I hang up the call and stare at the dirt and blood on my hand that’s holding the phone.

“I need to shower at your place before I go home,” I call out to Carter who’s still leaning against his father’s beat-up truck.

My hands are numb and yet they still burn from the blisters that’ll come tomorrow. I don’t know what I’ll tell Chlo if she notices them. The shovel did a number on me and it all proved for shit.

“You hear me?” I ask him, my voice barely carrying into the early morning darkness.

“Yeah.” Carter’s answer is weak. He looks like shit. He looks like he just lost it and that makes sense. ‘Cause that’s exactly what happened.

The river babbles in the night along with the sound of the crickets. It’s all I can hear as the sun starts to peek over the horizon.

Another night with no sleep and another night with Chloe falling apart. She knows too much.

“You ready?” he asks me before pounding his fist so hard into the truck I swear he’s going to dent it. He’s losing it. He can’t hold himself together.

The dew on the grass soaks into my jeans as I walk through the tall grass to the truck.

I grab his shoulder, shaking him. “It’s over with; it’s done.” I’m firm with him even though my heart is pounding recklessly.

Carter nods his head but immediately throws up. He vomits off the side of the truck with both hands on his upper thighs. The smell is rancid, and I can’t stand to be around it.

I feel fucking sick to my stomach too. I hate this. I hate this life.

I lay a hand on his back, patting him hard once before walking away from him and climbing into the driver’s side. The truck rocks as I do, and I can’t shake the eerie feeling that I’m being fucked over.

He texted her again. I’m blocking that fucking number. He crossed a line doing that shit, and I don’t give a fuck who he is. I won’t let him get to her. My Chloe is off-limits. There’s no exception to that.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but it doesn’t matter. He knows. I know he knows.

Laying my head back against the leather headrest, I wait for Carter, looking over my shoulder and watching him wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. He takes it off, leaving on his t-shirt underneath and throws it into the back of the truck before getting in.

The rusty door closes with a protest, right before slamming shut with finality.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me as he looks out the window. I feel bad for him; more than anything, I feel fucking awful for the kid. I can handle Chloe. I’ll figure it out for her, but this fucked him up.

“You’re all right,” I tell him and then swallow the rest of the thought. “It’s fine.”

It’s this place. How many times have I said that recently? Crescent Hills is a living – waking – nightmare for everyone in it. Only the devil himself could live here and feel at peace.

“I have to tell Marcus he’s here, but I won’t tell anyone else, all right?” The truck rumbles as I start it up. Carter looks like he’s going to lose his shit again; he’s still shaking.

“It’s just the adrenaline,” I tell him, to try to calm him down.

He peeks up at me, the early morning light making his worn expression look that much more ragged. “I killed him,” he tells me again. I can’t count how many times he’s told me that tonight.

Nodding at him, I look in the rearview at the river where I ditched Dave’s body before putting the truck into drive.

“He was going to die anyway,” I tell Carter although I stare straight ahead at the dirt road rather than looking at him again. “His name was on the list.”