Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 61
Finally, I take her arm and motion for her to get out of the Tahoe, “Come on,” I nod to my car, “I’m taking you for a ride.”
She turns and gingerly tugs the smaller one of the bags onto her shoulder before she locks her car and lets me put her in the front seat of mine. By the time we’re back on the road, she seems more comfortable and ready to talk.
“I found a box up in the closet,” she sniffs and rubs her nose, “it had…things in it.”
I know she found a box, but I don’t tell her that, “What kinds of things?”
Brett hesitates and then takes a deep breath, “There was a letter,” she suddenly lets out a gasp, “The letter! I took the letter. Oh my god, I took the letter.”
I arch my brow in surprise, “You have it?”
“It’s in my bag. It’s from Emily to Bowen, and she talks about all the horrible things he did to her. There were pictures with it, pictures of her wearing my engagement ring. He gave me her ring!” Brett furrows her brow in revulsion, “Then there was a shredded shirt that was covered in dirt and, Colson, I swear it smelled like death,” she shakes her head, “and…” Brett hesitates and then her eyes go wide, “Oh, god, the dog and the fucking arm! Jay said Waylon…” she slaps her hand over her mouth with a pained groan and stares out the window.
Dog? Arm? Now she’s really not making any sense.
Brett runs her hand down her face, “Colson,” she cringes and then takes a breath to compose herself, “he has the news article that talks about how you found Evie in the woods. Evie’s your stepsister. She’s the sister you told me about.”
I grit my teeth, staring at the road ahead, “Of course he does,” I drone. Bowen probably read it frequently after it happened. Maybe now he only reads it and reminisces on special occasions. I clear my throat, “anything else?”
“Yes,” Brett’s voice changes, suddenly deeper and more serious, “I—” she inhales slowly through clenched teeth and blows it out, her mouth scrunching into a grimace, “I found her hair.”
When I turn to her, this time she’s the one staring straight ahead, “Whose hair?” I deadpan.
Brett swallows hard, “Evie’s hair. He kept her hair…” she rasps in abject horror, “it was in a bag, still braided. I even touched it. I shouldn’t have left it behind. Hannah probably took it and—” she sighs in defeat, “I should’ve fought harder…”
I vehemently shake my head at her unfounded guilt. Brett uttering those words makes my skin crawl. The idea of her finding Evie’s hacked-off hair and then taking the time to stuff it into her pants as she runs for her life is enough to make me sick. I press my mouth together, keeping my own emotions in check as I gun the engine south along the edge of the park.
“Bowen even told me about it,” she continues, “he told me how Evie died, how she was shot and beaten and raped and strangled and someone cut off her hair and then slashed her up.” Brett shakes her head with disgust, “Then Hildy acted like she didn’t know.”
“It’s because no one else did know,” I say slowly, “the only people who know any of that are Evie’s parents, my mom, me...” I cast her an ominous look, “and the Canaan Police Department.”
Brett goes quiet, fidgeting with the ends of her hair, “Why didn’t you say anything?” She finally turns to me, “Why didn’t you just tell me about Evie?”
“Because if I tried to tell you right off the bat that Bowen murdered Evie, you wouldn’t have believed a word of it.”
“So, instead you stayed quiet and—” she cuts herself off and looks away.
“He took it easy on you,” I say harshly, “even if I told you and you believed me, do you think if you asked him about it that he would’ve let you live out the night?”
Brett jerks her head up, “Then tell me now,” she snaps, “what the hell is going on?”
Slowing down over the next hill, I catch sight of a pull-off just through the trees. I veer off and whip into the dirt clearing and kill the engine.
Now’s as good a time as any.
I was going to do this anyway. I was planning on telling Brett everything, but Bowen jumped the gun with one of his tantrums—like usual.
I turn to Brett, who’s stare is so intense it threatens to swallow me whole, waiting for an explanation. At some point in the last few minutes, the spark returned and she looks more like herself. Even now, during all this chaos, I have to stop and take her in.
