A light drizzle was falling from the sky. The windshield wipers slapped and squeaked. I gunned it angrily, ignoring the way my truck fishtailed on the slick road.
It was a carbon copy of the night I'd found her. Here I was again, hurtling through the night while fuming about Willa Harlow. It was as if nothing had changed at all.
Had it?
She still refused. Still expected me to accept that what I'd seen was somehow not what happened. It was something my father would do. Like leave his wallet at his mistress’s house and then expect me to deny it was his.
That thought made me grip the wheel all the harder.
It took a moment for me to snap out of it and realize I wasn’t even seeing the road. I’d crossed over the center line in my blind fury. Growling, I wrenched the wheel, cutting it too hard and sending myself into a skid. For a few heart-pounding moments, it looked like I was going to flip. If a car came out of nowhere and slammed into me, would that be enough? Maybe if I were the one who was laid up in a hospital bed, she'd finally confess.
I wanted her to tell me. I just wanted to hear her say she was sorry for what she'd done and then... well, then I'd be done. Free. Free to be with her. Free to... fuck... love her?
I righted the skid with a grunt and sped the rest of the way home. Tonight was the last night in my parents’ house and there was no way I was going to sleep now. I pulled into the driveway and yanked the truck in to park and closed my eyes. Exhaustion lurked behind my eyelids, a boneless, numb desperation to just fall asleep right here. Sleeping would be a relief, a way to hide from how it had felt when she stepped back from me, closing her mouth on the confession that had been there. I knew it. I knew her. She was about to end this torment, dangling it like a carrot in front of me.
Then she'd snatched it away. Pulled back the peace she was offering.
"Go ask him,” she’d said.
The fucking nerve.
The steady, quiet way she'd spoken was the worst part of it. Harder to hear even than the sharp ring of her shout that had rattled every glass in her kitchen. It was the sound of her shutting down on me. "Go ask him," she'd ordered me as if there was some part of the story Liam hadn't told me yet. As if my best friend was keeping a secret from me.
Fucking hell, Willa.
I staggered toward the back door, ignoring the rain that was now falling steadily. I was so overheated it practically sizzled where it hit my skin. I shoved my key in the lock, swore when it stuck, and then shoved the door open with a grunt and a curse and stood panting on the landing.
"Go ask him," she'd told me. Like that would do anything. I put my hand on my pocket, brushed it past my father’s wallet. Then with a sudden finality, I threw that to the ground for him to find later and grabbed my phone.
I imagined calling Liam right now. I almost wanted to. Just to prove to myself how full of shit she was. I wanted a video of his face as he laughed about how ridiculous her request was. "She cheated on me." I imagined him saying into the camera. "What more is there to be said?"
"If you still believe this, after all we've done, all we've said..."
I blinked. For all the unwavering conviction I'd been feeling, that was the one part that had struck me as odd.
I knew her.
Thought I did.
No. Was certain I did.
I knew her. The real her.
And the real her had never made sense to me when I thought about what had happened. The Willa I knew, she returned stolen money. She doted on her brother. She selflessly helped her mother with parenting. She remembered every birthday, she checked in after every party. She made sure you got home safe. She protected you. She'd rather hurt herself ten times over than see you hurting.
"Go ask him," she’d told me.
I yanked my key out of the lock.
It was time for answers.
I got into my truck and drove back out into the night.