Page 141 of A Smile Full of Lies
I didn’t crythe first three nights, but by day four? I fucking cracked.
It started with the photos. Well, no, really, it started when Alyssa messaged me.
Alyssa
You’re writing the story of what happened with Knox’s family, as a true crime book, aren’t you? I’ve got a whole lot of material here from the investigation – back then, and now, after we went through Thayer’s stuff – Hale says I can give you a copy, for the purposes of the book, so long as you don’t make any of it public until we say you can. Should I email it to you?
I’d sat and stared at that message for half an hour, a cup of coffee going cold on the table in front of me. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see it. But, then again, if I was going to write this story, do it justice, make it as true to fact as I could, then what choice did I have?
Me
Yes please. That will be helpful for the book.
So Alyssa had emailed me a zipped folder, full of all sorts of things — scanned pages from Thayer’s journals, flagged and timestamped. I opened it thinking it might help. Something toground the narrative. Something to make it easier to write the truth about the Stonewood Slaughter.
But I wasn’t ready for what I found.
The first entry Alyssa had flagged for me read clinical, cold, and smug. It was dated August 27, seven years ago. When I saw that date, something twisted in the pit of my stomach.
Every time I walk into a room with Philip Henry Knox — who insists on just going by Knox — it’s the same goddamn thing. Heads turn like he’s the fucking sun and I’m just orbiting debris.
He doesn’t even have to work for it. It doesn’t matter what I do, I’ll never measure up, somehow. Doesn’t matter how sharp I look, how smooth I talk, how many connections I’ve lined up like dominoes. He opens his mouth, laughs that easy laugh, and the whole room rearranges itself around him.
We’re “friends”. That’s the script. Teammates. Boys. Brothers-in-arms. People believe it because they want to, because we fist-bump after games and pass around bottles at the same parties. But underneath, it’s all measurement. Him against me. Me against him. And I always end up looking smaller.
My family’s rich. Influential. We’ve got our name on plaques and programs, our hand in pockets from Mobile toMontgomery. But his family? His is a fucking Stonewood legacy. Old, unshakable, built on bourbon older than we are and mansions with white columns that people still whisper about. My people climbed and clawed and scratched their way to the top. His were born already at the peak. And everyone can feel it.
I’m handsome. I know it. My jawline’s sharp, my smile is devastating, I could pull pussy anytime I want. But I also know this: every single one of them would ditch me without hesitation if Knox so much as looked their way. Doesn’t matter if I work harder, fuck better, play smarter. They’d crawl over me to get to him.
That’s what kills me. He doesn’t even try. He doesn’t have to calculate every move, doesn’t have to map the chessboard ten steps ahead like I do. He just exists — and the crown gets handed to him.
Meanwhile, I’m strategizing my way through every conversation, every room, every handshake, making sure I’m seen, remembered, wanted. And still — still — he gets it all without effort.
It’s a joke. A fucking cruel one.
But here’s the part he’ll never understand: I’m a patient guy. I’m sharper than he is. Hungrier. I see thefault lines under his perfect golden world. And one day, I’ll find the crack and pry it open underneath him.
I don’t know when. Not yet. But it’s coming.
And when it does? Philip Henry Knox — perfect fucking Knox — will finally know what it feels like to lose. More importantly, he’ll find out how it feels to lose to me.
I started shaking. Still, I didn’t cry. Not until I hit the page dated November 1st, seven years ago. The day after my eighteenth birthday.
Knox fell in love with a girl at first sight last night, at the Stonewood Prep Halloween bonfire, but he didn’t get the chance to speak to her before he had to go save his little sister’s ass from daddy’s wrath over her wrecking her brand new car.
If I find her first, I win. It’s not about the girl. It never will be. It’s about him. Always.
I swallowed hard, fingers going numb on the trackpad.
Knox talked about her like she was a dream. A witch costume with a birthday girl sash. Boots. Blue-green eyes. Said she wrecked him. I smiled. Filed it away. All I had to do was find her first. Take her first. And I did.
I felt sick.
Knox stayed behind after class and told me all about the girl who captured his attention last night. The dumb motherfucker gave me every crumb of information I needed to hunt her down on social media and find her first while he was still reeling from spotting the “love of his life” across the bonfire but having to walk away to save Ava’s ass before he got the chance to get her name.
I scrolled through her Instagram like it was a catalog. Found her in ten minutes. Bonfire. Birthday sash. @ros_coop. That velvet dress really did fuck him up. Idiot. Game on.
Next was an entry dated a week later.