Suddenly, I pause, my eyes trained on the waist of her jeans. Slowly, I reach over with my thumb and forefinger. Brett looks down to see me pinch something between my fingers and gently pull it away from her waist. When I hold it up in front of her at just the right angle, her mouth falls open in shock.
It’s a long, straight, red hair—a much deeper red than Brett’s strawberry blonde ringlets. And it was caught in the button of her jeans.
With my other hand, I reach past her to open the glove box and grab the plastic bag that holds the extra attachments and charge cords for my cell phone mount. I dump the contents into the center console and then carefully drop the hair—Evie’s hair—into the bag, pinching the top and running my fingers across the zip lock.
I set the bag down in my lap and unclip my phone from its mount, “Before I tell you anything, you have to do something for me.”
Brett glances at the bag and then up at me, “What?”
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I reach over and weave my fingers into hers, lifting her hand to my lips, “I don’t want to ask you for this, but I have to,” I say, kissing the top of her hand.
The look she gives me tells me she’ll do what I ask. Because we can speak in silence through subtle movements of the eye and long, drawn out stares. She knows I love her more than anything in this world and, whether or not she’s still afraid of me and what I may or may not do, she also knows I’ll destroy anyone who tries to hurt her.
I release her hand and pick up my phone, tapping the camera icon and switching it to video mode, “Hold up your phone with the date and time on it,” I tap the red record button, “and tell me exactly what happened—from the beginning.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Colson
High School
“He’s a menace,” Mason brushes past my shoulder, glaring across the soccer field at Bowen.
He’s not wrong. After four years, Bowen’s gotten pretty good. Unfortunately, it’s because he’s perfected his dirty plays. He could’ve been captain, but his penchant for throwing elbows and starting fights got in the way.
Dire Ridge and Canaan only play each other once per season, but everyone knows him and what he does. And I know what he does off the field, too, which is pretty much the same thing.
He’s a menace.
Not that I’m any better, I just don’t run my mouth as much.
Thoroughly displeased, Coach O’Malley paces along the sideline in front of the bench where Alex is laid out with a medic and a couple of trainers hovering over his face. They poke his cheeks and shove gauze up his nostrils while they try to determine whether Bowen broke his nose just minutes before. He was the obvious target—one of our best players second only to Aiden, who throws just as many cheap shots as Bowen.
O’Malley just finished chewing out the ref, but to no avail. Then again, chewing out is relative. He’s all about sportsmanship and the love of the game, so he’s not about to start throwing hands, even over elbow shots. Instead, he stalks along the edge of the field, red-faced, focusing on smart plays instead of revenge.
Strolling back onto the field, I survey the landscape. Bowen saunters back to his position, wiping the sweat from his brow over his shiny black mop tied into a bun at the crown of his head. Then I shift my focus over his shoulder at the stands. Scanning the bleachers, I find her in no time. Her bright crimson hair always gives her away, which is why I never lose her in a crowd.
Evie’s standing between Hildy and Hannah, all three of them in the first row leaning over the concrete ledge stamped with the giant blue Dire Wolves logo. Although it’s a home game and our side is much larger, the stands are split neatly down the middle, the left side a block of red and the right a block of blue. When Evie sees me looking at her, she starts waving her arm wildly. I flash her a smile and then turn my attention back to the game.
I glance back at Alex, reclined on the bench with his bloody nose, and then I look to my left, where Mason is about to throw the ball in. It’s a split-second decision, but what kind of player are you if you can’t seize opportunities when they present themselves?
Ignoring the play, I set my sights on Bowen and begin moving across the field. He’s focused, eyes darting between Rory guarding him and Aiden with the ball. He pivots in my direction and starts running at full speed, eyes trained on the ball as he tries to get into a good position.
He’s blind-sided and has no idea what hits him.
Matching Bowen’s speed, I come in like a freight train, drop down, and slide at the last second, knocking his ankles out from under him and flipping him head over heels. He catches so much air, he doesn’t even touch me before he comes crashing back to earth. When I stand up, Bowen’s lying on his back, rolling from side to side, his jaw hanging open and his eyes rolling back and forth.
