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The paramedics said he likely died before impact. He never stood a chance.
“When I came to later that day, I was handcuffed to a hospital bed. My manager was there, and he told me what had happened,” he says, sniffling. He drags the back of his hand across his nose before wiping it on his pants. “I couldn’t believe it. Thompson and I had been friends since he started racing for your family. We’d gone out for drinks together with some of the other guys, and after that day… I didn’t know what to do, or how to apologize to your family. I hated myself and I knew that you did too. And I knew that I deserved it,” he said, voice cracking as tears run down his face.
As I sit and watch him, I can hear my brother’s voice telling me not to go too hard on him. He’s been hard on himself every day since that one.
“How did you find out about the Fentanyl?” I ask. It wasn’t in any of the articles released about him.
“Mateo. He showed up later that night, told me that if I valued my life, I’d stay quiet. I guess he has people at the hospital on his payroll, because the next day the tox reports never showed anything but cocaine in my system,” he explains, and honestly, it all makes sense.
“What else?” I ask, knowing there has to be more.
“He said that the cops were going to ask me where I got the drugs and then gave me the name of a guy and the location I was supposed to say I bought it from. So, I did. The guy got picked up the next day. Got arrested, too.”
The son of a bitch has just been moving people in this town around like it’s his own personal chessboard, and we’re nothing but fucking pawns. Only now he’s attempting to mess with my girl, and I’m not about to stand by and watch him wipe her off the board.
“That it?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Pretty much. I never saw Mateo again after that. I lost my house after my wife left and then I moved out here. It’s all I could afford,” he says with a shrug, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
If this is all true, it may be enough information to rattle a confession out of Mateo. I do question the validity of his story, though.
“Why tell me all of this now? How do I know you aren’t lying to save your own ass?”
He lifts his gaze to mine, and the emptiness I see there is unsettling.
“Because I don’t care what happens to me now. Death would be so much easier than this,” he says.
I jerk my head back. I don’t like what he’s implying, and even more shocking to me, is how much I care. Sitting here in his house, looking at what his life has become, I know my brother wouldn’t have wanted this for someone he called a friend.
You can change this, my brother’s voice echoes in my mind.
“Thank you for telling me all of that,” I say, standing from my position on the corner of the table.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes following me, but still lost in the memories. “I hope it helps.”
“So do I,” I say, and turn back toward the front door.
I stop halfway across the room, turning back to look at Kent, sitting there, sinking into his couch, letting it eat him whole much like he’s let the world do to him.
“Kent,” I say, and he lifts his eyes to mine. “I forgive you.”
Tears spill from his unblinking eyes as he watches me go, and I can’t stop the nagging feeling I have to help this man get some semblance of his life back.
Once I’m back in my car, I pull the door shut and drop my head back against the seat.
Hot tears fall from the corners of my eyes as the memories of my brother and that day resurface yet again. I miss him more than anyone could imagine, but today, I feel his presence all around me, and I can’t help but think that he’d be proud of me and everything I’m trying to accomplish.
Wiping my face dry, I pull back out onto the street and call Rob.
I know exactly what I have to do next.
Chapter 90
“No way. Not happening.”
Sander crosses his arms over his chest, staring me down from across the kitchen table.
“Sander, I really wasn’t asking for permission,” I say, doing my best not to sound bratty and falling short.
