by Angel Lawson
“So all of this is Jacqueline’s fault?”
“Jason is flawed. He may have strayed, may have had desires I couldn’t—wouldn’t—fulfill, but he’ll always be mine.”
We turn a corner on the path and a small clearing is up ahead. Suddenly it becomes obvious where we are. Monica’s light flashes a few feet away, and I see the wooden staircase leading to Rose’s cottage.
With the gun aimed on me, she climbs the steps and opens the door. Using the gun to direct me, she urges me inside. I climb the steps, and she reaches around me to turn on the light. We haven’t been out here since Rose’s memorial service and it doesn’t look like anyone else has either. I flip on the light, casting a glow over the miniature-sized room.
“Sit.”
I drop into one of the armchairs. Even if I could use my hands, there are no weapons here. An almost empty bottle of whisky. The small box that contained Ezra’s last stash of weed. Harry Styles smirking down at me from the poster on the wall.
Rose’s murderer sits across from me, gun pointed at my chest.
“I wonder if he fucked her here?” she asks absently. “Jason and Rose. He’d had his eye on her from the moment she turned sixteen. I could see it on his face. I warned her, but she didn’t care. Rose was like Jacqueline, a challenge. She loved the adventure, the risk. They were the perfect match—or so he thought—except also like Jacqueline, Rose had bigger dreams than fucking a high school coach. She wanted money. Independence. A life outside of this small town, and when she tried to break it off with him and he didn’t handle it well, she threatened to expose him.” She pushes back her hair. “Getting caught with Jackie would have been social suicide, but he was a jock. He could get away with it. Sleeping with Rose? A student? His best friend’s daughter? That’s a different ball game, a career ender. And I’d worked too hard to establish our life here—Juliette’s life here—for Rose to destroy it.”
“So you killed Rose? To protect his reputation?”
“To protect our lives.” Her eyes glaze over slightly. “She almost made it. Skipping school. Avoiding her friends' and family’s calls. Fate made me come upon her alone on that bridge while the rest of the town was at the bonfire.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you want to know. She jumped.”
The fall is long. There are rocks at the bottom and the current into the bay is swift. She wouldn’t be the first to jump off Carter’s Bridge and not survive.
“And the money?” Ezra reported that she had money—most likely given to her by BD.
“It’s hidden.”
“Why didn’t you just turn him in? Save yourself and Juliette?” I ask, pushing back the wave of nausea of knowing the truth about Rose.
“Because he’s all I’ve got—he’s all I’ve ever had. I’ll always protect him.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it feels good to get it off my chest, Kenley, and I know that you desperately wanted the truth.” She smiles. “Happy, now? Unfortunately, in a town like Thistle Cove, the truth has consequences. I told you that weeks ago, but you didn’t listen. You just had to push and push and push.”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a medicine bottle. Her hands shake as she opens the lid and dumps out a handful.
“I took the liberty of already writing a note. Your family and friends will think you were devastated about losing Rose. Particularly the guilt you felt about not helping her when she came to you. It’s been too much, and you just want the pain to stop.”
She leans over and forces my jaw open. I kick her shin and she stomps on my foot. I feel the bitterness of the pills as they hit my tongue. I push them out but she shoves the top of the whisky bottle into my mouth, the warm, burning liquid spilling down my lips. I feel the pills catch on my throat but it’s too late. She gets them in and wipes her hands on her pants.
“I’m sorry, Kenley. You seemed like a nice girl. Juliette chose the wrong friend when we moved here. Things could have been very different.”
The room grows fuzzy, her voice slow. I try to speak but no words come out. Rose, Jacqueline, and I may not have had the same death, but Monica Chandler’s dark eyes were the last thing we all saw.
36
Finn
“Are they in the house?” Ezra asks, voice more panicked than I knew possible.
“No,” Juliette says. She holds up her phone—the GPS tracker for her mother’s phone indicating she’s nearby. Janice drives past the Wallers' driveway. “There! Her SUV!”
