Page 121 of The Devil of Downtown

He continues, voice trembling. “I’ve been mixed up with them longer than you knew. I owed them money and favors. They’d let me ride along on pickups sometimes—stupid runs, nothing major. Just to keep me in their pocket.”

He buries his head in his hands, trying not to break. “That night at the festival... they were heading to buy more. I was high, barely conscious in the back seat. They were driving like maniacs, laughing, swerving. And when another car wouldn’t move—”

His breath hitches.

“They ran it off the road.”

My stomach drops hard.

“That was... that wastheaccident?” I whisper, choking on the words.

He nods, andIsit there, trying to make sense of it.

“They panicked,” he continues, voice thick with tears. “The dealers. They knew people—had connections—to clean it up. To hide the damage. To make it disappear.” He drags in a ragged breath. “I didn’t help them, Ivy. I didn’t touch anything. But I didn’t stop them either. I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t do a damn thing.”

I feel sick.

His gaze finds mine again, shame bleeding through every crack in him. “They came for me tonight because someone’s been asking questions about the crash. Someone who isn’t afraid of them. They don’t know who—just that it’s someone with money, someone smart, someone persistent.”

My blood runs cold.

Dane.

He doesn’t say the name, but the implication hangs heavy, suffocating.

“I thought it had to be him,” Brody whispers. “That he knew I was in the car. That he knew I didn’t stop it. I thought he was getting close to the truth, and that maybe—maybe he was using you to punish me.” He swallows, eyes filling. “I thought you weren’t safe with him.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard it hurts, because nothing he’s saying sounds real, and yet every piece fits too well. God, when he came back from that festival, I could see he’d changed. I thought the success had gone to his head, that his life was moving on without me. I never could have anticipated this.

Brody’s breaths come uneven, like every inhale scrapes him from the inside. He pushes a trembling hand through his hair, smearing dried blood across his temple.

“Ivy...,” he whispers. “I left because I couldn’t face you. Not after I knew what I’d been part of.”

My throat tightens. Part of me wants to scream at him; part of me wants to wrap him in a blanket. Instead, I sit beside him on the couch, keeping my voice steady.

“Brody,” I say quietly, “you made a terrible decision. But you weren’t the one driving.”

“I didn’t stop it either,” he fires back, but there's no fight left in it. “I was high in the backseat like a fucking coward. They were laughing, Ivy; they were high as hell, swerving all over the road. And then—” His voice splinters. “I heard the impact. I felt it through the floor. And I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”

The room goes still. Jennie is asleep in the armchair, head tipped back, finally getting a break from the panic.

I stare at Brody—broken, guilty, terrified—and my heart aches for him, even after everything.

But guilt isn’t enough anymore.

I take a slow breath. “Brody... you have to go to the police.”

His head snaps up. “I can’t.”

“Youhave to.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “You can’t keep living like this, and you know it. And I can’t sit with this information and pretend I don’t know what happened. I can’t do nothing.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “Ivy, they’ll kill me.”

“They almost did,” I murmur. “And they’ll try again if you keep hiding. You said it yourself—they think someone’s talking and you’re a loose end.”

He lets out a broken laugh. “So Dane will kill me, or they will. Great.”

“Dane isn’t going to kill you,” I urge. “I don’t even know if he knows anything. But if he doesn’t, he’s close. You said they beat you because he’s getting too close, right? If he uncovers the truth and finds out you stayed silent—”