Chapter 12
Six days after the fire, a news article is posted saying the cause of the fire was a gas leak. It eases my worry just slightly
knowing that I must have taken the only copy of the eulogy, and no one will be looking for evidence that points to arson.
So now that’s three supposed “accidents,” two copies of my journal, and one seriously freaked-out Sloane. But the news comes
just in time for Annica’s twenty-second birthday. We’re throwing her a surprise party at their apartment tonight and Dani
is keeping her busy all day while I decorate the place with the boys. Charlie and Sam go out to pick up the cake, Jake is
grabbing balloons, and that leaves Asher, Wesley, and me to be here alone cleaning up and taping streamers to the walls.
Wesley plays music while we work so that no one can acknowledge the weird silence between the three of us. Asher gives me
looks every time we make eye contact, urging me to talk to Wes. At one point he stands beside me at the kitchen sink, and
we speak in whispers while Wesley vacuums the living room in front of us.
“Miles wants me to meet him somewhere,” I say, washing the cups in the sink. He emailed me again the other day after I didn’t respond.
“Good, where and when?”
I look up at him. “You think I should just do what he says and meet up with him? What if he really is the killer? What if
he kills me?”
“Then this whole thing will be over, and I won’t have to keep watching true crime documentaries.”
I scoff. “You’re horrible.”
He leans down so he’s close to my ear. “You haven’t even seen horrible. And I don’t see you talking to Wesley at all, when
this is probably the best opportunity you’re going to get.”
“He won’t even look at me,” I say through nearly clenched teeth. “What am I supposed to do about that?”
Asher stands up again and looks past the kitchen island, where we’re standing, at Wes and shrugs. “We make him look at you,
then,” he says.
“And how are you going to accomplish that?”
He smiles, and it’s wicked. “By being horrible.”
I hardly have time to question it before his hand juts out, grabbing me hard around the arm, his fingertips squeezing into
my skin as he pulls me forcefully to him, and I drop the cup I was washing with a loud thud in the sink. My body slams into
his and I suck in a breath at the pain.
“What the hell, Asher!” I try to shove him back.
The vacuum noise cuts out abruptly as it falls to the floor. “Asher!” Wesley barks out at him, storming over to us.
Asher gives me a small grin out of Wesley’s view before whispering, “Now make nice.” He lets me go and faces Wes in that devil-may-care way that he does.
“Don’t fucking grab her like that, do you hear me?” Wes is standing so close to him that I realize they could almost be brothers
when they’re face-to-face.
Asher only pushes past Wes and heads to the door. Wesley runs a hand down his face as I rub my arm, still sore from Asher’s
grip.
“Can’t you just pick someone else, Sloane? Anyone else but him?” His tone is pleading, and it makes me feel bad. I should
say we’re not together, I should reassure him of that at least, but I don’t, because that is not the plan.
“I miss you.” I don’t mean for it to come out; it just does. It sounds desperate, but I guess I am. His eyes widen and I can
see it was the wrong thing to say. I’m about to scare him off, so I recover. “Like as a friend. I miss being friends. We don’t
have to talk about last summer, or two weeks ago, just please stop avoiding me.”
“I’m not . . . avoiding you. I’m just— I’ve been busy.” We both know it’s a lie. I’m trying to think of what to say next but
he speaks again. “If you’re going to get involved with my cousin, just be careful, okay? Asher is . . . he’s just got a lot
of personal issues.” Whether he’s talking about Asher’s weird obsessive need to take over their family business or his total
lack of regard for anyone’s feelings, I want to tell him that I know about all of it.
“I am careful,” I whisper. We’re both quiet, staring out into the living room, and I’m silently scolding myself for having
two weeks to come up with something to say to him and having nothing. But in my defense, I’ve been a little preoccupied.
“So do you think Annica is going to hate this whole thing?” he asks.
I smile, knowing that she probably will. Annica doesn’t like to make a big deal of her birthday. She’d probably much rather
go out for a low-key but very expensive dinner, which is actually the plan for tomorrow night. Charlie and Sam break up our
moment when they walk in with the cake.
“Sorry it took so long. We weren’t sure if we grabbed the right one,” Sam says. He sets the white box on the counter, and
runs a nervous hand through his black hair.
