Page 69 of Deviant
I cross the room, stopping when I’m close enough that she has to tilt her face up to look at me, but far enough that she can’t back up without hitting the wall.
“Rhett. Your eye?—”
“Don’t.”
She swallows. “I don’t know what you?—”
“Molly, I know about the phone.”
The color leaves her face the same way it left Jessica’s, because she knows exactly which phone I mean.
“I don’t?—”
“The burner.” I hold her eyes and don’t let her look away. “I know you were in the woods. I know what you saw and I know what you’ve been doing with it. It was you, Molly.”
She says nothing. Her jaw is tight, her eyes bright, and I can see the calculation happening behind them, wondering what I can prove and what exactly I’m going to do about it.
Something shifts in her expression. The guilt is still there, but something else rises up alongside it.
“You want to talk about whatIdid?” Her voice cracks but she holds it. “You led me on for three months, Rhett. Three months of me wondering what was wrong with me. Why you wouldn’t touch me. Why every time I got close to you it felt like you were somewhere else entirely. Do you know what that does to a person? Thinking you’re not enough? Thinking maybe he’s with someone else, maybe there’s another girl, maybe I’m just—” She stops. Breathes. “I deserved to know the truth.”
“You deserved the truth,” I say. “You didn’t deserve to go digging through my private life with a burner phone and a folder full of surveillance.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” The hurt in her voice is real—I canhearthat it’s real. “You wouldn’t talk to me; you wouldn’t touch me. I thought if I could just figure out what was wrong, if it was another girl, then at least I’d understand. And then I sawthe way you looked at him…” Her jaw tightens. “At Colt. At the bonfire. And I thought…I thought I was imagining it, so I kept watching. Because I needed to know if I was crazy or if I was right.”
“You were right, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I let it go on as long as it did. That was wrong and I know it. But being hurt doesn’t make what you did okay. You stalked me. You watched me. You sent threatening texts to me and to him from a phone you bought specifically to hide what you were doing. You don’t get to stand here and tell me you’re owed something after that.”
“I just wanted you to love me.”
“I know.” I hold her eyes. “And I couldn’t. That’s on me. But what you did after?—”
“You were going to hide it forever!” Her voice sharpens. “You were going to keep lying to me, to your family, to everyone. You needed someone to?—”
“You weren’t going to expose me out of some noble intention, so don’t give me that shit. You were angry and hurt and you wanted a weapon—that’s what this was.” My voice is raised now.
“Rhett ” She looks at the two guys watching us and drops her voice. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” I look at her steadily. “It’s a small town. Everyone talks, right? That’s what you were counting on.” I let that sit for a second. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to delete every photo, every screenshot, every text thread, tonight. The burner phone goes too. And you’re going to leave me and anyone connected to me completely alone.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I start talking. I will tell everyone the fact that you spent your summer stalking your ex-boyfriend and sending anonymous threats instead of moving on.” My voice is carrying just enough that the guys at the next table have stopped pretending not to listen. “I will talk about it here, in this bar, andthen I talk about it everywhere else in this town until everyone in Cedarbrook knows exactly what you did.”
Her face has gone white. “You wouldn’t.”
“It’s a small town.” I lean in slightly, dropping my voice to something that only she can hear. “You came after a Thornwood, Molly, with the intention of using what you found to control me. We have been in this county for four generations. My grandfather shook hands with every mayor this town has had since before your parents were born. You want to talk about who this town will believe?” I straighten up. “Toss the phone. Tonight. And think very carefully about whether any version of this ends well for you if you don’t.”
“I loved you,” she says, her voice breaking slightly on it. “I just…I wanted you to?—”
“You didn’t love me. You loved theideaof me—the ranch and the name and the picture it made. That’s not the same thing and somewhere deep down, you know that.” I straighten up. “Toss the phone, Molly. Tonight.”
She stares at me. Her eyes are bright, her jaw tight, and she looks like a woman who came into this conversation holding something and is realizing, piece by piece, that her hands are empty.
“Okay,” she says finally.
“Okay,” I say back. Then I turn and walk away from Molly for the last time.
Halle is at the bar when I get back to my stool. She sets a fresh beer in front of me and leans against the counter with her arms crossed, looking at me with that expression again.
