Tess Sharpe - Far From You

Climbing the embankment isn’t possible. Not like this, not with my bad leg, and not with my good one, which is trembling almost as badly.

Hiding’s the only option.

The trees thicken as I limp farther into the woods as fast as I can, weaving between the pines as the smoky smell from the crash starts to fade into the dark scents of earth and water, a stronger tang of copper sharpening the breeze. My stomach’s wet; my shirt’s heavy with blood, slapping against my belly with each movement. I don’t have to look down to see the darkness of blood spreading. The cuts on my stomach are shallow but long; they sting with each breath I take, along with the pain in my ribs. But I keep moving. I have to keep moving as fast as I can.

For what feels like forever, it’s just me and my harsh breathing and each step crushingly loud in my ears, hurting, hurting, hurting, and wondering if it’s going to be my last. If I’m going to fall.

I collapse behind a group of boulders before my leg gives out, panting at the effort it takes to lower myself to the ground. My eyes droop shut, and I force them open again.

I have to stay conscious. I have to focus.

I have to stay alive.

I curl myself up, my knees tucked up near my chin, trying to make myself as small as possible, pressing against the solid rock. It hurts, makes me bite my lip hard, but I power through it, my ribs throbbing with each breath.

When I hear the footsteps, quick and solid through the brush, my heart leaps, my muscles seize up, and everything in me says run, run, run. It’s a death sentence, I know that, but I’m hardwired for fight or flight, even though I can’t do either.

I quiet my breathing and focus on the footfalls—are they coming toward me or heading away?

The crunching suddenly stops. I bend farther into myself, every muscle shrinking, as a deep voice in the distance, laced with panic, breaks the silence of the forest. “Adam? Adam? Where the fuck are you?” More footsteps, closer now.

Heading toward me.

Now there’s a snapping sound, someone thrashing through the underbrush.

Two sets of footsteps, coming from different directions: one sure and steady, the other stumbling, injured.

Matt and Adam. I curl up tighter, dread settling in my bones.

“Adam!” They’ve found each other. They’re still a good twenty feet away, but I can hear them.

“Did you see her?” Adam’s slurring his words. He must be really hurt.

Good. I hope he bleeds to death.

“See who? What the hell happened? That car…Your head! We need to get you to the hospital!” Matt’s voice, urgent, almost angry, sounds strange.

“No! We gotta find her! She knows everything. We gotta stop her before…before…”

“What are you talking about? Let’s go!”

“No, listen. She knows.”

“Knows what? Who? Come on, let’s move it!”

The footsteps start up again, and the voices are getting closer. Too late for me to move now. I cringe against the rock, wishing it’d swallow me up.

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Adam’s babbling, his words jumbled together. “All these years, I never told anyone. But I saw her get into your truck that day. I know what you did to Jackie. But I didn’t tell anyone; not even Mom or Matt. I thought it would be okay. But then Mina started asking questions. I had to stop her—I had to.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt’s voice growls, incredulous.

Wait.

No.

The footsteps are coming closer now as my sluggish brain trips over Adam’s confession, tracing it back.

I didn’t tell anyone; not even Mom or Matt.

It isn’t Matt on the other side of the rock.

If this isn’t Matt…

If it wasn’t Matt’s baby…

We’d kill for each other. That’s what family does.

That’s what Adam did. The realization jolts heavy in my stomach, and I can’t stop the sharp gasp for breath as it hits me.

“What was that?”

Before Adam can answer, there are boots moving on the ground. Those sure and steady steps that can’t be Adam.

His boots. Coming toward me.

He’s too fast. I try to get to my feet, but my bad leg collapses under me. I scrabble at the rock. I need a handhold to pull myself up. I need to run. I need to try.

But it’s too late.

He rounds the corner of the group of boulders I’m crouching beside, and when he turns his head and sees me, something like relief sparks in his eyes.

“Sophie,” he says, like it’s a normal day. Like I’ve been lost in the woods and he’d been sent to find me. “You’re hurt.” He reaches out, and he looks so concerned when he touches my face.

My head smacks against the boulder in my effort to get away. My good leg kicks out, twitching as every muscle locks up, screaming runrunrun. Pain throbs through me so badly, I lose my breath.

He smiles at me. That you-can-do-better smile that he used to shoot us when we’d miss a goal. “It’s okay, Sophie,” Coach Rob says. “I think it’s time we have a talk.”

FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

After Mina stops breathing, I can’t let go of her. I know I have to. I need to get up. Find help.

I have to let go.

I whisper to myself, rocking, her back pressed into my chest, her head cradled in the crook of my neck, my arms around her. “C’mon. C’mon.” But it’s almost impossible to unclench my fingers. To grasp her shoulders and lay her down on the ground. I tuck my jacket beneath her head. I wish, in a frantic moment that’s so sharp it leaves me gasping, that I had something to cover her with. It’s cold outside.

I brush a strand of hair off her forehead, smoothing it behind her ear. Her eyes are still open, hazy now, staring but not seeing the endless sky.

My hand shakes as I close them. It feels so wrong, like I’m taking away the last part of her.

I stagger up off my knees and drag myself, stumbling, toward the car. The door’s open, and the keys and our phones are gone.

Help. I need to get help. I repeat it over and over in my head. I have to drown it out, the voice that screams Mina, Mina, Mina, over and over and over.

