Page 136 of Brazen Mistakes

“Yup, but you’ll get to drive it in. Your theft, your drop.”

“Really? Will Tao be okay with that?”

“He’ll love you. There’s no way he wouldn’t.”

Chapter 48

Clara

Ablue envelope waits against the door when RJ and I get back from our run. And all I want to do is turn around and sprint as far away from my problems as possible.

RJ stomps up the stairs, kicking the snow from his shoes before reaching down and picking it up. “Band-Aid off quickly? Or slowly?”

“Fast. I guess.”

He hands me the envelope, and I tear into it, fear and anger rippling over me like the goosebumps I only banished twenty minutes ago. Inside is yet another card, this one with curling script that says, “Deepest Condolences.” Where did Bryce get these cards? Did he just grab whatever was on sale?

Inside, though, I see his sick logic.

Blurry photos, night and movement making the image impossible to parse if I didn’t already know what I was looking at. “Fuck.”

Jansen’s car on the side of the road, two cop cars on either side, the light from the headlights catching on the reflective lines of RJ’s coat.

The message is clear before I see the words. “Broken toys and broken boys. Nice shot, eh?”

The sob catches me off guard, but when RJ goes to pull me to him, I hand him the photo instead. Because he should know.

I brought Bryce into his life.

And he’s the one whose life was nearly forfeit because of it. A sweet, nerdy computer guy spent the night in jail because of Bryce. Because of me.

He’s not even the first one, but unlike Trips, it was all for nothing. He’d done nothing wrong.

RJ’s silence is just as scary this morning as it was yesterday.

And I’m a coward. I don’t look, just type in the door codes and get us inside, tears hot on my cheeks.

I should transfer, leave the state, study abroad, something. They shouldn’t have to pay for my stupidity. I could keep them safe if I just vanished.

I take off for my room, jamming my laptop into my backpack. Then I shove in a phone charger and a handful of clean underwear and socks, followed by two pairs of leggings and a sweatshirt.

Deodorant and toothpaste. I’ll need those too.

I rush back to the bathroom, RJ’s presence a shadow I don’t want to acknowledge. Because he’ll try to tell me he’s fine, but he’s not. He’s in danger. They all are.

I push past him, my arms full of toiletries, and struggle to get my shampoo into my backpack with thesweatshirt.

“Damn it.”

“Clara, what are you doing?”

“Disappearing.” I rush to the kitchen, grabbing granola bars and apples, shoving them into a plastic bag I find, adding the deodorant that I still have in my hand.

Halfway back to my room, warm fingers weave into mine, halting my momentum. Turning me, forcing me to look at him, RJ presses his palms to my cheeks. “Clara, this isn’t your fault.”

“But it is. If I weren’t here, you’d be safe.”

“No. I wouldn’t. Not really.”

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