“Want to kill me?” I offer. “No, sorry.”
She considers that, and we sit in silence for a minute.
“So what do we do now?” I ask. Part of me wants to include us in that question. Do we try to work past our hang-ups? Because fuck if being this close to her doesn’t make me miss her. And yet this experience has all been a big reality check. I’m still not ready to let her all the way in. And she only did to save my life. I resist the urge to ask if she would have ever told me her secret had she not been forced to. But it sticks in my mind.
She shakes her head, snapping me back to reality. “I don’t know,” she replies. “Maybe spend some time thinking about your past. Anyone whose career you might have impacted. Anyone who is jealous of your success. Other crazy ex-girlfriends.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Amber was never my girlfriend,” I respond. “But I get your point. Try to think of people who may be sitting on a grudge.”
“I hate to say this, Drew, but I hear you’re something of a tyrant in the kitchen. I suspect that list is longer than you think it is.”
I grimace. “Yeah, okay, fine, you’re probably right. What would you suggest I do about it?”
She rolls her lips between her teeth. “Maybe get someone who knows you well to help you. Besides Nick since, you know, you kind of broke his nose.” She pulls a face. “In fact, maybe add him to the list.”
I roll my eyes. “Nick’s a douche, but he’s not capable of murder. Dude can’t even kill a fucking spider.”
She snorts.
“Feel free to make notes on the list.”
“And what do we do once we have it?” I ask.
“I ruled out Amber, didn’t I?” she points out. “Basically, I just do that again with everyone on the list.”
She didn’t tell me exactly how she ruled out Amber, and I still don’t want to know, but it does make me kind of curious. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
“Sounds like a plan. I have the next two Thursdays off,” I reply.
She rises from the bed, and I assume she wants me to leave. I’m a little disappointed, but this has already gone far better than I’d hoped, so best not to press my luck. Especially not with someone who is attempting to help me avoid dying. I rise and follow her to the door.
“Then I guess I’ll see you Thursday after work,” she offers. “We can text about the details.”
I almost ask her if she wants to come over tomorrow at midnight after I’m off work, but that was what girlfriend CJ did. And I don’t know what she is now — my friend? My psychic detective? Either way, I sense it’s not appropriate to ask.
“Sure thing,” I say, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as I stand in the doorway. “Thanks, CJ. For … everything.”
She nods, and I can tell she’s holding back. Probably on just about every level. As I head down the stairs, I realize I never offered to feed her. Next time, I promise myself.
I see Matt back in his spot on the couch as I make it to the first floor. This time, as I walk past to let myself out, he says something just low enough for his words not to travel upstairs. “If you tell anyone about CJ, you guys won’t have to guess anymore about who is going to murder you.”
I stop just past the couch and turn on him.
“Is that a threat?” I ask tightly.
He looks up and holds my gaze with just as much fire as I’m feeling.
“Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-One
CJ
I made the list.
Four words, earlier on Saturday morning than I’ve ever seen Drew up. And it makes me smile. I shake myself, unwilling to think about him in any way that isn’t about saving his life right now. The last few weeks have been some of the worst of my life.
I hadn’t realized how hard I’d fallen for Drew. Not until it hurt. Then hurt some more. But he’s not wrong; we were both holding back. And on top of all the hurt, I can’t help feeling like that means we’re just not meant to be. That if it was the right person, I wouldn’t have hesitated to share my secret. Because I have to be honest, I probably wouldn’t have told him if I didn’t have to to save his life. What does that say about how I really feel about him, deep down?
No. Save his life first, worry about the rest of it later. That’s my new mantra. So instead of replying with the mixed-up, emotional diatribe going through my head, I simply say, Email it to me.
Short and sweet.
A few minutes later I get an inbox notification.
Followed by a text. Be careful what you wish for.
Curious, I open the email. Forty-seven people. Forty. Seven. Holy fuck.
But I can’t help a small poke.
That all?
We start to banter back and forth before I realize I just need to turn off my phone. I can’t engage like this — it’s too confusing, too much for my already jumbled emotions. So I stick to business and research the huge pile of names, separating out those who are within driving distance, making plans for how to crunch a bunch of replays of the Amber scenario into a few short weeks.
I manage a fair few that week, but all dead-ends. On Wednesday I’m moaning to Matt about it ahead of my Thursday dinner date with Drew. Meeting. Dinner meeting.
“Have you considered just letting him die?” Matt asks drily after listening to my daily recap of turning up bupkis.
I shoot him a glare. “Would you let Alyssa die?” I shoot back. Things are still going hot and heavy between them, clearly, because Matt continues to be in a fantastic mood. That is, when we’re not discussing Drew.
“That’s different, Alyssa and I are actually dating,” he retorts.
“Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to him.”
“You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know,” he mutters.
“Thank you,” I reply sublimely. “Now, since you’ve realized that I’m not going to just let him die, will you help me?”
Matt shoots me a suspicious look. “Help you how?”
I twist my fingers in my lap, knowing he’s not going to like my idea. “I was thinking you could fish around in Drew’s memories to see if anything stands out to you.”
“You want me to do a guided memory regression? With the guy who broke your fucking heart? Not gonna happen, Cee.”
Matt rises from the couch, clearly agitated.
“He wouldn’t have to know that’s what you’re doing,” I point out as he starts to leave the room.
“Still no,” Matt says gruffly. He spins around. “You want my help? Then listen to me. Forget about him. He doesn’t deserve you or your help.”
I eye him shrewdly. “Is it really Drew you’re mad at, or me for telling him?”
Matt rolls his eyes. “I could never be mad at you, you know that. If you chose to tell him, it was for your own reasons. And I know you wouldn’t do that lightly. But I don’t trust him. Even if you do.”
With a disgusted shake of his head, Matt lopes off into the kitchen. And I’m left struck by the last thing he said. I’m helping Drew because I care, and because I can’t not. But do I trust him? After everything?