Page 169 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“He replied,” she said, her voice breathless. “Oh my God, he’s coming out. Oh my God, what do we do?”
“We relax,” I said with a laugh. “We can’t freak out on him. Channel some of that inner calm Dove mode you have—I can’t do this on my own. I hate strangers.”
Liv’s whole body looked braced for impact, and when the creak of the iron gates opening reached us, she let out a yelp and vanished from the car, materializing on the curb to pace nervously.
Dove hurriedly got out, and I followed, taking the keys from the ignition. The warmth of the California sun slipped through the shade of the trees. I locked the car and drew in a calming breath, realizing we were about to do a lot of explaining to some poor, unwitting guy who had no idea what was coming.
As I rounded the car and came to stand beside Dove, I noticed a figure walking down the drive, his posture firm and his frame tall and broad. The closer he came into view, the more I took him in. He had that all-American, boy-next-door look about him, the way his broad shoulders filled out his white T-shirt, gray sweats hanging loose around his hips. His brown hair was a mess, and he ran a hand through it as he walked.
“Fuck,” Liv whispered, a low whistle escaping her lips as she stopped pacing, staring at him with devastation. “I forgot how hot he was.”
I rolled my eyes, but Dove’s lips twitched as if she were fighting a laugh, and I clamped down on the smile tugging at my own.
Liv was always going to be Liv.
When he finally reached us, I noticed the light coating of stubble on his face and the tired, sharp look in his eyes—guarded and wary—as he glanced between Dove and me.
He stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms. As his gaze swept over me and then Dove, his eyes narrowed slightly, cataloging the two strangers standing in front of him.
“Dove Marley?” he asked, curiosity in his voice as his attention shifted to her.
“That’s me,” she murmured, tugging at the hem of her oversized shirt, sounding nervous. “This is Ellis Langley. We, uh, we drove here from California.”
“So I could put your grandmother’s ashes into fireworks?” he asked, disbelief in his voice. “You know there are companies that do this shit, right?”
“Yeah, um,” Dove stuttered, then cleared her throat. “We’re also friends of Liv’s.”
His entire body stiffened, as if burned, and his eyes locked onto Dove.
“Yeah, you mentioned that.” He crossed his arms defensively. “It’s funny, though. I knew all of Liv’s friends. A lot of people like to say they were Liv’s friends, then run back to a journalist or make a TikTok about her. About what happened.”
Dove hesitated, nerves radiating off her as I watched her tongue dart across her lip, her body coiled with the weight of being the messenger. She seemed to flounder, her mouth opening and closing, while beside her Liv stared at Jedd like he was the oxygen she’d been missing. Her pink hair blazed in the sunlight, and her hand hovered half raised, as though she could bridge the distance and touch him if only she were brave enough.
The devastation in her eyes made my stomach twist.
I cleared my throat, not realizing I was doing it until the sound was already sharp in the stillness of the afternoon, on this quiet street. Both Jedd’s and Dove’s eyes flicked to me, and though my tongue felt like lead, the words forced their way out, quiet and steady.
“I’m Ellis Langley,” I began, the syllables heavy and controlled despite the hammering of my pulse, my scar burning beneath my shirt as I lifted my chin. “And I have Liv’s heart in my chest.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Jedd’s expression faltered for just a moment, the guarded suspicion in his eyes cracking into shock, then confusion, and finally something rawer I couldn’t quite name. His gaze dropped to the center of my chest, concealed by my halter-neck shirt, before lifting back to my face, as though he truly saw me for the first time.
I wanted to look away. My instincts screamed at me to hide my trembling hands, but I held his gaze—held it for Liv, who stood beside him unseen, her breath caught as though she might break apart if I failed to carry her truth.
I crossed my arms and raised my brows at him, taking in the stunned expression on his face. “We have a lot to talk about. Are you going to invite us in?”
Jedd guidedus down the long driveway and back toward the “pool house,” which was nothing like the word suggested, if we were being completely honest. A pool house, in my opinion, was a rickety shed with maybe an old foldout chair tossed inside, along with rusted pipes and withered pool noodles. Jedd’s poolhouse was a two-story loft, its glass panels glinting in the afternoon sun as it overlooked a perfect rectangle of blue water rimmed by manicured hedges.
The whole place sat on a stretch of green that looked more like a golf course than someone’s backyard.
It was sleek, open plan, and outrageous. A staircase hugged one wall, leading up to a mezzanine bedroom that looked down over the living area. Sunlight cut sharp shapes across the polished concrete floors, catching on photo frames and chrome fixtures that gleamed like jewelry.
There was no small talk or warmth as we stood inside the entrance—only the brittle politeness of someone who wanted to get whatever this was over with.
“Want something to drink?” he asked, already turning toward the kitchen in the corner.
“Water would be great,” Dove said, and I echoed her, my voice cracking slightly with nerves.
