Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
CASEY: What?? Of course not.
CASEY: Seriously. It’s fine. Just because my accident took place there doesn’t mean the school itself is cursed.
CASEY: Just have fun with RJ, k?
Easier said than done, because now I’m preoccupied with thoughts of the accident. I sweep my gaze over the stadium, the soccer field, the shadowy outlines of buildings on the Ballard campus. I don’t have a line of sight to it, but I suddenly see the boathouse, the image of the abandoned shack surfacing in my mind. The roof covered in years of fallen leaves and pine needles. The black, gaping mouth of its open face that stood over the lake. I flinch at the chills that run down my arms.
RJ glances over. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I assure him. But my knees feel a tad wobbly as I rise to my feet. “You mind if I desert you for a little while?”
Worry flashes in his eyes. “Where are you going?”
I release a troubled sigh. “There’s something I want to do. And I need to do it alone.”
RJ firmly grips my waist when I try to leave. “I don’t like it. Let me come with you.”
“No.” I gently remove his hand. “I’ll be fine. Just taking a little walk. I’ll have my phone in my hand the entire time, and if anything happens I’ll call you. But nothing will happen, okay?”
Even if it did, I probably wouldn’t call him. This is something I have to do alone. Because on the off-chance that I fall apart, I refuse to let anyone, even RJ, see me at my most vulnerable.
“Don’t be gone too long,” he finally says, his frustrated expression telling me he doesn’t like capitulating.
And that’s how, a few minutes later, I find myself taking a walk down memory lane.
It’s a short hike to the lake. There used to be a sidewalk, but weeds have long since overtaken it, and enormous tree roots turned the path into a mountain range of cracked and broken slabs. Ballard Academy hasn’t had a crew team in two decades. Not since rumors of a ruthless coach, team hazing, doping, and a freshman found hanging from the rafters got the school banned by the division. Now the boathouse is just a place kids go to drink, smoke, or hook up.
Or to almost die.
That terrifying night still looms huge and daunting in my mind. Stalking me. But I’m hoping there might be something therapeutic in facing it again, reclaiming my sanity from the monster under my bed.
I find my way using the flashlight of my phone. As I walk, I stare at the ground to watch for potholes and to avoid remembering the last time I walked this trail.
Before I know it, I’m standing at the spot where my car once sat after the tow truck had dragged it onshore. Illuminated by the yellow rotating lights of a tow truck, draining water, covered in mud. But that’s not the first sight I encountered the night I emerged from the trail and reached the lake. No, that was much, much scarier.
The memories suddenly come rushing back. It’s like being hit by a tidal wave, images of horror crashing over me, making it hard to breathe.
The first thing I saw was my car half-submerged in the lake. The trunk sticking out of the water with the taillight turning the trees red. Then I glimpsed a heap on the ground at the edge of the water. It was Casey. Soaking wet and shivering.
“Fuck,” I choke out, my voice sounding tiny and weak in the pitch-black air.
I remember how I lunged at her. Someone handed me their tuxedo jacket. Duke, I think. I wrapped it tightly around her body, pushed away the fallen strands of hair stuck over her eyes. She was barely conscious and hardly able to speak.
My heart stalls in my throat. My pulse quickens remembering how pale her skin was. The mascara running down her cheeks.
A feeling like dizziness throws me off balance. The strange sensation, I realize, is the adrenaline my heart sends flooding into my blood. Then a low buzzing forms inside my skull while my vision narrows and I can’t catch my breath.
This was a bad idea. I thought I could handle it alone. I believed I was strong enough, but I’m a fucking fraud. I’m not strong at all. And I can’t fucking breathe as my hand trembles to pull up RJ’s name on my phone. I’m panting hard as I call him.
He picks up instantly. “All good?”
“No,” I whisper. “I…” My breath catches, making me wheeze. “Please come. I need you.”
“Drop me a pin,” he orders. “I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 40
Sloane
RJ finds me in the same spot I’d found Casey on prom night. Without a word, he charges toward me and sinks to his knees, completely unbothered by the mud that oozes onto his jeans. I collapse against him, feeling like a child as I cling to his chest, crying uncontrollably.