There are a handful of things I remember fairly clearly from that night:

1. Being tied up.
2. Flashing strobe lights.
3. People cheering.
4. The smell of vodka and vomit.
5. Being blindfolded.
6. A cold, metal object in my hand.
7. A scream.
8. Someone announcing I was the winner.

After that, everything became hazy until the next morning when I woke up with blood on my hands and Zoe’s cold, bloody body beside me. Her hair was stained with blood, her skin was white as snow, and a trail of dry blood ran down her chin. I have no idea how she died—there was too much blood everywhere. So much blood. On her. On me. My stomach had lurched at the sight of it, and I threw up everywhere. Then Cole and Nolan came in and took a photo, telling me, if I ever spoke to anyone about this, I’d be held accountable. Then they locked me in a room and left. Either I somehow managed to escape or they came back and let me go. I don’t remember.

All I have to go on are faint memories and Zane, a stranger who sometimes feels vaguely familiar, who says I didn’t kill her while Nolan and Cole tell me I did, and that we’re playing some sort of game. I don’t know what the game is.

I wish I had a clue about what was going on.

I try my best to shove the text far, far away as Loki and I get in the car, not wanting him to sense something is wrong.

It feels strange being so close to home. The last time, I was a blubbering mess as I wandered around the airport on autopilot. Sadly, I feel the same way now.

Come on, Jessa, snap out of it. Cole and Nolan won’t track you down all the way here. And Zane said he’d be in touch.

I mentally laugh at my own thoughts. Yeah, Jessa, there’s a relief. Some strange dude told you he’d be in touch.

“You okay?” Loki asks, interrupting my thoughts. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, I think I have jetlag,” I mutter with an internal sigh.

I’m such a terrible person. A liar.

“Okay.” He doesn’t seem to accept my answer, but he doesn’t press, either. “Are you hungry? We can stop and pick something up if you want.”

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind.” He thrums his fingers on top of the steering wheel as we wait in line to pay the parking toll.

The silence between us is driving me crazy and sends me into overthinking mode, trying to create plans on how to fix my life.

Loki and I used to not be so distant. We used to talk about all kinds of stuff: the trouble we could get into, the parties we were going to, the awesome stuff we were going to do in the future. Now there is a wall between us, something I noticed on the phone whenever we talked. It was easier to ignore with thousands of miles between us, but now it’s the purple polka-dotted elephant doing the disco in the corner of the room.

“So, how’s online classes going?” I ask, hoping to break the awkward silence.

“It’s okay.” He fiddles with the stereo until he finds the classic rock station. “Online classes are more manageable because I can work on stuff on my own time.”

“Do you miss college life?”

“Not really,” he says with a shrug.

I can tell he’s lying by the thickness in his tone. Whether he’s lying to me or himself, I’m not sure.

“What about Dad’s store? How’s that going?”

“It’s going good, I guess.” He drives forward with the line, cursing the silver car behind us for riding his tail. “I rearranged some of the bookshelves and stuff, but I pretty much kept the place the same as when Dad had it.”

“So, you’re going to keep it, then?”

“Yeah, I think so. It works well with everything else going on.”

“What about your philosophy plans?”

He gives me a perplexed, sidelong glance. “What about them?”

I slip off my sandals and roll down the window, letting in the warm summer air. “I thought you were majoring in philosophy.”

He shakes his head as he reaches for his wallet in the console. “I switched majors when I started online classes. I’m a business major now.” He slides the ticket into the machine then takes out a few bills from his wallet. “I thought it’d be more useful for running the store.”

I slump back in the seat. “How did I not know about any of this? I mean, I knew you were running the store, but I thought you were still working on your philosophy degree.”

He sticks the dollar bills into the machine. “I’m pretty sure I told you I changed majors. I did it right after … Mom and Dad died. Maybe it slipped my mind. I just forget stuff sometimes. Seriously, having kids makes you feel like you’re losing your mind sometimes. I totally get why Dad was always burning breakfast and forgetting to take out the trash.”

“I feel out of the loop with everyone’s lives,” I admit. “It’s partly my fault. I should’ve called more.”

“It’s not your fault. You just had your own life, like you’re supposed to.”

“No, I should’ve been more involved. I should know more about what’s going on with everyone.”

“I’ll start telling you more stuff.” He drives out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “I feel like I should warn you, though. My life’s pretty boring.”

