Chapter 2
“What the fuck was that?” I shout.
Shit!
I definitely just hit something. The loud thud was almost the exact same as when I backed into my mom’s mailbox last summer.
Except my truck didn’t jerk like it just did when I hit the mailbox…
Plus there are no mailboxes in this parking lot between a bunch of old warehouses.
So what the hell did I hit? Please tell me it wasn’t another car. I do not want to file a claim.
I shift back into park and jump out, rounding the truck bed, and I don’t immediately see anything. I swear to God, if I just hit one of those stray cats that are always running around, I’ll never forgive myself. Please be okay. Now I’d be happy if it was another car or a random trash can or…
Oh fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This cannot possibly be happening.
My heart stops beating, and I forget how to breathe.
Or maybe I’m breathing too quickly? I’m definitely dizzy.
My gut drops, my adrenaline spikes, and my whole body feels like it’s vibrating in horror.
I have no idea what the fuck to do. I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I can’t afford to pass out right now.
My legs must give out instead because without consciously deciding to, I sink to the ground as my vision blurs, and I blink back automatic tears, trying to choke down the sob that threatens to escape my throat.
What did I do? How could this have happened?
I hit a fucking person.
Shit, is he dead?
I’m going to jail. My life is over.
Fuck! I slam my fist into my stupid truck. It doesn’t help me feel any better, and now my knuckles are throbbing, but I have way too many emotions coursing through me right now to control my temper.
At least I didn’t hit a cat?
But holy fucking shit, I can’t believe this is really happening to me.
This has to be a bad dream, right? A nightmare that I’ll wake up from and be able to shake off after a few hours of consciousness.
Maybe I’m not even in Kansas City yet. Maybe I’m still in Arizona, and this is a sign I should turn down Grant and Eric’s offer to work with them.
I’ve never wanted to be a business owner anyway.
Sure, being part-owner of a brewery with my best friend and his older brother sounds cool, but if I can wake up from this moment, if it really is a bad dream, I’ll happily walk away from that plan.
But if this is real… none of that matters anyway.
Because I hit a person. A man!
I’m panicking, gasping for air. I can’t remember how to get my limbs to work to even crawl toward him, but I don’t need to close the distance between us to know what’s happening.
He’s lying on the asphalt, isn’t moving, isn’t breathing, and I don’t need to get any closer to confirm what that means.
The gravity of this situation is already weighing heavily on my chest.
Fuck. I know I need to get it together. Check his pulse or something.
Maybe I just knocked him out. This might not be so bad.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but I somehow force myself to reach my shaking hand toward his wrist to put two fingers on it like they do on TV, but I don’t feel a goddamn thing.
This is as bad as I suspected.
I killed him.
I’m a murderer.
I just fucking killed someone. Oh my god. What the fuck?
I’m going to go to jail for the rest of my life because I’m an idiot and didn’t see this guy behind my car in this dark parking lot.
It was an accident, sure, but I don’t think intent matters when someone fucking dies.
I’ve watched enough true crime documentaries to know that’s still reckless homicide or something. It’s still murder.
I can’t breathe. Oh fuck, I’m totally having a panic attack. My breath is coming in short gasps, and I can’t stop the tears that are soaking my cheeks.
I can’t go to jail! I’m only twenty-five.
I have so much of my life left to live. I haven’t even had a real career yet.
Or a serious girlfriend. I’m an only child, so I need to give my mom grandchildren.
Oh my god. All my hopes and dreams for my future are gone because of this one moment. This one mistake.
My life is over.
What the fuck did I do to deserve this?
Moving to Kansas City was supposed to be the start of the rest of my life. Not the end of it.
This can’t really be the end, can it?
No, I refuse to let it be. I need to figure something out and fast. I can’t just keep sitting here with a dead body next to me. Anyone could see. I need to pull it together. It’s now my life on the line here.
Shit, even more than that, Grant and Eric would be completely fucked too if I went to jail for murder.
There’s no way the business would survive that kind of negative press when it hasn’t even opened yet.
They’ve put everything into the brewery.
This could completely ruin their lives too.
After everything we’ve been through together growing up, they’re more like family than friends. I can’t do that to them.
