Page 83 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“I thought I was going to open a garage with Trent.”

“And?”

I sniff, trying not to spit on the wood floor, as the stench of his house clogs my throat. “I changed my mind.”

“How long are you staying?”

I get up to leave. “I don’t know. Why?” I ask curiously. “Want me to leave town already.”

“Nah.” He laughs. “I was hoping you would give me an autograph,” he says sarcastically.

I open the front door, knowing my next visit to Chris won’t be in his favor. “Hey, Chris?” I call out when I reach the Porsche.

“Hmm…?”

“Did you visit Dulce to see if she was okay? You know…after it happened?”

He slides his hands into his front pocket, causing the band of his dirty jeans to lower, revealing a toneless stomach and pubic hair. “My lawyer advised against it.”

His reply chokes me into rage as I fire up the car. We stare at each other through the windshield until his mouth lifts in a rapacious smile.

I peel out and push the Porsche to the limit, heading back to Trent’s garage. When I get there, I apply the e-brake. I ignore the burnt stink from the engine, proof I was driving too fast. The smell of gas and motor oil is comforting, and my rage finally subsides.

“What happened?” Trent says when I walk in. I take the stairs two steps at a time.

I stop and turn around.

The swelling has gone down, but his face still looks like a purple popsicle when it changes colors. “I paid Chris a visit.”

“That fucker is crazy and has been strung out since he came back,” he says, turning off the TV.

“I know that. Where was he that night, Trent?”

“After we left Dulce, everyone was laughing at prom. Chris ended up going with Summer.”

“He went to prom with Summer?”

“I don’t know, but she showed up the same way we all did. We didn’t do the corsage or any of that shit. It wasn’t the same when you left. We all hated it.”

I sit on the far end of the couch. “I can tell,” I drawl. “Were you with him the entire night?”

“I think so.”

I stand, grab him by the throat, and forcefully push him against the wall. “Think, motherfucker.”

He raises his arm as dread washes over his face. “It was four years ago, Ford. I don’t…” He shuts his eyes. “He was there. We were all there, dancing and having fun. Drinking. Smoking pot. The usual shit. Summer was with him. Heather was there. Vicki. It was all of us.”

I let him go. Disgusted with him—with them.

“When you got back, did anyone go missing?” I prompt, already out of patience.

He blinks rapidly, trying to remember. “I don’t know. The cops showed up three hours later. They questioned us, and I was scared, man. I was so scared.”

“Not for her,” I roar. I slam him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. I pull his head back by his hair. His eyes bulge out of his head. “You were scared to get caught.”

“You're right, man,” he cries out. “I regret that night.” Pathetic tears run down his face. “I wish I could go back and change it.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “The look on her face when I left her haunts me every night.”

“Good,” I spit, letting him go, watching him slide down the wall. “I hope it does. I hope it fucking eats you inside.”

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