I prop my feet up on the dashboard, noting that the silver car that was tailgating us in line is still right behind us. I know it’s the same car because it has extremely tinted windows and an extra-long antenna on the roof. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I get the strangest feeling that it’s following us.

“I’m sure Alexis, Nik, Zhara, and Anna keep you on your toes,” I say distractedly. “At least, they do if they are anything like us when we were teenagers.”

He smiles at that. “We did some really stupid shit, didn’t we?”

I nod, thinking of the stupid shit I did recently. “Remember that one time Mom and Dad went out of town and we thought it’d be a fantastic idea to throw a paint party?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I have no idea what the hell we were thinking. Spray painting in the backyard? What was wrong with us?”

I almost smile, which feels weird. “It seemed like a cool idea at the time. I just wish I’d paid more attention to what kind of paint I bought. I thought I was buying washable, but nope.”

With a big grin, he reaches for his sunglasses tucked into the visor. “You know there are still a few spots of neon pink paint on the back patio.”

“Really?” I glance in the side mirror to check on the silver car again and stiffen when I see it’s still behind us.

What the hell? It has to be following us.

What if it’s them?

He nods. “Uh-huh. I’m surprised Mom and Dad never noticed.”

“They probably did. They just most likely thought one of the neighbor kids did it. They thought we were too good of kids to have a rager in the backyard.” I chew on my thumbnail, deliberating if I should tell Loki about the car or not. But then I’d have to explain why I’m worried.

Shit, this is bad.

“It wasn’t really a rager.” He flips on the blinker and changes lanes. The car changes lanes, too. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I’m still not sure how so many people found out about it. I only invited, like, twenty people. Everyone just kept telling everyone, and suddenly, the whole school showed up. Stuff got so out of control.”

The longer the car follows us, the more my adrenaline soars.

Then, as we reach the main intersection of town, it turns right instead of left.

I relax a smidgeon. I was just being paranoid. I need to chill the fuck out.

“You were too popular for your own good,” he teases. “Everyone wanted to be Jessa Baker’s friend.”

I give a strained smile, but the movement aches.

Once upon a time, I was popular. Now look at me. Alone, the only close friend I have gone, perhaps dead.

I lost touch with most of my friends the moment I moved away from Honeyton. The only person I ever really regret not staying in touch with is Milo. I thought about calling him a few times, but after what happened between us, I never knew what to say. Even at my parents’ funeral, we didn’t talk much. Of course, I was pretty much an emotional basket case then.

I refused to cry during the entire funeral, trapping in all my emotions until I got home and was alone in the bathroom. I do remember Milo giving me a hug when we were at the church and telling me he was there if I needed to talk. I almost allowed myself to collapse in his arms, but I forced myself to keep it together, not wanting my younger brother and sisters to see me fall apart.

I wanted to talk to Milo later, but there was so much going on. I contemplated calling him when I got back to London, but then I pictured the pain in his eyes that night on his tailgate and convinced myself he didn’t want to hear from me, that his offer was just because he felt sorry for me.

What will happen when I run into him again? Or any of my old friends, for that matter? Will they want to talk to me? What am I going to tell people when they ask why I’m back in Honeyton? People love to gossip around here, and the last thing I need right now is people talking to me. But I’m bound to cross paths with someone I used to know. Honeyton is super small and filled with quaint, family-run stores, where everyone knows everyone.

You need to make up a story—

“Shit,” Loki curses, yanking me out of my thoughts. “I need to get gas.”

Fuck. I’m more than likely going to bump into someone during our stop.

While Loki turns into the closest gas station, I frantically try to put together a good excuse to give people when they ask why I’m home. Maybe that I’m just visiting for the summer? Simple enough, I guess.

“Do you need anything?” Loki asks, parking the car in front of the gas pump.

“A soda, but I can get it. I need to get some new sunglasses, anyway. It’s crazy bright out here.” I reach for the door handle, squinting at the store, trying to see if I recognize the cashier. But the windows are too tinted to see inside clearly, so I suck it up and drag my ass out of the car. “You want me to get you anything?” I ask as I walk backward toward the store.

“Yeah, grab me a soda and a bag of M&Ms.” He winds around the back of the car, retrieving his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

“I can pay for a soda and some candy.” I continue to back away. “I have a ton of change in my purse.”

“Keep your change for something else.” He opens his wallet and digs out a ten. When he tries to hand the cash to me, I shake my head. He gives me an uncompromising look. “Just take the damn money, or I’ll go in and pay for it myself.”

