She’s out there, hearing Jenni’s lies, and I can’t even warn her.
I pocket the phone and run with no plan or hesitation, because if Honey believes her, if I lose her over something I didn’t do, it won’t just break me. It’ll finish me.
I need to get to her.
Now.
No. No. No.
The phone feels like a brick in my trembling hands. The screen blurs as tears I refuse to shed cloud my vision. The words on the display might as well be written in a foreign language because my brain refuses to process them.
This can't be happening.
This can't be real.
My world tilts on its axis and I grip Chris’s granite countertop so tight, my knuckles turn white. The cold stone beneath my palms is the only thing anchoring me to reality right now.
“Honey?” Chris's voice cuts through the static in my head. He's standing in the doorway of his kitchen, his brows drawn tight. “What's going on? Are you okay?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How do you explain that your life just imploded in under sixty seconds? That everything you believed just might be a lie?
My phone buzzes again.
Another unknown number.
I should throw the damn thing in the sink and break it, but my thumb is already moving, unlocking the screen.
Unknown:Told you to check Zach’s location. I’m embarrassed for you.
My vision tunnels. Murphy’s. That’s where Jenni said she was, and I could’ve sworn I heard him.
Panic claws at my throat as I swipe open the location-share app. I swore I’d only use this while he was away, but I need to know.
Ineedto know it’s all a lie.
Zach isn’t there. He’s with his coach… like he said.
When the map comes up, I choke on my own breath.
Two dots.
Zach.
Jenni.
Side by side.
At Murphy’s.
My chest caves in on itself. My stomach freefalls, crashing through bone and concrete until there’s nothing left but rubble.
Chris steps closer, worry etched all over his face, but his phone buzzes before he can say anything. He frowns at the display, swipes, and brings it to his ear.
That’s when the sobbing starts.
The sound that comes through the speaker isn't human. It's raw, broken, and animalistic. Jenni's sobs pierce through the phone with such intensity that I physically recoil.
“Chris,” she chokes out between gasps. “I—I need help.”