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Cameron shrugs. “He just took off, so who the fuck knows?” He cups his hand around his mouth. “Yo, Brooks, where are you going, bro?” he shouts.

Brooks either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, and continues to run off toward his vehicle.

Cameron shrugs again, then smirks at me. “Maybe he took off because he killed Ivy and that cop spooked him?”

“Seriously? You’re making jokes about a missing woman?” Shaking my head, I backtrack toward my stuff, ready to leave.

Cameron mutters some bull shit about me being overly sensitive. There’s a reason why Brooks and him are friends—because they’re both assholes.

Slinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder, I head toward my car. A few guys shout after me, but I disregard them. Everything about this moment is pulling at memories I’ve tried to bury. The asshole that took off, as if he was keeping secrets. Me wondering if he was but not speaking up. The cops showed up. Me lying about what happened.

It’s something I’ll never forgive myself for.

The lies I told that night.

They’re hidden under my flesh, underneath the scars I lie about too.

Lies.

Lies.

Lies.

That’s all I am anymore.

And as I get into my car, and spot Brooks peeling out of the parking lot in his lifted truck, I have to question if I’m not the only one drowning in lies.

Chapter 15

Harper

Harper

Igo home for fall break, but regret it pretty much the moment I walk into the house.

I had told my dad that I was coming home, and while he seemed pretty neutral about it, I didn’t take it personally. He’s just that way when it comes to showing emotion.

When I enter the house, though, I become aware that maybe my father might be falling into a pit of depression.

The house is a mess, garbage is all over the kitchen counters and table, the living room is in desperate need of a vacuum and dusting, and mail is piled everywhere. The place smells horrible, and I manage to find the culprit—the trash bin that’s overflowing so badly that garbage is piled on the floor.

I find my dad outside, chopping wood in the backyard.

He hasn’t shaven, his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks thinner than when I saw him a couple of months ago, right before I left for college.

“Dad?” I say as I walk outside, zipping up my jacket.

He startles, nearly dropping the ax. “Shit, Harper, you scared me.” He catches his breath as he props the ax up against the log.

“Sorry.” I cross the backyard toward him. “Did you forget I was coming here this weekend?”

He shakes his head, but I can tell he’s lying. “Of course not.” He dusts off his hands. “Sorry the house is a mess. I’ve been too busy to clean it.”

I’m unsure how to respond to this since my dad rarely cleaned the house before. That was always my job. For some reason I had assumed he’d take over once I left.

“It’s fine. I can help you clean it while I’m here.” It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway. I don’t have any friends here.

I would like to drive over and talk to my sister at some point during this break, though. But after I spend some time with my dad.