Page 85 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
“Amy,” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“I love you, but I also know when I’m third-wheeling a psychosexual crisis. And this issothat moment.”
She disappears inside.
The silence she leaves behind is immediate and enormous.
Noah and I just stand there in the waning moonlight, staring at each other. The grave between us like a line we both know we already crossed.
“You saw everything,” I say.
“I did.”
“Were you ever going to stop us?”
“If it looked like you were going to get caught, yeah.”
“And if we had?”
“I would’ve lied.”
My throat tightens. “Why?”
“Because you looked scared. And desperate. And like a woman trying to hold herself together with duct tape and sarcasm.”
“That woman is a nut job.”
He steps closer. “She’s not. She’s just tired. And angry. And pretending this doesn’t feel like hell.”
My mouth opens. Closes.
“I should turn you in,” he says. “I should report you. Call it in. Do the job.”
“Then do it.”
We’re inches apart now.
“You killed someone,” he says quietly.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you buried him.”
I nod. “Because I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You should’ve called me.”
“You’re the reason I know how to hide a body,” I snap. “Remember? You used to talk through your cases like I was your partner. Like it was a game.”
He flinches—barely. But I see it.
We’re too close now. His breath touches mine. The heat coming off him is making it hard to think.
He leans in slightly. “Do you regret it?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe.”
“Do you regret me?”