I take one unsure step. Then another. And another.

I walk away from her.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

NOW (JUNE)

His hand slides from my cheek to my throat, applying the ­barest amount of pressure.

A warning.

“Don’t move,” he tells me quietly. “Adam,” he calls, raising his voice, and Adam rounds the corner to stand behind him. There’s blood all over Adam’s face, and he’s cradling his right arm like it’s broken.

I lunge, because it still burns inside me, how much I want Adam dead. It’ll never go away. It’ll probably be the last thing I feel.

Coach catches me by the throat and he squeezes, his fingers biting into my neck as he shoves me back against the rock, crowding against my body in a way that makes a whole new kind of fear bloom inside me.

“I told you not to move,” he says, and again, it’s his coach voice. Like he’s disappointed in me for missing a goal.

I whimper. An involuntary sound that wants to be a scream, but I don’t have the power for it.

“Why didn’t you kill her that night, too?” Coach asks Adam. He doesn’t even look at him; he’s staring at me, eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to memorize it. That and the punishing press of his body against mine keep me frozen and silent. “It would’ve been easier.”

Adam swallows, looking down at his feet. “But she didn’t do anything. I didn’t want to—it was Mina who was the problem.”

“You created a whole set of new problems by leaving a witness,” Coach says. “Not smart, Adam.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam mutters. “I was just…I wanted to help you. I thought I had it covered.”

Coach sighs. “It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to worry.” His hand tightens on my throat, and I can barely get a breath in. I start coughing, making my ribs move against each other all wrong, a grating, painful sensation that makes me dizzy. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “You have your gun?”

I have to bite down on my tongue to hold back the panic caught in the back of my throat. My head’s spinning; I’m not getting enough air.

“In the car, I think.”

“Go get it. Then come right back.”

“But—”

“Adam.” Coach turns to look at him impatiently. “My job is to look out for you. Your job is to listen to me. What do we say?”

“Family first.”

“That’s right. So let me take care of this. Go get the gun.”

I can hear the rustle of brush as Adam walks off. Coach waits until he’s gone before turning his attention back to me. His hand loosens on my neck, moving lower.

“No.” The word rips from my lips, because I’m terrified of what he might do. But he leaves his hand resting on my shoulder, pinning me to the boulder.

“They’ll figure it out,” I pant, wanting more air, not being able to get it. “They’ll get you. You can kill me, but they’ll get you. It’s over.”

“It’s not over until I say it is.” Coach’s fingers flex into my shoulder, five points of pain radiating through me. “I won’t let you ruin my nephew’s life.”

But I’m going to.

And with that understanding, despite the panic, a beautiful sense of calm falls over me. It’s probably shock or trauma more than an epiphany, but I don’t care. It feels too good after all the fear.

Adam’s blood is all over my car. Even though Coach will kill me, this is the end for them. Trev and the police will figure it out. He’ll make sure they pay.

I lift my head with some effort. My vision wavers; I’m running on adrenaline and I’m gonna crash soon, but I want to be looking into his eyes when I say it. “I’m going to ruin both of your lives. I don’t have to be alive to do that. Too many people know what I was doing. By now, the police are looking for me—and for Adam. They’ll find my car. They’ll find my body, wherever you dump it. You know my mom—you think someone like her will stop at anything? My dad thought you were a friend, but he’ll see through you. My aunt is a bounty hunter; finding people is her job. Trev has all the evidence—he’ll never rest until it’s done. Until you’re done. You were right, Coach: family does come first. And my family will bring yours down.”

“I’m not going to discuss this,” Coach says, like I’ve brought up something mildly annoying.

“You’re a murderer. You killed Jackie and her baby. You probably raped—”

The shift in his demeanor—so in control, so steady and normal even while he’s got me pinned—is lightning fast. He slams me against the boulder and I cry out as he presses close. My spine feels like it’s being crushed by his weight. “Don’t you ever say that,” he hisses. “Should I have let Matt drag her down with him? I saw the way he was going. I loved that girl. And she loved me.”

My eyes widen at the implications. “You—did you—were you and Jackie…together?” The disgust drips from me. He’s my dad’s age. It’s almost worse if she’d loved him. If she’d trusted him.

He doesn’t say anything.

“You didn’t even have to force her to go with you, did you?” My voice cracks. It hurts to talk. My throat’s bruised from his hands. “I bet it was easy. Just told her you wanted to talk about the baby, and she got right in your truck.”

He stares at me, his hands loosening on my shoulders, transfixed by my words, by the exposure of the secret he’s been keeping for so many years. I recognize that look, know it all too well. When you’re kept by a secret, the first time you hear it spoken out loud is mesmerizing.

Over Coach’s shoulder, through the shadow of the trees, I see a pinprick of light. It moves steadily back and forth, like someone’s looking for something.

Looking for me.

Trev.

Coach doesn’t see it; he’s lost in the past. “I told her to get rid of it, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t understand what it’d do to me. She just…” He lets out a rough exhale, angry at a girl who just wanted to live.

His hands tighten on my shoulders, pinning my arms and lifting me off my feet. I scrabble frantically with my hands, trying to grab something, anything. My fingers brush against some loose pebbles, scattering them, and then snag a bigger, rougher piece of slate, unable to get a good enough grasp to lift it.