Page 166 of We Can't Be Friends

“Whatever you went through yesterday, you can keep to yourself or tell me. I meant what I said: I’m here for you. Whatever way you need.” I want to take back those words, realizing she needed—wanted—me for sex last night, and I turned that down. I keep going, knowing there isn’t a way to erase the sting she probably felt from those words. “As crazy as it sounds, I’m happy I found you last night. That you weren’t alone. And if that’s how I can best support you, then move over, Tucker, I’m your new guard dog. I’ll sit with you through anything. Stay by your side. Never leave.But only tell me if you want to, not because you have to,” I repeat the words, making sure each syllable is heard loud and clear.

Her eyes are glassy, a meniscus of tears waiting to be spilled. A single one breaks through the barrier, falling down her olive cheek. Dropping the leash, she wipes her hand across her face, bumping my thumb.

“Shit, Chloe. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset.” She wipes another tear. “I promise.” Chloe shakes her head. “I’m scared you’ll regret those words as soon as I tell you.”

I won’t. There’s nothing she could say that would make me leave, not want her.

“You don’t get to decide how I’ll react, Chloe.”

“Never mind,” she blows out, moving away. My hand slips from her.

I circle her wrist, tugging. She spins to face me.

“You said you wanted to tell me. What are you suddenly afraid of?”

“I killed my brother. . .”

49

CHLOE

The four words that have haunted me are no longer only mine.

Callum saw my ghosts yesterday. Now he’s meeting them.

With the waffle dangling out of my mouth, I open the door. . .

His mouth falls open. I know for certain that’s not what he was expecting.

My mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. The waffle breaks the fresh coat of snow on the ground.

“Not Miller,” I joke. I joke? Why am I joking? “Aaron, our older brother.”

Cal shakes his head. “Chloe. . . that’s. . .”

“I did. It’s my fault.”

I spy Aaron’s car immediately at the four-way stop. My college duplex is on the corner, something I’ve always loved.More sunshine. More yard for flowers. Mom’s coming soon to help me plant a garden.

His car is stopped, waiting for the right away. He’ll drive up front and I’ll hop in.

Late to practice, who?

His dark green Toyota starts moving. I blink once and it happens. There’s a reason no one enjoys the front-row seat at the movies.

Cal doesn’t respond. He’s quiet, and instantly, when his feet pivot, I think he’s going to run. He turns toward the concrete path in the direction of home. When he takes a step, my heart shatters, the feeling too similar to that day.

Tucker tries to go after him. His harness restraining him, my arm locking out.

He pauses, looking over his shoulder at me. “I’m listening.” And he reaches a hand out to me.

The sound of crunching metal being bent in on itself. Glass shattering. Tires screeching, trying to stop, but it’s too late.

It’s. Too. Late.

My breath is staccato through my nose. It smells like burned popcorn and plastic.

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