Chapter 32
We flee the party like we just committed a crime.
The wind roars through the truck’s open windows, whipping against our skin, carrying the scents of freshly cut grass and distant bonfire smoke.
It takes everything in me to shout loud enough over the rush of air for Whitley to hear the recap from Robbie’s room.
Xander sits in the back and occasionally pokes his head between the seats to add any details I leave out.
Whitley wants to keep the investigation rolling tonight. But with it being the Fourth of July, the chances of finding Robbie’s parents at home, or sober, are slim. And if we do get into trouble, the cops will be too busy policing fireworks to care about three kids playing detective.
I can’t keep going tonight anyway. Seeing Murray again made me sick, the kind of sickness that lingers, twisting in my stomach as if I just stepped off the Gravitron at the county fair. The blurry vision. Unsteady feet. The weight in my gut. None of it is useful for what we need to do next.
I drop Whitley off at her house with a fist bump.
When she’s gone, Xander wastes no time climbing into the passenger seat to fill the empty space beside me. I inhale slowly, pressing my forehead to the steering wheel, taking in the stillness after all the noise.
Without Whitley asking questions, we fall into silence.
It settles thick and heavy between us. I put on Kacey Musgraves’s live album from New York to ease the tension.
Her soft coos float from the speakers. I drop my phone into the center console and grip the steering wheel, but before I can shift into drive, Xander flicks the music off.
“Hey,” I say. “Why did you do that?”
He doesn’t answer, just reaches into the back seat and pulls a plastic bag full of candy root-beer barrels onto his lap.
I raise my eyebrows. “When did you get that?”
“I put them in your truck before I came over your house earlier.” He pulls a barrel from the bag and pops it into his mouth.
My face twists. “How did you get into my truck?”
He shrugs. “It was open.”
“Oh.”
He nods with the candy bulging through his cheek. “Yeah. You shouldn’t be so trusting in a town where multiple kids have gone missing.”
I sigh and reach to turn on the music, but he smacks my hand down.
“No,” he says. “We don’t need that. I like all the other sounds.”
“What other sounds?”
“Listen.”
He leans back. His arm rests on the center console, inching closer to mine every few moments.
At first, all I hear is the quiet shift of my own breath.
But then, once I relax, the world outside sharpens.
A shrill, rhythmic wail of cicadas vibrates in the air.
Fireworks crackle in the distance, their echoes stretching over the hills.
Red shadows flicker across Xander’s face.
Then blue. Then gold. His Hawaiian shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing his sweaty, tan chest.
“I don’t like how you get when you see or talk about him,” he says.
“Who?”
He cocks his head slightly, letting the glow of the fireworks catch in his amber eyes as he finally looks at me.
“Murray?” I ask.
He nods, rolling the root-beer barrel between his teeth before biting down. “He makes you, like . . . jumpy.”
I don’t respond, rather, tap my fingers against the steering wheel and watch gold sparks rain down over the fields.
“Why are you scared of him, Stetson?”
My pulse stutters. I whip my head toward him, and he’s watching me, waiting.
“What did he do?” His voice drops.
I swallow.
I haven’t told anyone. Not my friends. Not my family.
Because telling them means changing the way they see Murray.
Right now, he still exists in their memories as something good, something hopeful.
The boy I loved. The boy who, for a time, loved me back and made me the happiest person in Penango.
We beat the odds. If they knew, if they saw him the way I do now, that image would disappear. I don’t want to be the reason it does.
He made a mistake. And he lost me over it. But does he need to lose other people too? Why change Murray for them? Why make him another bad example from Penango?
But Xander? He doesn’t have memories of Murray. He doesn’t carry the weight of who Murray used to be—or what we used to be. To him, Murray is already nothing.
Maybe if I say it out loud, Murray will become nothing to me too.
“Do you have time for a story?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You’re the one driving.” He licks his teeth. “I’m free for as long as the road takes us.”
I glance at the clock. 10:13 p.m.
“Okay,” I say. “Well, the last few months with him were terrible. I’m leaving Penango in the fall, or at least, I am trying to leave. He didn’t want me to and resented me for it.”
“I figured that part out.”
“Just wait. I’m not done.”
Xander drags his thumb across his lips. “Go on, then.”
The first time I really noticed Murray change, when the melody I trusted went off-key, was right after the barn party, when he singled me out in front of the football team.
I tried to make things right after that.
A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I planned a celebration just for us.
I didn’t know how to cook, so while he was at football practice, I went to Boston Market and bought everything for dinner—roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, sweet corn, and corn bread.
I let myself into his house with the spare key under the clay pot by the door, set the dining table, transferred all the food into ceramic dishes, and even lit a cinnamon-scented candle.
It was supposed to be perfect.
Murray walked in no more than ten minutes later. His cheeks were flushed from practice and his pants streaked with mud. He slung his gym bag against the wall, then rounded the corner into the dining room.
“What the—” His jaw fell slack.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” I raised my arms like I had just pulled off a magic trick.
His face softened. “Did you make all this?”
I shook my head. “I had some help.”
He laughed and plopped into his seat across from me, shoveling mac and cheese onto his plate without hesitation. “Thanksgiving isn’t for two more weeks.”
