Tell Me Pretty Lies - Charleigh Rose Page 0,44

doors, and I climb into the passenger seat. The song “Drowning” starts blasting when he starts the car, but he quickly turns it off. We both sit there in silence for a beat, and I know we’re both thinking about Danny.

“I miss him, too,” I admit, feeling weird talking about Danny out loud. He’s been the elephant in the room ever since I got back, but maybe it’s time we start talking about him. Maybe this is how they—how we—heal.

Holden clenches his jaw, throwing the car into drive. Okay, so maybe he’s not there yet.

“Have you heard anything from the police?” I ask, deciding a subject change is probably for the best.

He visibly relaxes. “Not shit.”

“That’s good. What were you doing there, anyway?”

One hand on the wheel, he glances over at me, a grim expression on his face. “Blowing off some steam.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not following.

“Can I trust you?”

I snort out a bitter laugh. “Can you trust me? I’m not the one who’s done anything to have you questioning my loyalty.”

“I’m not fucking around,” he says, his voice holding an unusually serious tone. “No one can know. Not my dad, not your mom. No one.”

I nod, apprehension swirling in my stomach.

“Something’s off, Shayne.” His hand tightens around the steering wheel. “Someone knows something, and they’re covering it up.”

I shake my head, confused. “But why would anyone want to do that?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

I rack my brain for answers. None of it makes sense. The car slows, and I look out the window, noticing we’re close to my house. “Hey, pull over,” I say, unbuckling.

“What, here?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“It’s dark.”

I raise my eyebrows. “And? My driveway is right there,” I say, gesturing to the gravel path that leads to my house. “My mom is home and I’m stalling.” I need all the extra time I can get to figure out how the hell to explain my tire situation. Plus, I’d rather not answer questions about why Thayer was in my room a couple weeks ago, and now Holden’s dropping me off. She’s been a little intense lately.

“Thanks for the ride.” I jump down from the car and swing my bag over my shoulder. The chilly night air has me rubbing my arms as I make my way up to the house. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s any getting out of telling my mom the truth. I’ll just have to convince her that it was random. That I’m not the target. Everything is fine. I’m fine.

I stop short when I notice my car. In my driveway. With four brand new tires. As if nothing ever happened.

“What the hell?” I circle the car, giving it a quick once-over. How did she already take care of it? I wonder if the school called her. Or, more likely, the towing company. Bracing myself for the third degree, I walk up the porch and open the front door. I follow the rustling sound coming from the kitchen and find my mom standing at the counter with a plethora of takeout boxes.

“Just in time,” she says, reaching for some plates from the cabinet above her head. “I ordered Chinese. Figured you’d have a late night.” She scoops some noodles onto a plate. “How was the game last night? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

I stand there watching her load my plate up with the chicken and vegetables, waiting for her to mention the car.

She rounds the counter, setting the plate down in front of me before pulling me in for a hug. “What, you didn’t miss your mom?” she asks when I don’t return her hug right away.

“Sorry,” I say, snapping out of it and wrapping my arms around her. “Long day. I’m out of it.”

She pulls back, assessing. “Why didn’t you drive today?”

“Hmm?” I look up at her. “Oh, I rode with Valen.”

She nods, not questioning the lie, then goes to make a plate for herself. A thought occurs to me, and I bend down, fishing my keys out of the front pocket of my backpack. But they’re not there. Unzipping the main compartment, I tip it over, dumping out all the contents. No keys.

What the hell? I know they were in here. I threw them in after locking my car up when Ashley gave me a ride. I stand abruptly, speed walking toward the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot something in my car,” I throw over my shoulder. I jerk the door open, running

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