It was a wild longing, a child’s futile wish, but even as the thoughts whirled through my mind, I felt something rise up in me, resistant and cold.
I was close, so close to being free. Being with Oliver. This was my escape.
I deserved this.
So I walked away from her, out of the airport buildings and back to my car. I sat there, waiting, until her flight took off, then made the drive to Haverford one final time. As the harsh winter landscape sped past my windows, that resistance became a chorus, humming inside me like an anthem.
You’re better than this. You always have been.
I was so close.
I was twenty miles outside Haverford when my phone rang. I glanced over, expecting another message from Ethan, but it was a different number this time. Oliver.
My pulse kicked as I answered, keeping one eye out for Blake or one of the deputies, bored on the side of the road and eager to ticket. ‘Hey, I just dropped her off.’
‘Good.’ Oliver’s voice was even. ‘Swing by the lake house on your way back. There’s something I want to show you.’
‘How mysterious,’ I teased. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Let’s just say I have a surprise. A way to send this town out with a bang.’
I smiled. ‘I’m on my way.’
I hung up and took the turning that would lead me out past the lake to the site. As I rounded the curve, I saw lights flickering in the far house, so I pulled up in the dark drive beside Oliver’s car and turned off the engine.
‘Hello?’ I called, pushing the open door. The electricity was off, but inside I found candles flickering on the edge of the stairs. Night-lights were set in a path, leading upstairs. I followed them, my curiosity building. In the hallway, I found another trail of candles and a scattering of rose petals on the floor, leading to the master suite.
I pushed open the door. ‘Oliver? What’s going on?’
The room was lit up with dozens more candles, flickering from every window ledge and mantel. There was a blanket on the floor; sultry music playing from his phone on low.
‘What, you don’t like it?’ Oliver strolled out of the shadows. He had a bottle of something in his hand, and a wry expression on his face as he gestured around the room. ‘I thought we could celebrate your newfound freedom.’
I blinked. Oliver wasn’t the type for big gestures, but the room was set up like a scene from a movie: the perfect romantic hideaway.
‘What’s really going on?’ I regarded him carefully. ‘This, flowers and candles? This is so not you.’
He grinned. ‘You know me well. No, I thought I’d see how the other half lives. Try a little Hallmark sentimentality. What do you think, darling? Doesn’t it make you want to move to a nice house in the suburbs, get ourselves a couple of rugrats and a dog?’
Oliver pulled out a knife – Ethan’s hunting knife, I recognized — and used it to lever the cork from the bottle. It came free with a hollow ‘pop’, and foam flooded over Oliver’s wrist. ‘Damn,’ he cursed, but I laughed, and lifted his arm to my mouth to lick it off.
‘Champagne?’ I raised an eyebrow.
‘Only the best for you, my dear.’ Oliver took a long swig. ‘After all, it’s the first day of the rest of our lives.’
‘Start as you mean to go on,’ I quipped in response, taking the bottle from him.
‘Carpe diem.’
I drank long, feeling the effervescence of the bubbles shimmer through my bloodstream.
I felt reckless, and golden, and bright. Oliver was joking with his trite sayings, but they were true. This was my beginning, and I felt reborn, fresh from the shadows of the past year.
‘Thank you.’ My voice was quiet. Oliver looked up. ‘For . . . everything. Not just . . . ’ I paused, trying to explain what he’d done for me, but failing all the same. I shrug. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
Oliver tilted his head, and the smile he gave me was one I’d never seen before: quieter, and sincere. Almost sad.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said softly, reaching to stroke my cheek. ‘All this time . . . I never thought I’d find someone like you.’
His eyes were dark, but I recognized the expression there. To be seen, and truly understood; we both had found that in each other. No need to hide the sharp edges and smooth ourselves down, play-acting at being just the same as everyone else.
We were different, in all the same ways.
I reached for him, kissing him hard until I was breathless. We tumbled to the blanket, lips and hands and gasping breaths. This was what it felt like to truly lose myself in someone for the first time, to be more than myself, gone. I poured myself into him, in every kiss and touch, giddy with the possibility of tomorrow.
