Page 92 of The Sweetest Revenge

Journey's hand flew to her throat. Sterling's water bottle thudded onto the table.

"On purpose?" Mila's voice dropped to a hiss, her face contorting into a scowl that transformed her features.

Ariella shrugged, but I caught the slight tremor in her shoulders.

"I don't know," I sighed, the throb of my bruised ribs pulsing with each breath. "It seemed intentional, but it could have been an accident." The memory flashed again—the swerve across the center line. "It's hard to say."

"Did you go to the hospital?" Journey leaned forward, concern etching her features.

Ariella shook her head, wincing as the movement aggravated her bruised cheek.

"No." I ran a hand through my hair. "We're both a little sore, but we're okay. Everyone should be extra vigilant of their surroundings right now." My tone made it clear this wasn't merely a suggestion.

Sterling, Journey, and Mila adjusted their seats as they slid back into them, and Ariella and I found a chair to slip into.

"So what are we doing here?" My fingers drummed against the polished wood.

The library's ventilation system clicked off, leaving us in sudden silence. Mila glanced over her shoulder before shifting in her chair, the scrape of wood against the floor unnaturally loud. She leaned forward on her elbows, close enough that I could smell her coffee-tinged breath.

"So last night after we got into the laptop," Mila started. "I started trying to put puzzle pieces together, and I did a little digging on the officer who was first to arrive at Kacie's accident." Her voice dropped so low I had to strain to hear. "He died three months after Kacie's accident."

My fingers froze mid-tap.

"Okay?" I finally managed, my throat suddenly dry as sand.

"The paper said it was an overdose, but it was considered a suspicious death."

"He was murdered?" Ariella's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, the word 'murdered' hanging in the air between us.

I caught Sterling's eye across the table. His jaw tightened.

"I couldn't find anything else on him after the initial article," Mila continued, leaning closer, "but what if it was the coach cleaning up his mess?"

I sank back in my chair, the wood creaking under my shifting weight. The table's worn surface blurred as my mind raced through implications.

If that was true, it didn't matter; everyone involved was dead.

"I can ask my brother to dig into it a little more," Mila started.

I shook my head. "No." My gaze lifted, meeting Mila's. "Coach Palmer is dead. He cut the brakes. The cop covered it up, and now they are both dead. They got their karma, and that's enough for me."

"Then who ran us off the road?"

"I think we are paranoid right now," I sighed, not entirely believing my own words. The memory of the truck veering toward us flashed behind my eyes—the way it had corrected course, aimed right for us. But none of it made sense. Who would want to hurt us?

"The driver was probably on his phone or something and swerved into our lane." My voice sounded hollow even to me.

I pressed my lips into a tight line as my gaze held Ariella's. Her eyes—always so expressive—searched mine for reassurance I wasn't sure I could honestly give.

"It's time for all of us to move on," I said finally, choosing the comfort of denial over the terror of truth. "Kacie's gone, and I have to believe she got her revenge."

Ariella leaned forward. "But what if it wasn't Coach?"

Sterling's head snapped up. "Who else would it be?" His voice had an edge I hadn't heard before. "Think about it. Who else had a reason to want Kacie dead?"

We all sat silently, the clock on the far wall ticking. Names and faces flickered through my mind—classmates, teachers, friends. With each mental image came the same question: Could they have done it?

Journey's pen tapped against her notebook. Once. Twice. Then stopped.

---