Not to mention I’d absolutely shatter my mom’s heart. She’s worked so hard to give me a good life. I can’t throw it away.
I shake my head, trying to soothe my panic because right now I need to jump into action. Looking around, it truly seems like I’m alone. There are signs for a towing company, but none about cameras, and almost all the should-be streetlights are burned out. It really is dark back here.
Could I actually be alone?
Did no one see me hit this guy?
Could luck really be on my side?
My heart races even faster as my mind spins over what to do next. Is there any chance I could still fix this? Any way I can prevent myself from spending the rest of my life behind bars?
For a moment, I wonder who this guy was.
Maybe he was a nice person who did good things for the world.
No. Shit, I can’t think that way right now.
Maybe this was some divine intervention, and I just killed a complete asshole.
That’s probably what happened, but I don’t really have time to worry about that.
His life might be over—and I feel so, so horrible about that, I really do—but I can’t change it. Does mine really have to be over too?
I have an idea, and it’s really, really stupid. But it’s all I can think of right now while my brain is in panic mode. If there’s any chance no one witnessed this, I need to act quickly. I force a deep breath and then another as I try to return my breathing back to normal enough to speak.
“Oh my god, man, are you okay?” I ask dramatically, in case anyone did see. I can’t hear anything over my heartbeat pounding in my ears, but I try to modify my voice enough, speaking a little higher so that it sounds like someone else answers, as I say, “Fine, I’m fine.”
I manage to move into a squatting position next to him and jam my arm under the guy’s shoulders to hoist his upper half into a sort of seated position. Thank fuck I work out as much as I do, so I can lift him pretty easily.
Now that I’ve had this idea, one thought is chanting on repeat in my mind: My life is only over if I get caught, so I can’t get caught.
If no one saw me kill him, then the only way anyone would find out is if there’s a dead body.
So I need to get rid of it. Otherwise, he’s just a missing person.
“Let me help you. I can take you to the hospital to get checked over,” I say aloud as I reposition myself behind him with my arms under his before standing. Who knew all those years of deadlifts would lead to me actually lifting the dead?
Oh god. I’m definitely going to hell.
But who’s to say I wouldn’t have anyway? I might as well try to salvage my time on Earth while I’m still alive.
I’m a horrible, terrible, selfish person, and apparently, I don’t care because I’m not about to give up now and turn myself in. I need to focus on saving my own ass. I can’t go to jail over an accident.
Once I’m standing, I do my best to steady myself as I duck under his right arm.
Hopefully it looks like it’s slung over my shoulder, and I’m helping him walk as I lean his small, limp body against mine and shuffle along the passenger side of the car.
Fuck, a trunk would’ve been so much easier, but no, I just haaad to get a pickup truck.
I definitely wasn’t thinking about moving a dead body when I bought it.
He’s between me and the side of the car now, though, so if anyone notices us at this point, hopefully they’ll assume I’m assisting a drunk friend in getting home.
A really drunk friend. I don’t care what they think, as long as it isn’t that I’m hauling my accidental murder victim’s body away from the crime scene in a dark parking lot.
Things like this aren’t supposed to happen in real life.
I shift so his body is pinned between mine and my truck, and I manage to let go with one arm long enough to pull the door open. At least I don’t have to fuck with getting my keys out to unlock the doors since they’re already in the ignition. Small victories, I guess.
“Alright, let’s get you inside,” I announce as I dip to pick him up bridal style and set him in the passenger seat.
Once he’s in, I readjust the seat so it’s leaning back in more of a lying-down position that seems less likely to have him slumping over and out of the seat.
Then, for good measure, I buckle him in to really sell it.
No one would suspect a dead body to be buckled in, riding shotgun.
I slam the door, hurry back into the driver’s seat, and get the hell out of that parking lot while my heart is racing faster than I’m sure is safe. I go the speed limit, though, because the very last thing I need right now is to get pulled over.
Oh my fucking god.
I’m driving around a body. One I killed. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.
My breathing picks up again in short, choppy breaths as reality sinks in. Should I call someone to help me? Isn’t that a thing? Like a sign of true friendship or whatever, if you can call someone to help hide a dead body…
Holy shit. I’m actually going to hide a dead body. This is a literal nightmare.