Page 60 of Only Fate

“Thank you,” Essie finally says, bowing her head to conceal her face from me.

“Will you text me tonight?” I’m pressing my luck. “If you need anything or want to talk.”

I’ve never rambled in front of someone so much in my life. Not even during my first court case, when my client told me I was a disgrace to attorneys worldwide because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come up with a legal reason to elude the charges from him hiring hookers on his wife’s company credit card.

Essie keeps her chin tucked while nodding. “Good night, Adrian.”

I stand there, my spine stiff, while she retreats into her house.

“It might be best to give her space,” River tells me apologetically. “She’s going through a tough time.”

“Why?” I call out when he follows her.

“It’s not my place to tell others’ stories.” He holds up the pot. “Thank you for this.”

I turn away but then stop. “Wait.”

River pauses and furrows his brows.

I dig the Skittles bag from my pocket that I forgot about. “Give her these for me.”

He tilts his head, curious how I know her favorite candy, but then shakes off the thought like it’s the least of his worries. As he walks through Essie’s doorway, I hear him mutter, “Fucking Prison Exoneration Program,” before shutting the door behind him.

Darkness engulfs me as I drive through the thickets of trees to go home. At night, it’s eerie as fuck out here.

If I permanently move to Blue Beech, it’ll be closer to town. There have been too many strange noises for me to feel at ease here.

Tucker hops off the couch as soon as I walk in.

“Hey, boy,” I say, petting him.

He walks next to me and licks my cheek when I kneel to grab his food bowl. I feed him, and while he devours his dinner, I open the folder at the kitchen table and sit.

The wind whistles through the thin window as I stare at the man’s decade-old mug shot. His face, pale and boxy, is weathered and wrinkled. His dark eyes have a hardness as he glares at the camera. The description under his photo says he has a glass eye and a single tattoo. I flip to the tattoo photo, and it’s a smiley face on his right arm.

I continue reading through Earl’s file.

A decade ago, the courts charged Earl McGrey with reckless driving, driving under the influence, and manslaughter. He was sentenced to forty years in prison. The evidence against him is strong, and there are no other signs of wrongful convictions in the court file.

A witness reportedly matched the make and model to the truck they saw speeding down a rural highway. Paint on the truck’s hood matched the victim’s car. The truck was not only in Earl’s name but also parked in his driveway when the police arrived to question him.

The address they arrived at?

The one where I’m currently staying.

Earl lived here.

He was also so drunk that night that he could hardly stand when they arrested him.

Tucker nestles against my side as I speed-read through the rest of Earl’s file, knowing I’ll reread it a hundred times. I’ll have every sentence nearly memorized by morning.

Ethan Leonard, eighteen years young and the school’s quarterback, died in the accident.

The underage victim was only sixteen, a junior in high school. She suffered severe wounds but survived the accident.

And that girl was Essie.

21

---