I didn’t hear the car pull into the drive outside, or the door pushed open. I didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs until it was too late. I didn’t have time to do anything but pull away from Oliver and see him there in the doorway, staring at us in furious disbelief.
Ethan.
Oh God. I push away from Oliver and scramble to my feet, fumbling to fasten my jeans.
‘What are you . . . ?’ I glance back to Oliver, but he’s just sitting there, expressionless. ‘Ethan—’
‘No.’ Ethan shakes his head slowly. ‘No, you don’t say anything. Don’t say a fucking word!’ His voice breaks. He’s breathing heavily, agitated, hands reaching and then closing into fists, like he doesn’t know what to do with his own body. ‘This is why you broke up with me? It’s him, it’s always him.’
I catch my breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, but he isn’t listening.
‘I should have known you’d get to her.’ Ethan paces, jittery. ‘You have to have everything, don’t you? You always find a way to wreck everything. Well, you’re not doing this. You don’t get to take her!’
Oliver watches him. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, baby brother.’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Ethan roars.
I flinch back at the fury in his voice. I’ve never seen him like this, so angry and unhinged.
‘Ethan . . . ’ I start, but Oliver speaks over me.
‘I mean it. You don’t want to go crazy and do something you regret.’ His gaze shifts away from Ethan and I follow it. The knife, resting on an upturned box.
I suck in a breath. Ethan notices. He looks across and sees the knife. Oliver makes to move towards it, but he’s strangely sluggish, and Ethan beats him to it. He grabs the knife and ducks back, pointing the blade towards the both of us.
‘Get up,’ he orders.
Oliver obeys, unfolding himself slowly from the floor. I stand there, stranded, fear racing through every nerve in my body.
What are we going to do now?
Our lives are made up of choices, you see. Big ones, small ones, strung together by the thin air of good intentions; a line of dominos, ready to fall. Which shirt to wear on a cold winter’s morning, what crappy junk food to eat for lunch. It starts out so innocently, you don’t even notice: go to this party or that movie, listen to this song, or read that book, and then, somehow, you’ve chosen your college, and career; your boyfriend or wife.
So many choices, we stop counting after a while. They blur into an endless stream, leading seamlessly to the next question, the next decision, yes, no, no, yes. The line of dominos falling one by one. Click, click, click, they tumble faster until you can only see the two that really mattered:
The beginning, and this, the end.
Oliver, and Ethan, and I.
After the fighting, and the blood. After I almost talk Ethan down; after Oliver makes his murderous plan clear, we’re left, the three of us.
Two boys. One knife, heavy in my hand. And a way out of this, so simple, I can’t avoid it, however horrifying it seems.
‘Do it,’ Oliver orders. ‘Chloe, I’m warning you. If you don’t, I will.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ I protest weakly, even as I know he is. My fingers wrap around the hi
lt of the knife, gripping tight. ‘He’s your brother,’ I whisper, fascinated and horrified all at once.
‘And I’m choosing you.’ Oliver meets my eyes, and the expression there is chillingly matter of fact. He’s weighed the calculation between us and, somehow, the scales have tipped. To me.
It’s crazy, but that knowledge sends a surge of power through me. He’s chosen me, over Ethan. I’m the one he wants.
‘We’re the same, you and me,’ Oliver continues, hypnotic. ‘You know it, you can stop pretending.’
‘So we go, just leave here, right now,’ I say. ‘Nobody has to get hurt.’
Oliver shakes his head. ‘He’s a loose end. You know I don’t leave any evidence behind. Besides,’ he adds with a dark smile, ‘I need to see what you’re made of. Are you the girl I think you are, or just another one of these pathetic sheep?’
I catch my breath, blood racing, boiling in my veins as I realize it was set from the start. Bringing me here, the roses and Champagne; calling Ethan to discover us. Even the way he pushed Ethan towards the knife was a manipulation – Oliver knew all along, this was where he wanted us.
It’s another of his games. The final test.
Who am I?
‘You want me to kill him?’ I ask quietly, calm rushing ice-cold through my body.