The stands erupt in a mixture of outrage and cheers. Nobody seems to care about the red card I get for that one, least of all me. In the meantime, Aiden scores, which only riles up the crowd further.
I’m prepared to get reamed out by O’Malley as soon as I get within earshot, but it never happens. To the untrained eye, O’Malley looks unfazed, glaring out onto the field with his arms crossed as he paces back and forth. It’s only when he turns to the assistant coaches and gives a shrug that I catch his mustache twitch in a momentary snicker.
When Bowen finally makes it to his feet, he heads straight for me. Frankly, I’m surprised he can still walk. I spin around to face him with a smirk.
“Come on, Lutz!” he lunges at me, shoving my chest, “Come at me, motherfucker!”
But I have a good two inches on him and it’s not long before a buffer of players from both sides rushes in and he’s restrained, shouting obscenities at me as he’s dragged the other direction. I flash my eyes at him, backing away as the ref tries to keep control of the situation.
Aiden shoots me a devious grin from across the field as I stroll along the bench, throwing my arm out to smack palms with Alex and the other players cackling on the sidelines. I raise my arm as I pass the stands, drawing screams of bloodlust from the crowd as I curl my fingers in a beckoning motion.
The cheers turn to rage as soon as I cross the invisible line dividing Dire Ridge and Canaan. When I reach Evie, her jaw is nearly on the concrete. Hildy is scowling at me, yelling something about that being a dick move, as if she can fucking talk.
Colson…Evie mouths as she stifles a laugh.
Lingering in front of her, I give a shrug before slowly circling back to the bench. Who doesn’t love a little bloodlust? And it seems to work because we end up beating Canaan after Aiden scores another goal.
The post-game handshake is no different. While everyone else is busy giving their usual congratulations, I’m content to call it even with Bowen until he seizes my hand and doesn’t let go. When I whip around, he’s glowering at me with a little smirk, clenching my hand at his waist.
Mason bumps into my back when I stop short, and immediately brings his fist down on Bowen’s arm as soon as he sees what’s going down. Behind Bowen, Jay Rhinehardt gives Mason a shove and immediately earns a body slam from Aiden. Jay tries to lunge forward again, but is immediately grabbed by one of Canaan’s coaches and thrown back toward their bench while Aiden chortles maniacally. The field is about to descend into chaos when the scuffle is interrupted by Rory’s deep voice.
“Beasts of waste!” our team captain booms behind us.
“Beasts of desolation!” yells another, drawing our attention.
“We die alone!”
“But together—”
“Rulers of creation!” the entire team roars in unison, finishing the Dire Wolves cheer with a cacophony of howls into the night sky as we turn to jog toward the entrance to the field.
When Mason and I emerge from the gymnasium doors with the rest of the team, Evie’s making her way across the lawn. “Hey, stone cold stunner,” she laughs as she stops in front of us.
“Eh, it was closer to a leg sweep,” I give a half shrug, “but we could’ve played better.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You and your sweet moves are all over social now.”
I arch my brow at her, “Already?”
There’s a snicker from Mason and he nudges my arm, holding his phone out in front of me. He lets out a howl at the point in the video when I slam into Bowen, launching him into the air. I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive from a distance.
“Shit,” I steal a glance over Evie’s head at the Canaan bus parked in front of the school, “poor Bowen.”
“Not gonna lie,” she rolls her eyes and mutters out of the corner of her mouth, “it was pretty freaking funny.” Then she reaches up and pokes me in the chest, “Hey, can we go to the outlets when I come up this weekend?”
“What makes you think I want to spend my Saturday shopping with you?”
Evie gives me a side-eye, “Because you like shopping with me.”
“Why don’t you ask Mason?” I nod to my right, “He’s been wanting to take you out for a while. He’ll buy you whatever you want.”
Mason’s brow shoots up and I watch with amusement as he opens his mouth in shock, but nothing comes out.
Evie rolls her eyes, brushing me off, “Anyway, I’ll text you when I’m heading up.” She raises her arms and I do the same, wrapping her in a tight hug before she runs back across the parking lot.