Janice pulls her car over—a Channel 8 News SUV. Ezra, Ozzy, and I look at one another. This is far from the house but close to an out of the way spot.
“The cottage,” Ozzy says pushing open his door.
“What cottage?” Juliette asks, but it dawns on her a moment later. “Rose’s playhouse?”
“It’s down that path,” Ezra says, flashing his phone light toward the cleared trail.
“Why would she bring her here?” Juliette seems frozen. Confused.
“I don’t know,” I say, heading toward the path, “but I don’t think we have time to think about it.”
Ezra’s a step behind me, both of us pumped up on adrenaline. I’m not losing another girl, and I’m sure as hell not letting anyone take Kenley from me. It took me too damn long to get her back in my life.
The light bounces as we run, and I see footprints in the soft dirt. We round a large tree and there it is, the cottage. Lights on.
I start for the stairs, but Ezra grabs me and pulls me back. “We need to be careful.”
We each take a side, flanking the door. Ezra reaches out and twists the knob, pushing it open. A figure moves to the doorway just as Juliette bursts from the trail, across from the cottage.
An explosion rips through the air, screaming past my ears. I flinch and look at Ezra. Monica Chandler’s in the doorway, gun in her hand, barrel smoking.
“Oh my God,” she cries, hand moving to her mouth.
I reach for the gun, pulling it out of her grip. She doesn’t fight. She’s fallen, eyes straight ahead. Juliette stands with her eyes wide, mouth agape. A blossom of red is spilling across her yellow-gold top. Ozzy lunges for her, catching her before she falls.
“Mama?” she whispers, touching the blood.
“Call 911!” Ozzy shouts. Janice is already on the phone.
Ezra wraps his arms around Monica, who howls like a wounded animal. “No! No! No!”
I push past them and into the cottage. Kenley’s in the armchair, face resting on the cushion. Peaceful other than the smear of lipstick around her mouth.
“KK, hey,” I say touching her cheek. She’s still warm but her cheeks and lips are pale. “KK! Wake up!”
“The ambulance is coming,” Janice calls from outside the cottage.
I pick Kenley up and cradle her in my arms. “Don’t leave me, Kenley Keene. Never leave me.”
I repeat the words like a mantra, pushing out every other sound and emotion. That’s where I stay, stroking her golden hair, until the sirens cut through the night, determined not to lose another girl in Thistle Cove.
37
Kenley
“Kenley.”
“Kenley.”
“Kenley.”
It feels like the word—my name—has been on repeat, rattling around my brain.
“We got the medicine out of Kenley’s system. She should wake up at any time. The best thing you can do is be here for her when she does.”
I’m here! I want to say, feeling lost in a deep, dark cave.
“Thank god you boys were able to find her,” a voice—no, my mother—says. “If we’d lost her…”
“No one is going to take Kenley away from us, Mrs. Keene. I promise you that.”
I push through the dark, the pounding pain in my head, the strained muscles in my stomach and with what feels like more exertion than I knew possible, I open my eyes.
The first thing I see is my mother wit
h three boys, my boys.
“Mom?”
Her eyes snap in my direction. “Kenley!” She looks over her shoulder. “Can you boys go find her father?”
Ozzy’s relieved eyes hold mine. “Yep.”
Ezra and Finn seem hesitant to leave, and I don’t want them to.
“We’ll be right back,” Finn says.
The door shuts, and I look at my mom.
“Did you say they saved me?”
“They were panicked when they couldn’t find you after the game. And Juliette—” she pauses, “she tracked down her mom using the GPS on her phone. That’s how they knew to go to the cottage.”
I think about Monica shoving the bitter pills into my mouth. The look of desperation on her face. “Where’s Mrs. Chandler?”
Or Jason Chandler?
Emotion flickers across her face. Anger. Sadness. Grief. “Arrested. She confessed to everything.” She brushes my hair back. “We can get into all of that soon, don’t worry. You’re safe.”
