MAY 12
I sat in Dallas’s car for what felt like forever, waiting for him to make his rounds and say his good-byes. It was almost midnight by the time he showed up.
I gave him a look as he slid into the passenger seat, but I didn’t say anything.
“Sorry,” he said. “A lot of those people supported me even back before I made the album. I didn’t want to be rude to them.”
“Just to me, huh?” I said snippily, immediately regretting my words.
“You could’ve waited inside,” Dallas reminded me.
“I know. I’m sorry. Let’s just get out of here.”
I started the car and pulled away from the curb in front of Tyrell’s house. His neighborhood was dark and quiet. Next to me, Dallas reclined his seat, his eyes drifting shut.
Ass, I thought, as I twisted and turned through the Central West End and merged onto Forest Park Parkway. Must be nice to have millions of people fawn all over you, to have local celebrities throw you parties where they serve you alcohol even though you’re underage, and then to have your girlfriend as a handy designated driver.
I realized I was going fifty-five in a thirty-five and hit the brakes. I glanced over at Dallas. He was snoring softly. I considered waking him for a second to ask for help setting the cruise control, but then I decided just to let him sleep. At least we weren’t fighting for once.
I merged onto Interstate 170, which was also mostly deserted at that time of night. Keeping a careful eye on the speedometer, I headed north, away from the city. I probably should’ve taken Highway 40, but I grew up listening to my parents talk about how many accidents happen on that road. Dallas usually drove when we went someplace, so I’d never taken 40 anywhere and that night didn’t seem like the night to try something new.
A big eighteen-wheeler truck blew past me on the left and cut back in front of me. I slowed slightly to reestablish a space cushion like I learned in Driver’s Ed.
Dallas’s phone buzzed in the console. I turned my head just enough to see it in my peripheral vision. I wondered who was texting him so late. Was it her? It had to be her. Even though I had once told Dallas I didn’t want to know, I was suddenly overcome by the need to find out her identity—what girl had screwed up everything so royally between Dallas and me? I reached down for his phone with one hand while keeping the other one on the wheel.
Suddenly, his eyes flicked open. “Genna, what are you doing?”
“I, uh, was wondering who was texting you this late,” I admitted.
Dallas removed his phone from my hand. He tapped in his pass code. “It’s Tyrell,” he said. “Music stuff. Want me to show you?”
I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. Somehow I’d become someone I didn’t even like—a girl who thought it was okay to snoop through her boyfriend’s phone. A girl who didn’t respect other people’s right to privacy. “I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t know what my problem is.”
“It’s okay,” Dallas replied. “I’d probably do the same thing if I were you.” He paused. “Look, do you want me to just tell you who it was?”
“You don’t have—”
“It was Annika. And before you ask, I haven’t seen her or texted her since the night it happened.”
“Annika Lux?” My voice squeaked. “The model who replaced me in your video shoot?”
Dallas swallowed back a yawn. “Yeah.”
“Perfect,” I said. “So I guess you can even blame me for your cheating. I mean, you probably wouldn’t have met her if I hadn’t bailed on you.”
“That’s bullshit, Genna. You know I don’t blame you,” Dallas said. “I just thought maybe knowing would help.”
A tear made its way down the left side of my face. How could he think knowing he hooked up with a Swedish model would help me? I lifted my hand and quickly brushed the tear away. “You know what? Let’s just drop it for now. Go back to sleep.”
“Fine.” Dallas tucked his phone in his pocket and reclined his seat back, shrugging out of the shoulder strap.
Trying not to think about Annika Lux, I exited from 170 to 70 and started the long journey west to Lake St. Louis. The dashboard clock read 12:20. It’d be after one a.m. by the time we got home. On cue, drops of rain plinked hard against the windshield. It took me three tries to find the windshield wipers. I slowed down to be able to better navigate Dallas’s car on the slippery roads.
I knew I should pull over and text Shannon, tell her I’d just come over tomorrow. But pulling over meant getting off the highway, and that was another skill I wasn’t all that good at. I mean, sure, I knew how to take an exit ramp, but finding my way back onto the road in the right direction could be tricky. I decided to just text her when I got home. She was probably asleep already anyway.
I yawned just thinking about sleep. I had shut the windows when the rain started and the car was kind of stuffy. I reached down and fumbled for the air-conditioning, but Dallas stirred as I turned on the fan and I didn’t want to disturb him again.
I fought the urge to fall asleep for the next thirty miles. You’re almost there, I kept telling myself. St. Charles. O’Fallon. When the exit for Lake St. Louis popped into view I could hardly believe it. And then I remembered that I had to bring Dallas home.
I pushed onward to Wentzville, taking the exit for Highway Z. I navigated the wet road carefully, squinting to see in front of me since I didn’t know how to turn on his bright lights. I yawned again. Just a few more miles, I told myself. Just three more neighborhoods and you’ll be there. I bit my lip to focus. From around a curve, I saw the soft glow of approaching headlights.
I yawned again.
I blinked hard.
Just one more subdiv—
A horn honked. Someone screamed. My eyes snapped open.
“Genna, what are you doing?” Dallas shouted.
A pair of headlights were coming directly at me. I had drifted over into the left lane. I lunged for the steering wheel, but it was too late.
There was a shriek of brakes and a sickening crunch of metal on metal.
And then, after that, there was nothing.