Oliver’s lips quirk in a smile. ‘I want you to do whatever you want.’
Slowly, I turn to Ethan. His eyes widen, as if he sees the darkness in me for the first time.
‘Chloe, no!’ Ethan pleads. ‘Whatever he says, it’s not true. You’re a good person, you always have been. You won’t, please. You can’t!’
He’s begging, no pride left in those broad shoulders; no easy swagger now. Ethan begs for his life and I watch him, horrified I could reduce him to this.
Horrified and thrilled, all at once.
‘Don’t you see?’ Oliver takes another step towards me, hand outstretched for the knife. ‘It was always going to end this way. Him or me. You can’t have us both, Chloe. You can’t leave with him still hanging on. You have to choose.’
‘Please, Chloe, don’t!’
‘Do it.’ Oliver is relentless. Another step, he’s closing in now, and I feel myself sway towards him, the way I always did. ‘You’re curious, aren’t you? To see what it feels like to have that power. You wanted to know, before. Now’s your chance.’
He’s right. I feel it, deep inside, the rage that won’t be quieted; the hunger only he could ever satisfy. Ethan smiled and petted at me, kept me up on his gleaming pedestal so pretty and sweet. He never knew me at all. He never wanted to know this part of me. But Oliver . . . he knew, right from the start. Everything I could be if I could just let go.
He showed me what it meant to feel power, and anger, and desire. To be the one calling the shots, never to cower and beg like I used to.
That’s what I want my life to be.
I close my fist around the knife, the hilt tucked snug in my palm.
‘That’s right.’ Oliver smiles. ‘I knew you’d realize.’
‘No,’ I tell him, steely. ‘You said, this was my choice, and I haven’t decided yet. Who knows?’ I add, arch. ‘I could choose to kill you instead.’
Oliver laughs, his eyes glittering at me in the dim light. ‘You decided the minute you picked up that knife, sweetheart.’ He grins. ‘You could have given it to him, you could have thrown it clear. But you like it, you like being the one with all the power.’
I held his gaze. I wasn’t going to deny it, every word was the truth. I had the power now, but what was I going to do with it?
Suddenly, Ethan lurches towards me, hands outstretched and desperate. Grabbing at me, clinging like he always did.
‘Stop it!’ I recoil back. ‘Let me go!’
‘He’s crazy,’ Ethan gasps, face twisted with fear. ‘You can’t listen to him, you’re my Chloe. My good, sweet Chloe. Remember? Remember we said, we’d always belong to each other. Please!’
He sobs, clinging to me, but now my shock is hardening into disdain. He could take the knife from me in an instant if he wanted, but he’s too weak to even try. He thinks he can blackmail me instead, wrap that old affection around me like a deadweight, pulling me down.
‘Get off,’ I tell him, shoving at his limp body.
‘You love me,’ Ethan whimpers, pathetic. ‘You wouldn’t hurt me. I believe in you!’
He claws at me again. Revulsion rises in me. I can’t take it: the guilt and the obligation he’s using to trap me, all the broken hope in his eyes. I don’t owe him anything, I never did. He was the one who grabbed me tight and didn’t let go. Didn’t let me breathe.
I meet Oliver’s gaze over his head. ‘Do it,’ he whispers, and I see the thrill in his eyes. He’s waiting for this, holding his breath, watching his brother fall apart. The darkest soul I’ve ever known. The mirror of me.
I remember watching the deer through the cross-hairs, my finger on the trigger. Ashton’s head smashing into the wall, the lightning fury in my veins. What would it feel like this time? To be the one who decides.
I feel that surge again, lifting me, pulsating, something white-hot and undeniable.
‘Are you going to stay?’ Oliver demands. ‘You’ll die in this godforsaken town.’
I think of snow on the dark roads, the screech of tyres. I feel hope rise in me, stronger than anything. Fight or flight.
‘Do it,’ Oliver orders.
And I do.
A heartbeat, a split-second’s whim, that’s all it takes to change your life forever.
But what happens when you get it wrong?
