Chapter 29 #2
The cold, detached calculation of his face is seared into my brain. "He told me the sheriff owed him a favor," I say. "A DUI from ten years ago that got swept under the rug. He said he could make the file disappear. He said he could make a new one appear."
I drag a hand through my hair, my fingers catching on the tangles. "He sat me down at his desk," I say. "He pulled out a blank piece of paper. He told me exactly what to say. I was driving. I took the keys without asking. I was drunk. I was scared. I ran."
Mimicking my father’s deep and authoritative voice. The voice of God. "He said, 'Gio, this is what men do. We protect the name. We protect the legacy. We take the weight so the structure doesn't collapse.'"
Zoe's jaw tightens. A muscle jumps beneath the skin of her cheek. "He sold you."
"My father bought me," I correct her. "He bought my silence with my future.
Promising me the NHL. He promised me that if I took the fall, if I let them put that scarlet letter on my chest, he would make sure I still got to play.
He said he'd call in every marker. He'd get me into the draft. He'd grease the wheels."
I laugh, shaking my head. "My dream became a leash," I say. "He knew I'd do anything for hockey. He knew I'd rather die than rot in a cell while Rylan got to live the life I wanted. So he made me the killer."
I look at Zoe, waiting for the revulsion. "The sheriff came to the house the next day," I say. "I signed the statement. Lied to a cop. Lied to a judge. Let them lock me away for six months of “community service” and anger management—just a fancy way of keeping my mouth shut."
Leaning my head back against the door, I close my eyes. "Family comes first," I whisper. "But I wasn't family. I was the sacrifice."
The silence in the room is heavy. It presses against my eardrums, a physical weight that makes it hard to breathe. I've said it all. I've spilled my guts on the floor like a fucking sacrificial offering.
Zoe stays where she is, back against the wall, her face a mask of calm assessment. “And now you know,” I say, my voice rough, scraping against the silence. “Rylan is the one with the blood on his hands. But I’m the one wearing the suit.”
Muscles protesting, I push myself upright. “He knows I have the original report—the blurry piece of shit on my phone. That’s why he’s been riding me. Why he leaked the fake one today. It’s preemptive. He’s making sure that if I try to speak up, I look like a desperate liar trying to clear my name.”
I let out a short, sharp laugh. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
Zoe just watches me.
“He’s blackmailing me,” I say. “He holds the leash. Step out of line—breathe a word about what really happened—and he destroys me. He tells the world I’m a liar who tried to frame his cousin. My father would let him do it. Because Rylan is the asset. I’m just the cost of doing business.”
My shoulder hits the door, arms crossing over my chest. “So there it is,” I say. “A fraud. A liar. The guy who took a deal to save his own skin and let a murderer walk free.”
The door handle catches my eye—brass, shiny, untouched. “You should go,” I say. “You’re smart. You see the geometry of this. I’m radioactive. Stand next to me, the contamination spreads. Let me into your bed, into your head—and you end up collateral damage.”
A nod toward the door. “Go. Before the blast radius gets any bigger.”
I wait for her to move. She doesn’t.
“You’re telling me to leave,” she says.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I say. “For once. I’m toxic. Ask anyone. My father. Rylan. The guys downstairs who think I’m a loose cannon. They’re right.”
Pushing off the door, I step into her space. “Everything I touch gets ruined,” I say. “My own life is proof. Yours isn’t going to be next.”
She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “You think I can’t handle a little radiation?”
"It's a fucking meltdown, Zoe," I snap. "This is a felony cover-up involving the sheriff and the mayor and my father's board of directors. You get mixed up in this, you don't get dirty. You get buried."
I hold her gaze, willing her to see the rot. "Walk away," I say. "Please."
The silence stretches again. A long, agonizing beat where the only sound is the thumping bass from the party downstairs, muffled and distant, like a heartbeat from another world.
Zoe looks at the door. Then she looks back at me.
"No," she says.
The word hangs in the air, small and sharp. A refusal. I blink, my brain stuttering like an engine flooded with gas. "What?"
"You heard me," she says. She moves toward me. Zoe stops in the center of the room, right over the phone I tossed on the rug. Her gaze drops to it, then lifts back to me. Her eyes are calculating. Cold. "I don't run from radiation, Gio," she says. "I contain it."
Zoe lowers herself to the floor. Across from me. Zoe sits cross-legged, her skirt pooling around her thighs, looking like a queen holding court in a shit-stained gutter. "That report," she says, pointing at the phone. "The original one. This is data."
"Garbage," I say. "Illegible."
"It's leverage," she corrects. "If the sheriff took a bribe to scrub the file, he left a trail. Money always leaves a trail. Your father thinks he erased the history, but he just moved it."
She picks up the phone, her thumb swiping across the screen. She studies the pixelated name like she's reading a map. "Rylan thinks he's safe because he's the heir," she says, her voice low, thoughtful. "He thinks he's holding the knife. But he's just the hand holding it. Your father is the arm."
Zoe looks up, pinning me with a gaze that strips the skin off my bones. "You've been protecting them," she says. "You took the fall, you kept the secret, you let them use you as a sponge for their filth. You're still playing their game. You're still reacting to their moves."
"I didn't have a—" I start, but she cuts me off. "You have a choice now," she says. "The leak changes the board state. The narrative is out. They can't put the toothpaste back in the tube."
She tosses the phone back to me. I catch it instinctively. "We burn it down," she says.
I stare at her. The room feels like it's tilting. "What?"
"Your father. Rylan. The sheriff. The lie," she says. "We dismantle it. We attack the source. We prove the corruption."
She leans forward, her elbows on her knees, closing the distance between us. "I'm not here to hold your hand, Gio," she says. "I'm here to help you burn the house down."
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic, trapped rhythm. "You don't know what you're asking," I say, my voice cracking. "These people... they don't lose. They crush."
"Then they haven't met me," she says. A cold, dangerous smile touches her lips. "I don't break, Gio. I shatter things."
I look at her—really look at her. The ice is gone. In its place is something much hotter. Something volatile. She's offering me a weapon. And for the first time in my life, I don't feel like the sacrifice. I feel like the executioner.