Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PETER
I t was madness.
We’d agreed it could never happen again.
We’d agreed I was going to get better.
That I would stop hurting people.
But now she was…what? Giving me permission?
Last time I’d gotten permission to do something previously off-limits, it had been a setup. But this time, what could she be setting me up for? She already knew the truth about everything. Already had all the evidence she could need to get me into trouble. She already had me at her beck and call.
But this couldn’t be real.
And, even if it was, there was no way in hell I was going to go through with it.
Knowing that Ainsley knew my secret was painful enough. Having her watch me kill Stefan, even if it was exactly what she wanted, was mortifying.
Killing was private.
Intimate .
Ending a life wasn’t meant to be a spectator sport.
When it was done for pleasure, I meant for the moment to be only between the two of us. Cat and mouse. Killer and victim.
Adding Ainsley into the mix was too dangerous.
Still, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of it.
There was something erotic about picturing her taking part.
Something wrong, too.
I couldn’t decide how I wanted to proceed.
We’d cut the conversation short the night before when I’d asked for time to consider it. She was offended, but I couldn’t say any more then. My head wasn’t clear when I was with her.
It had never been clear— would never be clear—in her presence.
“I’m just going to see if the kids want a snack,” she said, interrupting my thoughts as she bustled past the recliner I was sitting in, a basket of food in her hands.
“I’ll come with you.” I jumped up, following close behind her. Like Dylan had said, Julie arrived in time for breakfast that morning, but she’d only eaten a few small bites before the two of them changed into their swimming suits and headed down to the lake, towels slung over their necks.
The girl was so quiet I’d probably heard her speak three sentences total, and only when she was spoken to. Dylan, on the other hand, had spoken more than I’d heard him in years. Perhaps trying to keep us from talking directly to Julie too much.
Still, I knew it had just about destroyed my wife not to get to spend most of the morning talking to the new girl in our son’s life.
I was supposed to be the dad in the scenario, to pat him on the shoulder encouragingly and tell Ainsley it would all be alright, but in truth, I was curious about her, too.
It was Dylan’s first real girlfriend, and that meant something special to us all.
“Do you really think they’re hungry?” I asked, trying to keep up with Ainsley’s quick pace. It was only about two hours since we’d had breakfast, so I had to imagine whatever we were doing had little to do with hunger.
“They might be. I just want to check in and be sure they’re doing okay.”
“You know they’re going to be fine, right? I mean, Maisy and Riley are there, too. It’s not like they’re alone.”
When I looked at her, her expression was pinched, as if she were concentrating hard on something important. It struck me then—was she worried about what Dylan and Julie might be doing, or was she worried about what Dylan might be doing to Julie? Did she worry about him turning out like I had? Turning into me?
The thought was sobering.
But she didn’t know the truth about how it had all started.
If I’d never met Jim, if he hadn’t shown me the power that came with it all, I might never have turned into the monster I was.
It wasn’t genetic…
My son would never be what I was. I had to believe that .
I wanted to assure her of this, but I couldn’t manage to form the words. They were painful. Everyone hopes their children will turn into some better version of themselves. It’s why we search for ourselves in their tiny features when they’re newborns.
But to hope, like I had to, that they’d end up nothing like me, was unexpectedly painful. I guess I’d never thought about it until that moment.
We were nearing the edge of the water, both of us searching the shoreline for the kids. At first I didn’t see them, but eventually, I heard a nearly unfamiliar giggle.
Ainsley heard it at the same time and we turned abruptly, headed in the direction of the sound. They were gathered together, the four of them—Julie sitting close to Dylan on the ground at the base of a tree while Maisy and Riley sat down from them a bit, each of them staring out at the choppy water.
“Where did you hear that?” Dylan was asking, his face turned slightly toward Julie, tone skeptical.
We were closer now, though they still hadn’t noticed us.
“A lot of girls have been talking about it. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard, Maisy. I heard he sent one of the pictures to Nikki Schneider.”
“Pictures of what?” Dylan asked.
Julie snorted, dragging a twig through the dirt at her feet. “Well…not his face.”
Ainsley stopped short, placing a hand out to stop me as well. It felt wrong, overhearing a conversation I was sure wasn’t meant for us, but I couldn’t help being intrigued. Who were they talking about ?
“Sick,” Riley said.
“I’ll bet it’s all shriveled and nasty,” Dylan chimed in.
“He’s not that old,” Julie argued.
“He’s our parents’ age,” Dylan argued.
Ainsley and I exchanged a glance, not daring to move.
Who were they talking about?
“Well, if they have pictures, they should turn him in,” Maisy said, keeping her arms wrapped around her legs.
“I doubt it. Nikki was bragging about it. I got the impression she sent him a few pictures herself. You really haven’t heard anything? I’ve heard Bailey Jones was one of the girls he’s been sleeping with. Aren’t you friends with her?”
Beside me, Ainsley sucked in a sharp breath. Bailey was eleven years old, the same age as Maisy. Not old enough to be sleeping with anyone. And certainly not someone my age.
A protective rage filled my stomach.
Someone needed to report this. I wanted to go forward, to demand they tell me what they were talking about, but I feared if I did, I might never know the truth. Ainsley seemed to be struggling with a similar train of thought.
“Shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about. You shouldn’t say stuff like that when you obviously don’t know anything,” Maisy said, the anger in her voice palpable. She stood abruptly, dusting her hands across the seat of her shorts.
“Don’t snap at her,” Dylan shouted back defensively.
“I’m sorry. I was just saying what I’d heard—”
“Well, what you’ve heard is shit— ”
I’d never heard my daughter curse before, and that alone was a kick to the gut. Before I’d had a chance to recover, Maisy had turned around and stopped short, staring at us in horror.
“Mom? Dad?”
Ainsley met my eyes briefly as we both contemplated what we should say or how we should move forward. It was as if the ground had crumbled beneath us. I could see it on each and every one of our faces. In the end, it was my wife who navigated us through. She dropped her arms in front of her, the basket dangling near her knees.
When she spoke, her voice was soft but shaken.
“Let’s go inside for a bit, Maisy. We… I think we should talk.”