Once she’s gone, Mason furrows his brow, “What the hell, dude?” he hisses.
“I’m trying to help you out,” I lean against the column of the awning, “she would’ve said yes if you asked.”
He ignores me and shoves his phone in his bag while we continue to wait for Aiden and Alex. I’m about to toss another jab his way when I catch him staring across the grass at the sidewalk. He’s tracking four girls as they make their way past us toward the line of cars on the street. The two in front, Bryce Decker and Logan Parrish, wave and yell at someone in the distance while the other two girls lag behind them.
The one with long dirty blonde hair and olive skin, Tyler Nixon, walks slowly while digging through her bag. She surreptitiously glances up as she passes, only to avert her eyes in panic when she realizes she’s been caught. Mason looks on, biting his lip so hard it’s about to bleed, but I don’t say anything. He flinches when Aiden appears out of nowhere and plants his hand on the column next to his head.
Spotting Sydney Van Doren at Tyler’s side, Aiden cranes his neck like a cat tracking its prey and bounds down the steps, taking a few strides into the grass before he makes a show of whistling to her. But it’s not flirtatious so much as he sounds like he’s whistling for a dog. Sydney whips her head around, tossing her icy blonde hair over her shoulder as she scowls, searching for the source of the sound. But she knows it’s him. Sydney glares at Aiden for a few moments as he squares off with her, but when Tyler stops to see what’s happened, Sydney continues down the sidewalk, hurrying her along to catch up with the others.
“That poor girl…” I mutter with a half-smile.
Alex appears at my shoulder, having just arrived to witness the scene, “I can’t believe Sydney hasn’t left town yet because of you,” he chuckles at Aiden.
“She won’t,” is all Aiden says as he watches her go.
Just as the girls disappear behind a row of cars, I see Bowen standing with the rest of Canaan’s soccer team next to the bus. He’s leaning against the back bumper, staring at us with a deadass vacant look in his eye that lets me know how much I got to him. As much as Bowen wants to ignore me, he can’t. But he doesn’t try to pick a fight when I see him in Canaan or Hellbranch at parties, or at homecoming when I go as Evie’s date, or on the nights we all meet out in the corn fields to race on the desolate country roads. He acts relatively normal, and to anyone else, we might even appear to be friends.
But they would be wrong.
Instead, Bowen waits until spring and then texts me out of the blue.
BOWEN (9:26PM): Saturday. Let me see how fast that car can go.
ME (9:31PM): it’s a date sugar pie
Leland Wiltshire’s farm backs up to Hellbranch Creek on the west side of the Wyandot Nature Preserve, hidden behind a grove of pines where you can park an entire convoy of cars without drawing the wrong kind of attention.
Whether you go north or south around the preserve, you’ll hit Grisham Road, which slices the forest in half. At the intersection, there’s an abandoned motorcycle shop decaying into the cracked asphalt, threatening to get swallowed up by honeysuckle. The sign outside used to say Grumpy’s, but now it’s just a rotting, faded slab of wood. Whenever I come to Canaan to race, we always meet at Leland’s.
By the time I park my black Civic behind the grove of pines next to the Wiltshire’s pole building, the clearing is already filled with cars and people milling around. I round the front of the car, meeting Evie on the other side as she grabs her backpack out of the backseat.
“Are you riding with Hildy to Grump’s?”
I don’t need to ask. I assume as much since she’s staying the night at Hildy’s. Evie usually rides with me wherever we go, but I won’t let her race with me.
“No…” Evie gives a little smile before quickly glancing over her shoulder.
Bowen’s leaning against the hood of his car at the opposite end of the pole building, talking to Jay while he smokes a cigarette.
“No,” I give a curt shake of my head, “no fucking way you’re getting in that car with him.”
I know exactly what he said to her, because I’ve said the same thing before strapping some girl into my car so I can get off on her screams when I slingshot around a blind curve into a straightaway and hit 90 all the way to the bridge at the creek.