When you feel the sigh of the knife sliding in, and hear the low, pained gasp; disbelief in his eyes that he could misjudge you so completely; the sticky wet smear of red on your hands.
What happens when you realize in that sick, bloodied moment – no, no, no! – that you can’t take it back?
You chose wrong.
I approach the bed cautiously. Ethan doesn’t take his eyes off me, but his expression is unreadable. I feel a faint glimmer of hope. The doctor said he was confused, maybe he doesn’t remember.
‘Thank God you’re OK.’ I sink into the seat beside the bed and reach to clutch his hand. ‘You lost so much blood – and the fire . . . I didn’t know if I’d get you out alive. Your parents are here, did they see you already? I can get them if you want, I just had to see you for myself.’ I babble, the words tripping over themselves. ‘I’m so glad you’re OK!’
‘Are you?’
‘Of course!’ I exclaim. ‘We were so worried, you were in surgery for hours, and even then, they said you might never wake up.’ I catch my breath, squeezing his hand tightly. ‘But here you are, look at you. You’re going to be OK.’
There’s a pause.
‘I’ll never be OK,’ Ethan says quietly, steel in his voice. ‘Not after what you did.’
Oh God.
I meet his eyes and the accusation there robs the breath from my lungs.
He remembers. He remembers everything.
‘Ethan . . . ’ I gasp, my mind racing for something to tell him. Anything to pull him back from the edge. ‘You don’t understand, let me explain—’
‘Don’t.’ Ethan looks at his hand in mine, then slowly pulls it away. ‘Weber will be here in a minute and then I tell him everything. The truth, this time.’ His jaw is set in determination and I realize, with a sinking heart, he means every word.
He’s done with me, the way I was done with him.
It’s over.
A coldness slips through me, settling deep in my bones. Resignation. All night, ever since I made that choice, part of me has been waiting for this. I thought I could claw my way out of the wreckage, with lies and tears and twisted truths, and I came close, so close, to slipping loose of their chains. But the panic is over, now, there’s nothing but inevitability. An ending, instead of my beginning.
‘There’s only one thing I need to know from you,’ Ethan adds slowly. ‘
They said you saved my life. They said Olly’s . . . Olly’s dead.’
I nod silently, looking down.
‘Why would you save me?’ Ethan asks, his voice lifting. ‘After everything you did to be with him. Why did you save me from the fire?’
I force myself to glance up again and find him looking at me with an anguished expression on his face. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘You picked him. You looked me in the eye and you picked him.’
‘I know,’ I whisper, my voice breaking. ‘And I know, I can never take that back, but I was wrong. It was all wrong.’ I gulp a breath, my voice desperate, trying to make him see. ‘The second it happened, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. It was, I can’t explain it, it was like I’d been under Oliver’s spell and, suddenly, I woke up.’ I meet his eyes, tears already wet on my cheeks. ‘You know what he’s like, he made everything seem so . . . simple. Like it wasn’t real, it was all just a game. But when I hurt you . . . ’ I take his hand again, gripping tight. ‘It was real. Suddenly, everything was real, and I couldn’t let it happen. I had to keep you safe from him.’
I hold on, waiting for some reaction. Ethan takes a long breath, still so pale. He’s got wires trailing from his body, an IV hooked to his arm.
‘What happened?’ he finally says. ‘I remember the knife, and then . . . I was on the ground. He said something about starting a fire, to make it look like an accident,’ Ethan shakes his head, frustrated. ‘But everything else is gone.’
‘You passed out,’ I tell him quietly. ‘You were bleeding and you passed out. Oliver was lighting the fires. He’d brought kerosene with him; he’d planned it all, even calling you over to find us.’ I shiver. The candles and the rose petals were all props in his final game: to make it look worse, when Ethan walked in. To help him hide the evidence when we were done.
‘You were lying there; there was so much blood. I already knew, I’d picked wrong.’ I lifted my eyes to his, plaintive. ‘You were the one who believed in me. It was you, it was always you – but he would never let you go alive. I never realized how much he hated you until then. So, I went after him when he was about to start the fire. I took the pipe, the one he’d used on you, and then . . . ’