Page 49 of Watch Me Burn

And she still had the nerve to call me selfish.

Something in me snapped.

I couldn’t restrain what was within me anymore now that she clicked the spiteful switch. “You want to know something crazy, Mom? I’ll tell you something crazy. All those teacher trips Dad told us about are nothing but lies. Dad was sneaking behind your back to Florida to stay there with an underaged STUDENT!”

My mother stumbled back at the revelation, darting her eyes across the room. “I . . .” She trailed off, clutching the rosary that hung above her chest. Her voice was frail and distant like the news had transported her to a different realm where we couldn’t fully reach her senses. “I . . . can’t believe you would disrespect my husband’s name like this for your ex-con!” She slammed a fist against the living room wall in indignation, rattling picture frames and an antique clock that hung above us. “It’s one thing to wrench my heart with your awful prying, but this? Leveraging lies like this to justify your horny hobby is despicable!”

I blinked my eyes in shock. Out of what I just said, the only takeaway she had was to grasp at the whole “you and this ex-con” position again? I was about to call her out on her inane hypocrisy when Ethan butted in to give his own two cents.

“Ms. Hudson, I really don’t want to get involved in your personal matters, but I think you need to know abo—”

“Then don’t involve yourself in my business. You have NO right to speak to the wife of the man you killed!” she bellowed. “Now get out of my house or I’ll call the police!”

Pushing past my hysterical mother, I stomped up the stairs. “Ethan, please wait for me outside. I’m just using the bathroom real quick.”

“Do you not speak English?” my mom nagged. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

She waved Ethan away like she was shooing away a fly. My chest panged to see him be piled up on like this, but when I met the top point of the stairwell, I snuck him a quick wink that everything was okay between us.

Raising his hands in the air, Ethan backed away slowly as my mother moved her tantrum to the backyard. I figured she’d turn to her roses to vent her frustration—just like she always did.

Reaching the second-floor hallway, my gaze snapped to the right. The imposing double doors of my parents’ bedroom seemed to mock me with their Victorian splendor. With reluctance, I grasped the brass handles and tiptoed inside.

The room appeared just as my mother typically left it. Her cosmetics were scattered across the makeup table, and her signature shawl hung on the back of the usual upholstered chair.

I made a beeline for the closet, where I’d previously found my father’s keepsakes. Sure enough, his school yearbooks were sandwiched between photographs, obituary letters, and other documents.

That trip had been fifteen years ago, so I had to look for anything from the school year just before that summer. A cold chill ran down my spine as it dawned on me what I was really searching for: not a nostalgic trip down memory lane, but a picture of an underage girl my dad was involved with.

The door, left slightly ajar, allowed me to hear movement from the backyard door to the living room below. My sign to get the hell out.

Grabbing the latest yearbook my father had, I bolted from the master bedroom, gently closing the door behind me. My timing was impeccable, allowing me to descend the stairs nonchalantly just as my mother began her ascent. Neither of us spoke, an electric tension hanging between us.

I wasn’t sure when I’d next set foot in this house—or if I’d even be allowed to. However, I knew that upon my return, my perception of our once intact family would be irreversibly scarred.

Ethan had said we’d watched him burn that fateful day in court. Karma’s a bitch, and now I guess it was my turn to feel the heat.

This shitty world would watch me burn. But after what had happened to Ethan . . . fair enough.

Chapter 22

Ethan

The condo kitchen island we’d doubled as a research table was flush with papers. We had found a picture of Lisa in only moments, and those dark bangs and nose piercing matched the girl to from the hotel to a T. But we still decided to rifle through the yearbook for every single girl with similar traits, just to be 100% sure it was Lisa.

According to Anna, John Hudson was coaching the senior girls’ basketball team at the time of his death.

“How about we see if there are any other pictures of Lisa on the junior girls’ basketball team?”

I lurched to find the appropriate page.

And who would’ve guessed who we found in the middle of a group photograph? With her thick black bangs and piercing, a smiley black-haired girl was posed beside Anna’s dad and teammates in a congratulatory huddle for some type of tournament.

Lisa.

“It’s Lisa!” Anna blurted.

Looking at her outside of a pixelated recording, I felt even weirder knowing that she’d shared a room with Anna’s father. She was strung up in the geeky type of orthodontic headgear you’d only see used as braces in teen movies, and her rosy, freckled cheeks made her come across as years younger than a sixteen-year-old student.

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