Not the Only One (Book 1 in the Four of Us Trilogy)

Sixty-Three - May 13, 2018

My God... this could not be happening. My father was a terrible person, yes. He was conceited, pompous, meaner than a snake, and a rapist. But a murderer? Would he really hit a person with a car and drive away? Was he truly that cold-blooded? And when did he ever own a black minivan?

I lay the article down and picked up the photo next. It turned my stomach - a recent photo of Rachel and Luke – they clearly did not know it was being taken. I knew it was recent because she wore my Bay High baseball hoodie. They were laughing and Rachel was shoving Luke playfully. Why did my father have a photo of Rachel and Luke? What was he planning? I flipped the photo over and felt rage bubble inside me. There was a Post-It with a message written in my father's handwriting.

Rachel & Luke– cheating on Miles? Believable?

I clenched my teeth and my nostrils flared. What was he going to do? Break me and Rachel up because he was afraid I'd find out what he'd done and tell her? Jesus Christ...

The last thing in the stack was the receipt. The first one was from Destin Collision Center – a cash payment of $5,506.32 – under the name Salazar. What the fuck?

I sat back in the leather chair, closing my eyes. This was too much. All of this was proof – proof that my father either killed James or at least had something to do with it.

I still didn't know where the black minivan fit in. I sat up, picking up the envelope in order to put the papers back inside – wishing I could unsee all of this.

But there was something else in the envelope. Something solid. I reached inside and pulled out a key.

A key to a vehicle.

A minivan? There was no way to know.

But deep inside me... I knew.

My father killed James Cross.

I suddenly felt my stomach lurch, and I dropped the envelope, running to the bathroom. I barely made it before I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

I coughed and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash from under the sink. I stood with my hands on the counter, looking down at the ground for a few minutes. I didn't know what to do next.

But I knew one thing: Rachel would never, ever be able to get past this. And I wouldn't blame her.

Our relationship may as well be over.

I had to protect her – no matter the means.

Rachel

Miles was supposed to text me and let me know when to come over to his house – his dad was out of town and we would finally have a chance to be alone. But that was hours ago, and I haven't heard from him since. He wasn't picking up the phone or answering my messages. So I decided to just drive over there and check it out.

After kissing my mom goodbye, I drove the six miles to Miles' house. Sure enough, his Jeep was in the driveway. Maybe his phone died or something.

I jumped out of the Impala, jogging to the door. I knocked, but no one answered. I turned the doorknob – it was open.

I pushed it open gingerly and called out, "Miles? It's me!"

"In here," he called, and his voice sounded strangled.

I went into the kitchen toward the sound of his voice, and he was sitting at the island on a stool, staring straight ahead.

"Miles, you never texted me... Are – are you okay?" I asked, putting my hand on his bicep.

He moved his elbows off the table and my hand fell limply to my side. "I'm fine," he said flatly.

I narrowed my eyes. "You are not. What happened?" I put my hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off and glared at me.

"Rachel, stop. Leave me alone," he snapped, his blue eyes steely and cold.

I bristled. Miles had never spoken to me this way before. "Excuse me? What is your problem?"

He stood up and crossed his arms. "I don't have a problem."

"Really? Then why are you talking to me like this?" I asked, angry at my voice for cracking and betraying me.

At the crack in my voice, his eyes softened, but only a little. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I just... I can't see you right now."

My eyebrows came together and my heart sank. 'What – what do you mean?"

"Rachel, please, just go."

A traitorous tear slid out of my eye onto my cheek. "Fine."

I stormed into the foyer. My hand was on the doorknob when Miles called my name. When I turned around, he was right behind me.

"What?" I snapped, wiping my eyes.

"I – I'm sorry, Rachel," he said, his face contorted with pain.

"You should be," I responded, slamming the door behind me.