Chapter 67. Brynn
brYNN
I’m living up to Rikki’s pet name for me, pacing on the corner of Bleecker and MacDougal like a trapped sea predator, my gaze darting from Café Figaro’s striped awning to the Cuban place to the vegan restaurant and back again as people scurry around me.
The earth-scented drizzle fails to cool my hot steaming cheeks.
Damn that Clive Bodie. Why did I bother with those articles?
I already had Detective Simone convinced that I’d only played a minor role in that night, the one of the dutiful girlfriend.
I thought it was a good performance.
Come on, Micah, you asked and I’m here.
I look down at my phone. Ten minutes late. I reread his text. I shake my head, looking down MacDougal for him. Those detectives need someone to take the fall; who knows how much time I have left.
We’ll step inside the café behind me and I’ll explain how things escalated the night Cody and I met my parents for dinner at Roberta’s. How he bragged afterward about how he’d downloaded the location-sharing app on my mom’s phone and added her to his circle so he could look out for them.
He knew about my dad’s anxiety when it came to driving outside the city but not the story playing in my head.
The one where the famed Basilio and Katia Gallardo rob us of our moment like countless times before, like at my LaGuardia performances—people pointing and fangirling over them, pushing me aside. Pete’s showcase was our night to shine.
I flipped out on him. Threatened to quit the tour—and us.
He wanted my parents to like him. I didn’t understand it then.
He offered to call them, tell them they’d canceled our first show.
It should have ended there. But my worrying reared up, I began overthinking everything, afraid that my parents would somehow know the owners of Pete’s and contact them or check its website for new dates.
The predicament Cody created set off an avalanche of scalding rage I couldn’t contain. I told him, I hope they never make it to the show.
His eyes lit up. I have a couple of friends in town coming to see us. They can get a car. Dark highway. Your dad’s a nervous driver, he’ll keep to the right lane. Should be easy to do.
Dammit, Cody. Did you have to pick such complete dumbasses to help you, including one who gets cold feet and turns in your phone with your blood on it? They never suspected me until that app on your phone placed you at the accident.
When he messed with his guitar string that night, I thought, Here he goes.
I knew then what he was going to do, and I didn’t stop him.
The sooner I go . . .
He wanted to please me. That turned me on.
I could have reversed everything. Told him, I’m done freaking out. Restring your guitar with the new pack in your case. Stay, Cody. Don’t leave.
And he would never have gone through with our plan.
Eunice’s warning resurfaces in my head about not letting evil win. What if I’m the evil? I didn’t mean to be. I loved my parents. I just needed something of my own.
Starting with an amazing opening night . . . with no distractions.
For the record, Cody didn’t die because I put him on that highway that night. He died playing the hero. The one who saves the day before being the show-stopping sensation on his hometown stage and singing the movie’s closing credits.
He could be spiteful. The way he discredited my talent at LaGuardia, the faces he made offstage as if I lacked the chops.
I didn’t comprehend the scope of his jealousy until Dahlia called me his backup singer.
He was using me, as Silas alluded to. Using my talent onstage, using my parents for whatever connections they could give him.
If only I’d realized what his game was sooner—like Mom and Dad did.
Twenty minutes.
Micah, please believe in me again like the day you had me sing in Central Park under the big shell. You wanted to help me heal and use my singing as a way to get over Cody.
A beautiful story, yes, but you didn’t have all of the facts. I let you believe Cody controlled me, like with the makeup. The truth—he did anything I asked.
You wanted to swoop in and save me. My king of ancient Macedonia. Micah the Great. If only I hadn’t wrecked everything the night you brought me dinner.
The cool rain gains strength, mixing with my hot tears and darkening the sidewalk and street. Cars splash across puddles. I step back from the curb, shivering.
Twenty-five minutes.
You’re not coming.
I’m a pain in the ass and not worth the drama. I swear, next time, I’ll be a better human. I’ll be the story you wanted me to be.
A sigh leaves my lips. Okay, I get it. It’s over. We’re over. I head back to the coffin, cowering in the pelting rain. Halfway down the block, a prickly sensation crawls up the back of my neck.
The soles of someone’s shoes scrape the concrete behind me. I hear my name. Then again.
My heart catches in my throat. I break into a smile, turning around. “I knew you’d come—”
Except . . . no one’s there.
I glare up and down the street. Oh, no you don’t, universe.
I bolt down MacDougal toward Houston, the rain blinding me.
The royal blue sundress Micah liked so much sticks to me like a wet rag.
Strands of hair plaster themselves to my face.
My mascara stings my eyes. My careful primping for this magical movie moment, wiped.
I slam my hand on his buzzer, leaning my weight on it. I pause and listen for movement. I slap the doorbell again. I sense eyes on me. I look about. No one’s out in this absurd deluge.
The little hairs on the back of my neck snap to attention. I whip my head around and see Dahlia staring at me from inside Caffé Dante across the street. I suck in my breath.
She’s talking to someone. That guy Teddy; he’s standing beside her now, folding his arms over his chest. They watch me from the window, smug and dry.
I glance again at Micah’s door, my spread fingers freeze over the buzzer. I step back. Turning on my heel, I steal one last look over my shoulder.
I swear Teddy’s lips form the word bitch just before Dahlia’s curl into a smile.