Page 84 of Not Made to Last

“He’s in my room. I told him we could have a sleepover. He’s fine. Take the time you need. But when you’re done…”

I nod, try to inhale through my nose to settle my breaths.

I know Dom wants answers, and I’ll give him what I can. When I can. But right now… I need to focus on finding enough calm to settle my racing heart.

I fall back on my haunches, and Dom hands me a towel to wipe my mouth. Then I rest against the bathtub, and he sits against the sink, waiting.

For minutes, we sit opposite each other, my sniffs the only sound in the room. Finally, he cracks. “When we decided to take care of Max, we said we’d do it together.Always.”

Vision blurred from my endless tears, I say, “I know.”

“So, are you going to tell me what happened, or should I just keep guessing?”

I pull my knees up to my chest, drop my forehead between them. “You’re going to hate me.”

“Try me.”

I sniff back my heartache. “I don’t even know where to start, Dom.”

His brow dips in confusion. “Did it start earlier than today?”

“You’re going to hate me,” I repeat.

“Ollie…”

I wish, more than anything, that I could give him the details without including Rhys. But… Rhys is the puppet master, controlling all the strings.

“Remember over the summer when I hit that guy with the truck?”

Dom sits taller, giving me all his attention. “Yeah?”

“I told you that his name was Timothy, but I lied.”

“Why?”

“Because it was Rhys.” I watch his face for a reaction, and when nothing comes, I add, “Rhys Garrett…”

45

Rhys

“So, she didn’t respond to your text?”

Oscar collects the dirty paper plates and empty cans of soda from the table and dumps them in a trash bag before saying, “For the third time,no.”

I follow him as he heads back to the food truck. “What exactly did you send her?”

Tying a knot in the bag, he answers, “Exactly what you told me to.They’re coming at 7.That’sallI wrote.”

“And she didn’t respond?”

“Jesus Christ!” He throws his hands up, waving the bag in the air. “What iswrongwith you?”

“She wasn’t at school today!”

He puts the trash bag next to the truck, then reaches in there for the cleaning spray and cloth. When he faces me again, he says, “Would you go after what happened yesterday?”

I press my lips shut, because he’s right. There’s no fucking way I’d show up to my living nightmare. We’re halfway backto the table when Oscar’s mom calls out from the food truck window. “Have you eaten, Rhys?”

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