The door opens, and my dad runs in, the doctor a few steps behind. The guys, I can sense them out in the hall. I feel better just knowing they’re close. I want to talk to them and find out what happened—I can tell from everyone’s expressions there’s more than they’re saying. Something is being kept from me, but I’m alive. The boys are here, and everyone knows the truth about the Chandlers.
For once, there are no more secrets.
The truth comes out in painful tidbits. Monica, thinking she was about to get caught, aimed her gun into the dark and shot Juliette. The bullet went straight through her shoulder and she lost a lot of blood, but she survived.
Monica confessed to everything, taking all the blame for Jacqueline and Rose’s deaths. She admitted that her intense, overwhelming jealousy got the best of her. Thirty years ago, she was jealous of the smart girl on the debate team. That envy shifted, the focus turned on her daughter’s beautiful best friend. Anyone that could threaten her relationship with Jason was considered expendable. She tried to kill me because I figured it out, and she’d be taken from her husband.
“I just think it’s too soon,” Dad says the day after I’m released. “I know you’re doing your job, but she’s been through hell. I don’t want her to have to relive it.”
“I understand your concern, but the sooner we get her statement, the more accurate it will be.”
“Why do you need it?” Mom says. “Monica confessed.”
“She also has a good lawyer who will try to get that confession tossed out.” Chief McMichael sighs. “We need to hear from Kenley.”
“It’s fine,” I say, revealing myself from my hiding place on the stairs. “I want to talk to the Chief.”
“Honey—” Mom starts. The problem is that they’ve seen the other side of this. The one where the girl doesn’t come home. Rose. And they’re in over-protective mode.
“Seriously, Mom. I experienced it. You can’t take that away.” I look at the Chief. “I want to help.”
My parents give each other a wary look, but finally leave us alone. We sit across from one another at the kitchen table. A large vase of freshly cut orange daisies sits in the middle of the table. It’s not the only one. Deliveries come several times a day and sit on almost every surface. Most sent by people I don’t know. My mom collects the cards in a basket in the dining room.
“Well, now we know what happened to Jacqueline,” I say, knowing it’s a case that plagued him for decades.
“We do. As much as I don’t like the danger you put yourself in, I appreciate your tenacity, so does her family.” He grimaces, eyes cast down.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’ve spoken with Ozzy and Janice Hill. I know that you accused Jason Chandler of an inappropriate relationship with Rose Waller.”
“And I was right. Monica admitted it.”
“Well,” he rubs his chin, “although Monica has confessed to killing both girls, she’s claiming that her jealousy was unfounded and irrational. She’s adamant that Jason Chandler never had relationships with either girl.”
“What? No, he did, and not just with them. Other girls too, like Kayla James!”
He nods. “I know. Ozzy told me that. Ezra also confirmed that he’d overheard a questionable conversation between Coach Chandler and Kayla. Unfortunately, the girl denies it.”
I stare down at my hands, feeling the walls caving in. Monica is crazy, but Coach Chandler is a predator. “Isn’t it enough to open an investigation? At least through the school?”
“Jason Chandler is a hometown hero, Kenley. He just led the boys to a region win. State is around the corner. No one wants an upheaval at a time like this. He has the backing of the school administration, the town council, and parents.”
“Brice Waller is really going to support him even though Monica forced Rose off that bridge?”
“They’ve been friends for a long time.”
“You mean they’ve been protecting one another for a long time.”
His jaw tightens, and he looks so tired. I know this has to suck for him, too. “What you’re saying is that Monica is just going to take the fall for this and everything in Thistle Cove will go back to normal.”
Whatever that is.
“I’m telling you that a killer is off the streets. I’m hoping it’s enough to make Jason Chandler think about his actions.”
“I doubt it,” I mutter.
