I'm a coward.

I couldn't stand hearing her cry. Couldn't look at her pained expression my betrayal caused. Couldn't say the right words because they don't exist.

My father has reasons for keeping things from Tara, but I'm the one sleeping in her bed. Although she didn't tell me everything about her past, she trusted me enough to let me in and share some of it, while I didn't. Couldn't.

She cares about me. Even after the shitty treatment I gave her, she was kind enough to look past my flaws and try to find the good in me. She sees the good in everyone and doesn't deserve the shit she's going through because of me.

"Where's Tarita?" Cara says, eying me as I descend the last few steps of the sprawling marble staircase one would expect to find at a five-star hotel and not in someone's home.

Words form a ball in my throat, but with a Herculean effort, I push them out. "Upstairs. She needs you."

A loud groan falls off Cara's lips as she barrels toward the stairs. "And here I thought you were different." She pauses when she's level with me and tips her head back. "All men are the same," she says with conviction.

I don't know about all, but I'm not good enough for Tara, and my heart aches for everything we could've been if I hadn't messed things up.

My eyes sting. I swallow thickly, nodding. "Just take care of her."

***

Staying with Tara, if only to show how much I care about her, crossed my mind. But she'd want answers I don't have, and there's only one person who can end the toxic cycle of people hurting her with secrets and half-truths.

Dad.

It's late enough that he should be home, and I drive down the familiar road fringed by dense woods. Hard-to-process emotions still coil tightly in my stomach. I oscillate between hating myself for letting Tara down and worrying about her reaction to the truth.

Besides, what's the point of the police waiting if she already knows something? I clutch the wheel with one hand and pull at my hair with the other, eyes trained on the road ahead.

Flashes of red and blue against the ebony sky make me straighten. As my Mustang approaches the police cruiser parked in the emergency lane, apprehension lances through my gut.

Several other vehicles are parked a few feet away. An ambulance. A black van. My father's Ford.

I slow and leave my car in park. Nobody's in sight, but Dad can't be far. I open the driver's door and get out of the Mustang, glancing left and right.

Muffled voices come from the woods, and light dances among the trees. I trudge along the narrow footpath toward what looks like the yellowish glow of a flashlight.

As I draw nearer, I spot people gathered around something with their backs to me. Dad is there, and I step forward. A tall guy in running gear gestures to an officer taking notes and steps aside, unknowingly allowing me to glimpse what's in front of them.

I see blond hair spilled over the new grass and stagger back. A scream itches to escape my throat, but I manage to push it down and close my eyes, taking several shallow breaths.

When I open my eyes, the horrible picture is still there. Someone I know. Dead.

"Sebastian!" Dad's gruff voice booms. Heads turn, and my knees buckle. I double over and empty the contents of my stomach.

My pulse hammers. Voices grow louder. Feet shuffle, a camera clicks. Someone thrusts a bottle of water into my hand.

Dad rubs circles on my upper back. "For God's sake, what are you doing here, Sebastian? It's a crime scene."

I wipe my nose with the back of my shaky hand. Dad squats so his face is level with mine. It dawns on me I'm on my knees, but I feel too weak to stand.

My father sighs. "Come on; let me help you."

He pulls me up, his arm secured around my shoulders. I sway as if I were drunk, and fuck, I wish I were.

Dad leads me away, nodding at the two uniformed guys who must be his colleagues. Breathing gets easier the farther we get from the scene.

As soon as we leave the people behind, Dad stops. My legs still wobble, so I lean against an oak tree and muster the courage to look him in the eyes.

"Phones exist for a reason," Dad says. Although his tone is reproachful, concern flits through his tired eyes. He takes the bottle of water from my hand, twists off the cap, and gives it back to me. "Drink, and tell me what you're doing here."

The cool liquid glides down my dry throat. A few hearty gulps later, I no longer taste the vomit and can talk.

"I was at Tara's," I say. "She knows you're investigating her father. I was driving to Ashwick to talk to you and saw your car. And...fuck. I know the dead girl."

Dad crosses his arms and arches a brow. "Say what?"

"She's..." I inhale, fighting another wave of nausea rising from my empty stomach. "Sadie from my class."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"That makes it easier," Dad mutters, running a hand through his hair. "Or harder. You'll have to answer a few questions to help us, but you shouldn't be here. I'll call detective Solano, then you'll wait for me in my car."

***

Several hours later, we're in our kitchen. Luckily, Mom is asleep. I don't have it in me to explain what happened.

Dad pours coffee into two mugs and gives me mine. "Let's go outside. I wouldn't want Nora to accidentally overhear."

I drag my feet to the garden. Dad and I sit on a log and sip our coffee.

"So, Tara knows something," Dad says.

"And she thinks I lied to her all this time, which I did."

Dad nods. "Vincent's in custody. I imagine he'll want to talk to his daughter, especially because I doubt he'll avoid jail. They built a solid case against him."

"You need to tell her." I angle my body toward Dad and rest the empty mug on the grass. "I don't want her to keep thinking I teamed up with you to ferret out info. Plus, Sadie was her friend. Tara will be devastated, and I can't even..."

Sadie also was Connor's girlfriend. How the fuck will I face him? What will I say?

"There was another murder in the area." Dad twirls the mug, the deep crease between his brows giving away his concern.

"Do you think they're connected?"

"It's too early to tell." He downs his drink and rubs his knuckles over the words New York on the mug. "But the other victim was of the same age and had a similar appearance. Sometimes I hate my job, Sebastian. As for Tara, she'll know everything. Someone will talk to her about Sadie as well. Maybe she knows something that can help us."

Dad reaches into the pockets of his worn leather jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. For the first time, I don't have it in me to scold him for poisoning himself.

I'd give up the world to be numb to the pain that fills me. Pain for Sadie. For the other girl whose name I don't know. For Sadie's family and Connor.

And Tara.

I want to be by her side, but will she let me?

***

I spend the night at my parents' and leave before Mom wakes up. Thoughts about the hard day ahead plague my brain as I enter our apartment.

In the foyer, my eyes land on a pair of male sneakers. I pick them up. What the hell?

"They're mine," Kenny says from the doorway. "Good morning. Hope you're not mad I'm here. Tara gave me the key."

I leave the shoes on the rack. "Hi. What's going on? Where's she?"

"At my place. She asked me to get a few things."

Kenny points at Tara's big suitcase propped against the wall.

A few things? I train my face to look unaffected, but Tara's friend is one of the few people I've never managed to fool.

I'm dying on the inside.

"She's trying to process stuff," Kenny says. "She told me about her father. Just give her space, Seb."

He says something else. Something about Tara being reasonable and talking to me once she's ready. He tells me white lies so I wouldn't break down like a motherfucker in front of him, but her suitcase laughs at me from the foyer floor.

She left. She fucking left me. 

Thank you for being patient while I write the last parts of Tara and Bast’s story. ❤ I try to do them justice and doubt myself more than I actually write. Sigh.

So...poor Sadie. 💔