The Safe Bet (The Game Changers #3) (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

May 2003

The detectives were in touch as promised. They called when Ivy’s parents arrived in town with their high-powered attorney to press charges against me for vehicular manslaughter. They stopped by the day of her funeral, for which I hid in the back of the funeral home until I couldn’t take it anymore. It was seconds after they wheeled her closed casket to the front. It was white and covered in light pink roses. The minister said three words before I signaled to my mother that I couldn’t stay.

“Ivy Dunn was—” That was all I could hear. I didn’t want to hear what he thought she was, because at the end of the day, she was dead, and that was all she was. And it was all my fault.

When the detectives called a few days later to ask me again what I could remember, I still couldn’t give them anything. Once the case was passed on to the district attorney, I had the pleasure of dealing with my own lawyer. Between the meetings with the attorney, the doctor’s appointments, and the trauma counselor my mother insisted I see, I didn’t have much time for anything else. But it didn’t matter; I was too tired for more anyway.

Even in my depressed state, I still thought about Brock, not that I ever voiced that to anyone. I was either wondering where everything went wrong with him or constantly predicting the impending doom I was going to soon face. It was a toss-up which of the two was worse: jail or a padded room for when I went completely crazy. I couldn’t decide which I preferred. At least in jail, I’d have everyone else’s drama to distract me.

The detectives came by on a Tuesday to let us know the charges had been dropped. They explained that someone came in and gave a deposition that had them investigating Ivy further. They found her emails, one in particular, that essentially cleared me of any responsibility. When they showed it to me, I couldn’t believe it. The highlighted part read:

Don’t worry. God won’t let me die. I stopped wearing my seatbelt years ago. With as many red lights as I run, you’d think a truck would have already hit and killed me, but no. Do you know what I have ingested in my body over the last several months? I must be superhuman because I’m still here. One day I’m going to really tempt fate, and God won’t know what to do with me.

Sometimes I think that if I just drive over a bridge and whip my steering wheel to the right, I could go over the side and crash to my death. God would probably laugh at me and say, “Not this time, Ivy.” Maybe it would be easier if someone else was driving. Then I could take a friend with me to hell. God wouldn’t give in that easily, though, would he? I think God likes a challenge, and this game we’re playing is dangerous. I’m just not sure for who anymore.

I read the words, and yet it didn’t sink in. I was still grieving my friend. Surely she hadn’t planned my death along with hers. Did Neal know about this? I couldn’t see who the email was to, but if he had known, surely he would have told Brock, and Brock would have warned me. Did Brock know and not tell me? Suddenly my decision to stay away from him made complete sense. It was an instinct I had that day I saw him and Candace together, but maybe my gut had been telling me more.

My mom thought speaking with the detectives would ease me out of my depression, but I slipped further and further into a dark hole instead.

I killed my friend.

I killed Ivy.

Ivy planned it.

Ivy tried to kill me.

Ivy is dead.

The thoughts were on repeat daily. When I slept, I dreamt of the accident. I had visions of Ivy pulling the wheel, so eventually I stopped sleeping. When I was awake, the only thing I could do was let the thoughts play. My brain flipped from remembering Ivy to wondering about Brock. It was a vicious cycle from which I couldn’t escape.

Finally, my mom thought I needed to get away. I honestly think she was sick of me or didn’t know what to do with me anymore. By Friday, she had me in the car on the way to my father’s house. I didn’t question any of it. She was worried. It all seemed to make sense at the time. Everything seemed so out of reach for me.

“You’re going to see your father. He knows you’re coming,” she had said. “You need to take a break from home. It just reminds you of Ivy and Brock.” She knew I hadn’t spoken to Brock since the accident. I hadn’t spoken to anyone.

My thoughts were too chaotic to stay focused on one thing anyway, but when my mother suggested I go see my father, I wondered if he would be happy to see me. We spoke on the phone once since the accident. He was kind and supportive. He acted like a dad would, but I couldn’t even fully appreciate it until my mother mentioned the visit. I became fixated on the idea that my daddy could distract me from the pain I should be feeling. Repairing our relationship would be just the thing I needed, so I finally agreed.

My mom helped me pack and loaded up a basket of healthy snacks that remained in the backseat in favor of the junk food I bought at the gas station on the way out of town. She drove me there and only made me call when we were five minutes away. Oddly enough, he sounded excited to see me. I felt…nothing.

As soon as I pulled up to the brick ranch, he stepped out the front door. He looked like my dad but older. I remained in the car for a second while I stared at him. He was doing the same to me from the front door. It was only then I wondered if this had been a good idea. Too late now, I told myself. I was already here. He had seen me, so it would be ridiculous if I bolted now. Besides, I had always been curious to meet whoever he left us for.

“Go ahead, Reagan. Everything will be fine,” my mother said, but I noticed she wasn’t getting out of the car.

He stepped off the porch and started down the walkway to my car. I let out a deep breath and opened my door. “Reagan,” he said as he came closer. He gave me a warm hug that left me feeling, you guessed it, nothing. I should have felt warm or relieved, but his tense body didn’t welcome me like most dads hugging their children. There was a reluctance there that made every interaction strained.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Reagan,” he responded blandly, as if I saw him every day.

“Thanks for letting me come see you.”

“Of course. You know you’re welcome here any time.” No, I didn’t, but okay. “Can I help you with your bags?”

