Chapter 64. Micah
MICAH
“When I woke up today, I didn’t think we’d ever be here again.
” I kiss the honey-sweet skin curving around her shoulder.
I lift her fingers one by one, dragging my tongue down the inside of her arm, my breath warming the wet trail it leaves behind.
My dreams of her from inside the psych ward failed to replicate this intense adrenaline rush of having her back in my bed.
“That tickles.” Brynn writhes, giggling. She inches closer to my tufted headboard. Her head sinks into the pillow.
“I thought that last dinner ended us for good.”
She rolls onto her side, scrunching up her nose. “You were so sweet that weekend, then I got all weird about the team finding out about us.”
“I think they’ve figured it out.” I prop up my head, facing her.
She shivers a little.
I pull the sheet over her shoulder.
She runs her thumb along my hand. “After I found out you’d left for California and didn’t know when or if you’d be back, I realized how much better you made that place. Gave me something to look forward to every day.”
“I’m sure my sudden exodus provided great gossip for every-body.”
“No one talked about it much. I wanted to text but thought you could use some privacy.”
Tell her.
“What is it?” A vertical line appears between her brows.
“I’m scared to let you see my bad parts.”
“You have a bad part?” She grins, her eyes flashing.
I flip onto my back and rest a hand behind my head. She hasn’t a clue where I’m going with this.
Her fingertips graze my shoulder. “We’ve all got stuff we’re not proud of. I’ve said and done things I wish I could take back. Could’ve been kinder to my parents, more understanding.”
Oh yeah, about that. “Hey, was your father ill?”
Her eyes quiz me. “No, why?”
“Nothing.”
“He did develop an ulcer from all the stress when the club was going under. Popped so many antacids, his lips turned white. ‘Not a good look,’ I told him. He got on medicine and changed his diet.”
Guess Beck heard wrong.
She moves her hair off her neck. “Yeah, my dad worried a lot. Both my parents did. I get that from them.”
I stroke the curve of her hip. “Sounds like they really cared.”
She sits up, pulling her knees to her chest under the sheet.
Shit. “What is it?”
“While you were away, I found out Cody lied to me.” She stares straight ahead. “Said his folks lived in the Caymans when in reality . . . get this . . . he grew up in foster care.”
“The Caymans?” I suppress a smile.
“What? I had no reason not to believe him. Why would he make up such a story?”
“To impress you.”
“Am I that much of a bitch?”
Yeah, I’m not going to touch that one.
She rolls her eyes. “Well, he did a good job keeping his garbage clean.”
“Wait, hold up. You calling him white trash? Not the amazing Cody.”
“No!” Her voice rises. “I mean he was sneaky about his past and what he was up to. Don’t judge me.” She gives my arm a light slap. “I found out he may have played a role in my parents’ accident. They’d still be around if I hadn’t let him into our lives.”
“Seriously? Holy shit.” I sit beside her, combing back the wisps around her face, wishing she’d chill and lie back down. “Tell me what happened.”
“That girl, Dahlia, the tall blonde I told you about who works at Caffé Dante? Freaking stalker.” She blows out a frustrated breath.
“She and Cody apparently grew up together. She was in the car with him that night and claims they saw my parents’ car flip and stopped to help.
But the police found this location-sharing app on Cody’s phone that shows a different story.
What if he used it to track them and he caused the accident? ”
“Why would he do that?”
“To show my parents what he could do.”
“I’m lost.”
“So he could rescue them and play the hero.”
“That feels like a stretch. Besides, wouldn’t they know he caused their car to roll?”
“Maybe not, if it happened fast on a dark highway. How could they identify the car? It would be easy to do to my parents, of all people. My dad hated driving. Made him anxious. He rarely drove living in Brooklyn. And my mom never got her license.”
My throat tenses. “Sounds like you really thought this out.”
Her eyes stare off to the side. “Except. Cody wasn’t supposed to die.”
Tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck. “What did you say?”
“I-I meant no one was supposed to die.” She slams her fists on the bed and looks away.
Oh shit. My heart jackhammers inside my chest. My shaky hand cups her face.
She leans into my palm, closing her eyes.
I inch my mouth toward hers. “Did you know his plan when he left the club that night?”
Her body goes rigid. “No . . . I-I . . . he never told me . . . how.”
I release her face like I’ve touched a hot burner. The floor rises when I climb out of bed. I pause, getting my bearings. I step into my shorts, the room swaying like I’m on a boat. I take a few more seconds to steady myself. I rub the new ache in my chest.
Her unblinking eyes watch me retrieve my cell off the floor.
I open my voicemails and press play.
Mr. Kershaw, this is Detective Ana Simone from the Elmsford Village Police Department. One of your employees, Brynn Gallardo, is currently the main suspect in the wrongful death of her parents, Basilio and Katia Gallardo. Please contact us at your earliest convenience.
“I stopped myself from texting you last night. I needed to see your face—wasn’t positive you were even speaking to me—but then I found you in Ash’s office . . . and then this happened, which I never expected, I swear.”
“Me too—”
I hold up my hand. “I thought you’d say the detectives had it all wrong .
. . that you had zero involvement in what happened that night.
I would have believed you. I wanted to .
. . was desperate to, in fact.” I pull at my scalp with both hands.
The fiery high of being with her cools, along with the sweat on my skin. My body shudders.
Three, two, one.
“Brynn . . . I see shadows shaped like people. I can’t escape them.
No matter how hard I try. Twenty-four hours a day, they come for me, and no amount of meds or electricity can fix me.
I’m never. Ever. Alone. Not in my bed. Not brushing my teeth.
Not even with you.” I open my palms toward her.
“I thought you were my light. The good that could rescue me.”
Her mouth hangs open.
“I was falling for you, the person I thought you were . . . a better human than me. So kindhearted, so pure, that I thought someone like me didn’t deserve you. A person who stands up for others when they can’t for themselves. Who does the right thing when no one’s watching.”
She closes her eyes tight.
“That day when you wanted to leave here, those shadows chanted, Let her go. I thought they meant I wasn’t good enough for you.
I think now they were trying to protect me.
Imagine that. My effed up brain knew before I did.
We may have shared a bed . . . and our bodies . . . but I don’t know you at all.”
I edge away from her like she’s kryptonite sucking the energy out of me.
“Micah, wait—”
“I’ve wrestled with survivor’s guilt all my life because of what happened to my mom. All this time, I thought you did too.” I blow out a hard breath. “Not true, is it? You battle something far worse. A guilty conscience.”
I wipe the spit flying from my mouth.
She clutches a pillow in front of her. “I didn’t know Cody’s plan. I swear.”
“You said, ‘Cody wasn’t supposed to die.’ Losing him kills you more than losing your parents does. What the fuck?”
“That’s not true! I miss them. Every day.” Her face contorts like she’s about to cry.
“You miss them? You really miss them? Why, because their deaths forced you to be an adult? You’re angrier about your situation than you are sad that they’re gone. Should have thought of that before you sent your boyfriend to run them off the road.”
“That was Cody’s idea. Not mine!” She slaps the bed.
“I can’t believe you would do something like this. I’d give anything to have had my father around growing up . . . to have known my mother, even if only for a day.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “You never told me this.”
“You never asked.”
“I did!” She scowls, bunching up the sheet in each hand.
“You know what I find ironic?” My eyes fly up to the ceiling, then back to her. “You told me once you live in a coffin. Yet you’re the murderer.”