“You’re a smart, strong young woman, Kenley. You did what the rest of us couldn’t by getting under her skin. I’m sorry she hurt you. I’m so sorry she killed Rose and Jacqueline. I’m going to keep the pressure on Chandler; he knows we’re watching, and if he steps out of line again, we’ll be there.”
I nod, pretending like it’s enough, but it’s not. Not by a long shot. The walls of the system, the patriarchy, the fears and traditions of this little town continue to close in. I understand why Jacqueline wanted out of Thistle Cove, why Rose was running away; unless you want to play by their rules, it’s too dangerous to live here.
Epilogue
The following month goes by in a blur.
Brice Waller wins his election by a landslide, ousting the former longstanding mayor. After Monica’s confession, Brice gained national attention. The country was riveted by how this man pushed through the devastation of losing a daughter, first to suspected suicide, then to find out she’d been murdered. He’s become an icon for politicians—stoic and strong. Jason Chandler stood on the podium next to him during his first post-win speech. Both victims. Best friends. Mr. Baxter only a few feet away. Thirty years and they’re still thick as thieves. Not even murder can pull them apart. There’s talk that if his first term goes well, he may be considered for a higher position in state government. Who says scandal doesn’t pay?
“We’re definitely getting better at this,” Ozzy says, lips pressed against my neck. A shiver prickles down my skin.
“At sex or doing it in the car?” I ask, licking his ear. He squirms—ticklish. I can’t help but laugh, too.
“Both.”
We’re in the back of the Honda. After a couple of tries, we found the best position. Ozzy sits, and I straddle his legs. I wore a skirt for the game—another way that we’ve gotten better, smarter. I can feel him deep inside, see his face, kiss his mouth. His hands have the freedom to roam, although he spends an inordinate amount of time on my tits. He can’t get enough of them, and the truth is I’ve discovered how sensitive they are and can’t get enough of it either.
The game—the big one—starts in an hour, giving Ozzy and I time to kill. Once it’s over my attention will be on Ezra and Finn. Commiserating or celebrating. It’s a big deal regardless, and Ozzy and I both needed to expend a little nervous energy.
We fall into a rhythm, his thumbs digging into my hips. Ozzy’s eyes glaze over, consumed by lust—or maybe something else. We haven’t said it, but I feel it. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, in the center of my chest, across every inch of my skin.
I love him.
And I’m starting to love the others, too.
The coil in my lower belly builds, and I focus on his mouth, his lips, his tongue. I roll my hips, something I know he likes, and he clings to me like he’s afraid I’ll take off. His touch is painfully gentle, his breath hot, and we fall into the ebb just before we shatter. Ozzy’s head falls into my shoulder and my teeth sink into his flesh, trying to stifle a deep-seated moan, but failing miserably.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning his head back against the seat. “Definitely getting better.”
He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and runs his fingers down my sweat sticky neck. We redress, Ozzy searching the floorboards for his clothes. Instead, he holds up a handful of business cards from under the seat.
“Lose these?”
I frown trying to place them, then remember the night I’d taken them from Ezra’s kitchen.
“Just shove them in that little console,” I say, working my panties back on.
“I almost lost my mind when you went missing that night,” he confesses. “Promise me no more trouble.”
“I promise,” I reply, sealing it with a kiss. “Besides, we live in Thistle Cove. The one murderer we had is now in jail. What kind of trouble do you think I’m going to get into?”
He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “For some reason I have the feeling that if there’s any way around, you’ll find it.”
He’s wrong though, I’m swearing off trouble. Not because I don’t seek the truth and justice, but because I’ve learned there is no such thing in a place like Thistle Cove. I’m better off leaving it alone.
The final buzzer blares, calling the end of the game. Thirty-six to thirty-four. Vikings win.
Ozzy keeps his fingers laced with mine, even once we’re among the throng of fans rushing the field. He lost me once at a game like this. He’s not letting it happen again.
“They’re going to be unbearable,” Ozzy says, but he’s smiling, as proud as everyone else.