I peer around at a couple of bystanders watching the scene go down then step closer to him. “I don’t want to be a charity case.”

“You’re not a charity case.” He puts his wallet away and backs toward the pumps.

Sighing, I enter the gas station. The door dings, announcing my presence, and the cashier, a mid-forties woman with bleach-blonde hair, turns in my direction. I breathe in relief when I realize I don’t know her. I’m also the only customer in the store, which is surprising since it’s the start of tourist season.

“How’s it going?” I greet the woman with a wave then stroll down the candy aisle.

After I grab a bag of M&Ms and a Snickers, I head for the soda section. I’m so absorbed in deciding what I want to drink that I barely register the door ding.

“Dr. Pepper or water? Hmmm … What to do? What to do?” I thrum my finger against my lip. “Do I really want to pretend I’m being healthy?” I roll my eyes at myself. “Yeah, right.”

As I open the door and reach for a bottle of soda, I feel someone move up beside me. I quickly grab the soda and step back to give them room. Then I get a good look at the person and freeze.

Shit.

I knew I was going to bump into familiar people, but I definitely wasn’t ready to run into Milo yet.

“Hey, Jessa.” He offers me a tentative smile.

My heart leaps in my chest. “Hey,” I reply as casually as I can, though I’m a nervous wreck inside. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” He rubs his hand over his cropped brown hair, his hazel eyes all over me, making me feel self-conscious. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” I nervously rotate the dewy bottle between my hands. “I actually just got here. I haven’t even been home yet.”

“Oh.” His lips part then shut.

Awkward silence clutches the air. I can’t tell if it’s from me calling him when I almost overdosed, or if it has to do with me breaking his heart before I took off to London. I doubt it’s the latter. I’m sure he’s over it by now. Milo is a great guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a steady girlfriend, or even a wife.

The wife idea doesn’t sit well with me. I find myself stealing a glance at his ring finger, too relieved to find it bare.

What is wrong with me? Does it really matter if he’s married? I can’t date him. I can’t drag him into the shitstorm that is my life now.

He shifts his weight and starts fiddling with the button on his shirt sleeve. That’s when I notice he’s wearing a police uniform.

My gaze travels up and down him. Good Lord, he looks good in a uniform. I mean, he was always good-looking, but I don’t remember him being this hot. Or maybe he was, and I was too blind to notice. I was too blind to notice a lot of stuff.

Then another thing dawns on me.

“So, you’re a cop?” He’s a fucking cop, and I may have committed murder. Or, at least been part of one. “When did that happen? I thought you were going to school.”

He blinks down at his uniform like he totally forgot he was wearing it. “I stopped going to school and …” He scratches the back of his neck uneasily. “Yeah, anyway, I’ve been doing this for about eight months now. I thought maybe your sister told you.”

He stopped going to school? When? Why? I want to ask, but he looks uncomfortable right now, so I let him off the hook.

“Which sister knows you’re a cop?” I ask then shake my head. “Never mind. It has to be Anna.”

He nods. “She seems to be doing better. We haven’t gotten any calls about her getting in trouble since December.”

“She is. She just graduated, and she’s taking off for college in the fall.” I discreetly check him out again. He seems different, more serious and guarded, not the smiling, sweet, lighthearted guy I was friends with for years.

“That’s good.” He hesitates. “How are you doing? Is everything … okay?”

I let the breath trapped in my chest ease from my lips as I consider pouring my heart out to him. Standing here with him again, I realize I could talk to him like I used to. I could tell him everything I’m feeling, how I screwed up, about the night … He knows so much about me. He might understand.

I mentally shake my head at myself. No, Jessa. No matter how good of a guy Milo is, he could never understand that. He’s a fucking cop, you idiot.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.”

Fine. My placement word for when I don’t want to tell people the truth. Milo knows this. I wonder if he’ll call me out on it.

He studies me closely, lips parting. Then he swallows hard and looks away. “That’s good … that you’re doing okay.” He grabs a soda from the cooler then offers me a stiff smile. I notice a slight tremble in his hand. Strange. “It was nice bumping into you. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

My confusion increases. Letting me off the hook is so unlike Milo.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” I say, sounding as lost as I feel.

He smiles, but it looks all sorts of wrong. Forced, plastic, fake.

I remain standing in the soda section even after he leaves the gas station. I wish I had the guts to chase him down and apologize for what I did before I left. But, like always, I avoid the problem, letting my fear own me.