“Yeah, well, remember how you asked me to junior prom early? I thought I could be early with Thanksgiving, since you’re going to your aunt’s house in West Virginia.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess this is something I should get used to since you’ll be gone for the next four years.” He twirled his fork in his mashed potatoes. “You won’t come home for Thanksgiving break if you’re in Tennessee.”
My fingers tightened around my fork. “I don’t know what my plans will be.”
“I think I know.”
I rolled my eyes. He was too busy tearing through his turkey to notice.
I forced a smile. “Should we start dinner by saying what we’re thankful for?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“You first,” I instructed.
“Hmm.” He tapped his chin, pretending to be thoughtful. “I am thankful I get to spend a few more months with my boyfriend before he moves away and breaks up with me.”
My nostrils flared. “Is that supposed to be funny? Because it’s not.”
He shoveled another bite into his mouth. “I’m just saying what’s true.”
“I’m trying to make this work.”
“Whatever you say.” He shrugged. “Do you even love me?”
I pushed my chair back. “You know what? I’ve lost my appetite. I’m over this.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
I yanked my arm away when he reached for me.
“Why are you so annoying?” I yelled. My napkin flew from my hand across the room. “You just had to ruin this, didn’t you?” I stormed out the door.
I didn’t even get to eat a single bite.
I was so angry that I forgot about the missing second tread on his front steps. My foot hit air and I landed face-first on the concrete.
That was us for the rest of senior year. The same fight on repeat. The worst song on the radio playing over and over until I wanted to scream.
And in June, I did.
We both did. Louder than we ever had before.
“I’m done!” I yelled in his bedroom. “It’s too much to think about anymore. I’ve given you enough chances, and I’m done. For good.”
Murray threw his arms in the air. “Why did you have to change our plan?”
“We never had a plan!” My voice cracked from the weight of everything. “You just made one up, and when it wasn’t what you wanted, you treated me like shit!”
“Well, you still haven’t apologized, so I don’t need to either.”
I let out an empty laugh. “Apologize for what? Getting into college?”
He shook his head, sipping a beer beside his desk. “How can you throw away three good years—”
“Two.” I crossed my arms. “I wouldn’t count this past one.”
He stepped forward and grabbed my shoulders. His fingers squeezed too tight. “I think we can work through this,” he pleaded. “We’re not like my parents or everyone else at school. We haven’t cheated on each other. We don’t fight—”
I flinched. “We don’t fight?” My lips parted in disbelief. “I wish you cheated. I wish we fought worse than we do. It would make this whole decision so much easier.”
My words cracked his expression. Something dark flashed across his face.
He ripped his hands away and hurled his beer bottle against the wall.
Glass exploded, scattering like a broken mirror unable to reflect what we had been anymore.
A shard bounced back and sliced my forehead. Blood rushed down my temple.
I staggered forward, thinking maybe he’d help me. Maybe he’d finally feel for me like he used to.
Instead, he shoved me. Hard. I flew backward into the hall. My heel caught on the rug.
“Get out of here!” he yelled, shoving me again. I tumbled down the stairs, head over heels, the world flipping upside down. “I never want to see you again!”
I scrambled to escape without looking back.
Xander clears his throat.
“So that’s what happened,” I say. The road comes back into focus.
He exhales sharply. “Damn. And you didn’t want me to mess with him at the party? I’m pissed I only tied his shoelaces together. I should’ve done way more. Let’s go back.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.” I stare at my feet resting on the pedals.
“It’s not fine.” His voice hardens. “That’s abuse, Stetson. That behavior wouldn’t even fly when I was kickin’ ten years ago.”
I wave my hand in dismissal. “It happens to everyone here.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s okay. You didn’t deserve that.”
My lip trembles.
Someone finally knows. And his reaction, the anger and disbelief, means what happened to me was bad. Which means I was right. The variables finally add up.
Leaving Murray is the right answer.
Xander reaches into his candy bag and hands me a root-beer barrel.
I laugh, wiping the corners of my eyes. “You and this damn candy.”
He grins. “What can I say? Remember, health consequences don’t apply to me, so I eat whatever I want.” He smiles. “See these teeth? Pearl white. Cavity free.” He tugs on his cheek. “You see this skin? Pores fresh. No sugar-induced acne.”
I laugh harder.
“You sure you don’t want this?” He wiggles the root-beer barrel over my lap.
“Yes. It’s the most random candy you could offer me.”
“Are you a chocolate guy?”
I sniff and wipe snot from my nose. “I guess you could say that.”
He rummages through his pockets and pulls out an empty Skittle wrapper, two yellow Starbursts, and a small box of Nerds. “I got nothing for you, then.” He stuffs everything back into his shorts. “The best I can offer you is a big hug.”
My throat constricts as I stare at him. A few beats of silence pass before I collapse into his chest.
His warm hands run up and down my back, steady and slow. “Thank you for telling me what happened,” he whispers. “I’m sorry he put you through that.”
I sob into his shoulder, just as he did into mine the day we met.
Between cries, I mutter, “I think you’re cute too.”
“What?” he asks, pulling back slightly.
“Back at the party, you said I was cute. I ignored it.” I sniff. “You’re always so nice and just say what you feel, and I guess I’m not used to that. If you can say you like me so easily, you can just as easily say you don’t.”
He smiles. “I think I’m coming onto you so fast because I’ve waited so long to feel like this.”
I glance at the roof. “There you go again.”
“Fine. No more talking. I’ll just stare at you instead.”
So I let him.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel fully seen.