“How were you not sure? It should’ve been the only one at the bakery that said ‘Happy Birthday, Annica’ on it.” But knowing
Sam, he was likely too timid to ask the bakery to check and took whatever they handed him. And by the hint of powdered sugar
left on the corner of Charlie’s mouth, he was too busy sampling the pastries to care.
I lift the top of the box, revealing the circular cake with white frosting and blue writing in the middle that reads “Sorry
I Backed into Your Car” with a frowny face.
I sigh. “Yeah, she’s going to hate this whole thing.”
Dani makes sure Annica has a few drinks before arriving, so when we all jump out and say “surprise” Annica starts laughing.
She laughs even harder at the cake, then hugs and thanks us each individually for the effort. I look over at Dani, wondering
how many drinks she gave her.
Some of the hockey boys show up, followed by Marissa and her friends.
Music plays from the TV while we all start to pregame for the bars.
I can hear Marissa loudly bragging about her TikTok fame, if you can even call it that.
She got 100K followers from posting her stupid sorority outfits during rush week and calls herself an influencer.
“So how’d it go?” Asher asks when we’re alone on the couch.
“I had to beg him to stop avoiding me—he said he’s just been busy. But I think we’re good again,” I say. I sneak a glance
over at Wes, who is standing by Annica and Dani, but he’s looking at me and Asher. He looks away when we make eye contact.
“You didn’t have to grab my arm so hard. I’m going to have a bruise.”
He doesn’t say sorry, because why would Asher ever say sorry. Instead he says, “Toughen up, buttercup,” before standing and
walking toward the door, where a whole host of people have just arrived.
Annica rushes over to me. “Why is all of Sigma Chi walking into my apartment right now?” I look over to see Asher bro-ing
it up with one of the guys in the group, followed by Bryce Peterson.
“I invited them,” I say, knowing she’ll be a little less pissy if she thinks it was me and not Asher.
“Why? Are you seeing Bryce again? You know I don’t judge you for your choices, Sloane, but I would judge you for this one.”
I would have to lose a lot of brain cells before I’d ever go back to someone who not only called me another girl’s name twice but gave me an STD and then told everyone he got it from me. Annica would be right to judge me for that one.
“No, I am not seeing him.” Just stalking him. “Marissa’s brother Hudson is in Sig Chi. I thought it would be nice to extend
the invite. Since she’s part of the group and all.” The words are bitter on my tongue.
“Since when do you care about Marissa and being nice to her? Just last week you said her voice was annoying and her hair looks fried from the bleach.”
“Okay,” I cut her off with a forced laugh. “Those were just observations. A general statement if you will. But if she’s still
sticking it out with Wes, then we should be friendly, right? And the Sig Chis are fun! Remember?”
“I remember how disgusting they were,” she says, before turning her attention back toward the kitchen, where one of them is
standing on top of the counter bonging a beer. “Hey! Get down from there!” Annica yells as she runs to the kitchen.
Around midnight everyone leaves the apartment party for the bars. Asher and I follow behind Bryce and his friends at a distance,
with our own friends even farther back.
I sigh. “So this is it: We just follow Bryce around every day until someone tries to kill him? That’s the best plan you could
come up with?”
“Do you have a better tactic?” Asher asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “We hurry up and get evidence on Miles.”
Asher’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because you’re meeting him at a coffee shop called Luna’s
on Ivy Gate’s campus tomorrow.”
I stop walking. “What?”
He turns to face me, walking backward down the sidewalk. “I emailed him back from your phone during the party.”
“You what?” I follow after him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there in case he tries anything.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I’m going to buy you a shot when we get to Ray’s—you need to calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. You’re not the one that has to somehow finish out senior year and catch a murderer at the same
time.”
“And try to win over Wes, don’t forget that one.”
“How can I when you remind me every two fucking seconds?”
“What are you two bickering about up here?” Jake says, throwing his arms around the two of us, and I realize I’ve never wanted
to be Jake so badly. Never a care in the world, nor a thought behind those eyes.
“How many shots Sloane is going to do at the bar tonight,” Asher says to Jake.
“It’s zero,” I say.
“Zero times ten.” Jake bops my nose with his pointer finger.
“Jake, that’s still zero,” I say, wondering how he ever got into Pembroke in the first place.
I half-heartedly follow the group around from bar to bar, taking small sips of my drinks, determined to not let the alcohol
get the best of me this time. Even though I want nothing more than to let my thoughts melt away for the night. Everything