“I just have the one.” He followed me and pulled my duffel bag out of the trunk of my mom’s car. He waved to her, and she barely waved back. She didn’t even really say goodbye to me, but I understood. She knew I wouldn’t react anyway. What was the point of saying goodbye to someone who wasn’t really present?

There was an awkward moment of silence before he nodded toward the house. He led me down the path into the house. The rose bushes outside were fragrant, and the floral scent followed us into the house.

“Your room is over here.” We walked through the large family room with a floral sofa set and traditional furnishings from the nineties. It was so unlike the dad I used to know that I assumed his wife must have decorated without his input. Down a hallway, he showed me a bathroom and then the bedroom, which looked like a garden threw up in there. There was even a brass bowl of potpourri. I didn’t even know they still made that crap. It explains why the house smelled like an old lady, though.

Dad dropped my bag on the bed. “Do you want to get settled or would you like me to show you around?” He seemed anxious, almost like he was hoping for something, but I wasn’t sure which response he wanted.

I took a shot. “Show me around.”

I must have picked the wrong answer because his face looked physically pained. I didn’t change my mind despite his expression. I wanted to know why he was being so weird.

“Clara is at the grocery store,” he said as he slowly moved down the hall. “She wants us all to have dinner tonight. She’s made lasagna but wanted to include a salad in case you were worried about healthy eating like your mom.”

“I’m not.”

“I figured.” He shrugged. “This is the living room.” He kept walking, so I kept following. “Kitchen,” he said when we entered the large space with wooden cabinets and laminate countertops that probably came with the house. The appliances were white, and everything was perfectly clean. I smelled something cooking instead of the overwhelming floral scent. I missed the smell of fresh linens at my mom’s house, but I was trying to forget. It would be easy to forget everything. Everything felt so foreign that my mind kept taking in new things.

“You hungry or thirsty?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Okay.” He guided me through the dining room, then pointed to another hall. “My bedroom is down there. My office is over here. Another bathroom…” And we were back in the living room. Why was this so awkward?

I looked around to avoid looking at him, expecting something more than what he was willing to give when my eyes caught the pictures on the mantle. They were family portraits. A man—my dad—a woman who I assumed to be Clara, and a boy that grew into a teenager. There was another picture of the boy at a graduation, then another at the beach. Who was he?

“He’s your brother.” My dad answered my unspoken question.

“I have a brother?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly I was feeling again, and it was anything but a good feeling. My insides felt like they were going to explode out of me with everything coursing through my body. I had a brother! I had a freaking brother! All the nothingness was gone and replaced by anger. My breathing became shallow as I fought against the scream tearing at my throat. I always thought I was a fairly rational person, but right then my mind was out of control. My heart pounded, and my cheeks flushed as the heat inside me bubbled up.

“What!” tore out of my body. It felt alien, like it wasn’t even me screaming.

“He’s your brother. I knew Clara before I married your mother. You knew that.”

“But I didn’t know I had a brother.”

“I don’t know what to say to you. I failed with you. They were my second chance,” he pleaded.

“You didn’t fail with me until this moment. How could you, Dad?”

“Don’t put all the blame on me. This is the first time you ever came to visit.”

“That’s no excuse!” I screamed. “I was a kid when you left.” My tone had not settled. The calm had not come, and I feared I would forever be shaken by this moment. “You kept a brother from me!”

Silence stretched between us until the sound of a garage door polluted the tense air. Dad’s eyes widened slightly before he said, “What’s done is done. It’s time for you to quiet down. Why don’t you get settled in your room while I help Clara with the groceries?”

In utter disbelief, I stormed away and hid in the hideously decorated guest room while they spoke quietly in the kitchen. I paced the length of the room while trying to process everything once again. I had a brother. A brother. My whole life I had believed I was an only child. I was raised as an only child. My mother hadn’t so much as dated a man with kids, and suddenly I found out I have a brother. I considered if I wanted to know about him, to know him. How old was he? Where was he? Would I meet him? I had so many questions, but I knew I needed to calm down before I spoke to my father again. Another outburst would get me nowhere with him. My father used to walk away when I cried as a baby, not to mention the infamous Magic Kingdom experience.

A knock on the door startled me, but I figured it was my father coming to talk. I opened it to reveal a petite, dark-haired woman instead. Clara was beautiful and timeless. Despite her decorating, she was simple in her appearance. Her straight hair fell to her shoulders, and if I didn’t know my father had met her in high school, it would have been hard to determine her age.

“Reagan?” She greeted me without a smile. “I’m Clara. Your father told me how things went earlier. I thought I should check on you. He’s so bad in delicate situations.”

You could say that again.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. It was just a surprise.”

“I can imagine. Why don’t we have dinner, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know?” Of course, Clara had to be super nice. I couldn’t even hate her for taking my dad if she was going to be like this. I had planned my whole life to hate this woman, and my dad had to go and distract me with the news of a sibling, something I longed for my whole life. Now I was too busy hating my dad to think twice about Clara.

I asked question after question at dinner. There was no talking unless I was imposing or Clara was responding. The food was fine, but I don’t even really remember it. I only ate to have something to do while I thought of what to say next.

While my dad cleared the dishes and started loading the dishwasher, Clara turned to me. “I’m glad you and your father are spending time together. I think you both probably needed to spend some time face-to-face, but if you being here is too much for him, I’ll have to ask you to leave. I won’t have my family destroyed because of your hurt feelings.”

Sure, I was taken back by her candor, but at least I knew where I stood with her.

***