drove us home. We were okay until about five minutes out of town.” He smiles bitterly. “It was the best night of our lives . . . until it wasn’t.”

Wait, his friend?

“I don’t know what happened. One moment, we were fine, and the next, we were careening off the edge of a cliff and into a reservoir. I could see it coming, we all could, and there was nothing we could do. We hit the water hard. To this day, I still remember the feeling of it. I don’t remember much after, just sinking and the lights flashing through the darkness until they cut out. Some of them struggled, trying to get free in the crash. I was still in the front, and luckily, I was wearing a seatbelt. I managed to get free and started kicking at my window as water filled the car. I still remember their screams. Two of my friends were too quiet: the driver, Pierce, who hadn’t worn his seatbelt, and Tim, who was in the back seat, also not wearing his seatbelt. I managed to break the window, and I tried to grab them. I grabbed Pierce and pushed him out, then I got Tim, and I tried to get Sol, but his seatbelt was on, and I couldn’t get it free. I was running out of air, so I swam us all to the top. My body felt wrong. I kept getting dizzy, but I got them to the surface, and I tried to go back down, but the car had sunk too deep. The last thing I remember before I passed out was their bodies floating next to me.”

I cover my mouth in horror as I see tears fall down his face.

“I found out later they all died on impact, but I know . . . I know Sol was alive. I couldn’t save him, Beck. I was in a coma for a while, apparently my injuries were extensive, and when I woke up, they were just gone. They were all dead over one mistake. The happiest night of our lives turned into the worst, and all anyone cared about was who was to blame for the alcohol—not the grief or the families, just the alcohol.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I took the blame.” He lifts his head, tears bright on his cheeks. “Pierce was driving, but I took the blame.”

It wasn’t him?

“Pierce was drunk, we all were, and he never should have been driving, but I let him, Beck. I let him drive. It was as much my fault as it was his. He was dead, so he’d already paid the price. I’d lost everything I loved, and his family was grieving, so I didn’t want to hurt their memory of him after it all happened.”

“So you just let them believe the worst about you?” I whisper. I’m shocked, but I shouldn’t be. It’s something Trav would do. I think that’s why I’m struggling so hard. Trav isn’t a killer, no matter what happened.

“It was easier to let them blame me. I already felt guilty. I should have stopped Pierce from driving. They had just lost their son, and I couldn’t let them lose their last shred of him. I had no one who cared if it was my fault, but he did. I wouldn’t let them tarnish his memory like that, not even for the sake of my own,” he admits. “I left after the funerals. They couldn’t prove who was driving, so I was never charged, but everyone had made up their minds. They blamed me for their sons’ deaths, and I wasn’t welcome. I don’t even blame them. I don’t know why I survived and they didn’t. Some call it fate, but I say I was unlucky. I should have died that night, and I didn’t. Every day since, I have tried my hardest to live for them. That’s why I never gave up on this dream, because it was theirs. I’m doing this for all of us. We were just kids, Beck, and we did something stupid, but they didn’t deserve to die. They deserve to be singing and playing, to have families and a future. They are just gone, and I miss them. Every night, I hear their screams and feel the water hit us. Every night, I see their faces and hope what I’m doing is enough.”

“Trav.” I climb into his lap, wrapping him in my arms as he sobs. “Shit happens. I don’t know why you survived—no one does. It’s not unlucky. It’s just the way things are. You’re right. They made a mistake and they paid for it, but you don’t have to spend the rest of your life paying for it too. You’ve done enough. You were just a kid too.”

“I should have known better?—”

“But you can’t change it now. You’ve already protected their memories and made this name for them. You need to stop punishing yourself. You can’t change the past, and living a half-life because of it will only piss them off. If they loved you as much as I’m assuming they did, then they wouldn’t want you to hurt for the rest of your life, haunted by their ghosts.” I’m aware of the irony of what I’m saying, but it’s clear Trav is still drowning, and I’m a helping hand.

I hold him tighter.

“It’s time to let go, move on, and stop blaming yourself,” I whisper, wiping away his tears. “What happened is not your fault.”

“Beck.”

“Say it,” I demand, dragging his eyes to me.

“It’s not my fault,” he whispers.

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