Page 113 of Die for You
I shrug off Luke’s arm and manage a smile at all of them despite the nausea, horror, and despair churning in my gut. “It’s okay.”
Jeremiah won’t do anything to me with so many witnesses. Juliet is right—he’s not that stupid.
He tucks his hands in his pockets like a peace offering as I follow him a few feet away for privacy. The paramedics wait to take him to the hospital, but he holds up a finger to them. “Listen. Your little guard dogs accused me of breaking into your house. Stealing your stuff? I didn’t do any of that.”
Rage quickly replaces the nerves. The Devils didn’t do all of this for him to still lie and deny it straight to my fucking face. “Don’t play dumb. You trashed their house. You stole all my stuff. Myviolin, Jeremiah.” Even though I’m well aware of what he’s capable of, hot tears still blur my vision. “How could you? You know what that means to me.”
“Rora, I’m telling you: I didn’t do that. I swear. My parents made me move back home with them, get a job, apply to colleges. I’m an hour away from here. I didn’t break into your house or take any of your stuff. I didn’t take your violin. I?—”
“I know you’ve been following us around,” I cut him off. I’m ready to punch him in the face myself. I’m sick of his constantlies. “Peeking through windows, slashing tires, texting from random numbers. You’re not going to get away with it.”
Maybe the Devils got arrested tonight, but once we have proof about everything Jeremiah’s been doing, all the ways he’s violated the protective order?—
“Iswear, Rora.” His eyes are wide and he takes a step closer, but his hands are tucked into his pockets. I’m so used to his lies, but the urgency in his gaze, the pitch to his voice, actually makes him seem...genuine. “I haven’t done any of that. My parents pretty much have me on house arrest. Everything that happened between us...” He searches the stars above us like they might have the answers.”I know it sounds lame, but it was a wake-up call. I treated you like shit, and there’s no excuse for it. I never got a chance to say it, and I know this will probably be the last time we ever talk, so...I’m sorry.”
All of my self-restraint is required to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Even if he’s being sincere, it’s too little, too late. An apology doesn’t undo any of the damage he’s done, and he’s done a lot of it. “I don’t accept your apology. And I don’t believe you.”
He shakes his head, unwilling to look at me a second longer. I brace myself for an outburst or a hissed threat. Instead, when he turns back to me, he asks, “When did the break-in happen?”
“I don’t know. Sometime between, like, three-thirty and one.”
Plenty of time for Jeremiah to make the trip down, break in, trash the place, and head home like nothing happened.
He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, screen marred with a long, jagged crack, and swipes for a few seconds before he shows me the screen.
Camera footage. Instantly, I recognize the three-story French Colonial. The house I lived in for a year. Where I met Jeremiah.
His parents’ house.
In the footage, darkness surrounds Jeremiah except for the floodlight from the garage as he leaves the home and gets in his car.
“See the timestamp? I was home until I got the text from you—them—telling me to meet you here.” He scrolls back and shows me multiple videos of him returning home in the afternoon. His parents’ comings and goings from the house.
While we were at the hockey game and celebrating afterward, Jeremiah was home.
My stomach drops to my feet. I never considered that the person who broke in, trashed the place, and stole my stuff could be anyone other than Jeremiah.
If he didn’t break into our house, who did?
While my friends sleep,I clean the house as best as I can. After returning the curtains to the windows, I manage to pass out for an hour on the couch—unable to stomach sleeping in any of their beds without them—until my ringtone wakes me.
An unknown number calling me in the middle of the night. Dread clutches at me with its sharp talons. Jeremiah claimed he’s not the one who has been harassing us for weeks. But if not him, then who?
Tentatively, I swipe my thumb across the screen. “Hello?”
An automated voice tells me I’m receiving a call from the county jail, and relief floods through me only briefly before I tense again. I’m not ready to talk to the Devils again. To have the conversation with them that I know we need to have. Unavoidable.
I roped them into my problems, and now their lives are worse because of it. Because they met me.
They’ve been arrested, they’re spending a night in jail, and Jeremiah’s parents will undoubtedly sue all three of them for assault. Maybe they’ll involve me in the suit too, accusing me of sending the Devils after him.
This is my fault. If I hadn’t let the Devils in my life, they wouldn’t be dealing with this shit. Whoever is behind all of this, I can’t let them keep targeting three innocent men.
“Aurora?” Damien’s rough voice fills my ear, heartbreakingly familiar and desperate.
“Hey.” The word is small, soft. I clear my throat. “I’m glad you called.”
“Are you okay? Are you back at the house? Are Luke and Trey with you?”
