Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I say, nodding, trying to keep my words as simple and direct as possible so I don’t break. “What else?”
“Is that your lawyer voice?” Sebastian asks, giving me an affectionate look that, given how many lies by omission I’m telling him, I’m not sure I deserve. He goes on. “She was found three days after she was killed— that’s what the coroner says. So it she had to be murdered on February 18th. On the 18th, one of my brothers— Tyson, the youngest— and I had spring training games. My dad came to both of them, which means he spent basically the entire day driving to and from those games. There are photos of him at them.”
“What about after the games?” I ask.
“That’s where it gets tricky,” Sebastian says, frowning. “He doesn’t have an alibi after five o’clock. Except for my brother, Carson. Carson met him for dinner that night. But there isn’t any evidence other than Carson’s word for it. There’s a traffic video of Carson’s car when he’s driving to meet my dad, but dad isn’t with him. And since they’re family, people seem to think Carson is covering something up.”
“And you know he isn’t,” I say. “You’re sure he isn’t.”
Sebastian nods. “Carson wouldn’t make that up. But Carson also isn’t always the most responsible person. He doesn’t really remember where they went to eat, and he doesn’t know what time they left. It just looks like a story with holes in it, when really it’s just a story that Carson’s telling. And plus, there was no reason for him to remember it, after all. It was just dinner. Just another night.”
“Right,” I say, nodding. There’s plenty more I’d like to bring up, but it’ll make it obvious that I know far more about the case than I’ve let on. Like, for example, the fact that the traffic video doesn’t definitely show Carson behind the wheel of the car— it’s his car, but it’s not so clear that it’s him. Or the fact that Carson named three restaurants they went to that evening, but employees at all three said they hadn’t seen him come in, and noted that someone as large and eye-catching as Carson would be hard to forget. Or the fact that it’s totally possible— sick, but possible— that Dennis Slate killed my aunt before going to dinner with his son, managed to keep it cool while they were there, then went back to move her body afterward.
But I can’t say any of that, so instead I settle on this: “Sebastian…what if he did do it?”
“What?” Sebastian asks, eyes widening. He can’t believe I’ve said this, and the air in the car seems to grow instantly thicker, darker.
I take a breath to steady myself. “What if he did it? What does that mean for you? Have you even considered it?” I ask, voice a near-whisper but words clear and desperate all the same. “What if he confessed. Would you still forgive him?”
“He’s my dad,” Sebastian says after a long moment. “I guess I’d have to.”
“How? If he’s a killer, how can you forgive that? How can you just sweep that under the rug—“ I have to stop myself, because I feel the threat of tears, I hear the way my voice is growing high and hurt. There’s one more thing, though, one more question I have to ask. “Would you lie for him?”
I have to know because this, to me, is the real danger. Sebastian isn’t his father— I know that. But if Sebastian would lie for his father, would let a guilty man go free, would let my aunt’s murder go unpunished…then he’s not his father, but perhaps he’s just as guilty. My breath catches as I wait for Sebastian to answer; each second that goes by makes the pit in my stomach expand.
Finally, Sebastian shakes his head without looking at me. “Ashlynn, I don’t need to lie for him. My dad is the man who got me into football. Who coached every team I ever played on. Who made me everything I am. If he’s a murderer, then what am I? I’m all his doing,” Sebastian says.
“If he’s a murderer, then you’re just his son,” I argue. “You aren’t a bad person because your dad might have done a bad thing. I just— Tessa Miller died, Sebastian. A woman died. And that woman’s murderer needs to be put in jail forever.”
“Then it won’t do anyone any good if my father is put in jail— because he didn’t do it,” Sebastian says firmly.
He believes his father— he believes in Dennis Slate’s innocence at his very core. There won’t be any changing Sebastian’s mind, winning him over to my side. We may be together when it comes to our hearts and bodies and time and kisses, but when it comes to this— when it comes to justice— we’re polar opposites.