My finger hovers over the phone screen. The notification glares up at me. Two new voicemails from Summer. Somehow they've pierced through the digital wall I built when I blocked her number yesterday.
I glance toward the community center where Jenna disappeared five minutes ago. The meeting's already started without me, though it was my suggestion to come here in the first place.
Rain patters against the windshield, creating a soothing white noise that should calm my nerves but doesn't. My thumb hovers over the play button. I shouldn't listen. I know I shouldn't. Nothing good can come from hearing Summer's voice right now. And yet...
I press play.
"Scott! Please, baby, it wasn't what it looked like! I swear I wasn't cheating on you again. I would never do that!"
Her voice fills the car, frantic and breathless. I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
"Taevion is dead, Scott. He's fucking dead! I got him killed for you!" Her voice rises hysterically, cracking with emotion. "My brother… Jonah shot him. Right in front of me. I went there to get his stash, not to sleep with him. I wanted… I needed. Please call me back. Please, Scotty. I love you so much. I did all this for us… For you! Everything was for you!"
The message ends. I sit frozen, trying to process what I just heard. Taevion is dead? Shot by Jonah? What the actual fuck?
Before I can even begin to untangle that bombshell, the second message starts playing.
"It's me. I just… I had Jonah kill him because he hurt you, hurt us. I got his drugs to keep you with me because I can't lose you again. Please, Scott. Please come home so I can explain. I'll do anything…"
The rain seems to drum harder against the roof as the second message ends, matching the pounding in my chest. I stare at the phone in my hand like it's a venomous snake that just bit me.
She had someone killed. My wife had someone murdered. For me.
A strange, unwelcome thought creeps into my mind, bringing with it a wave of guilt. Despite how deplorable murder is, I can't seem to muster much sympathy for Taevion. The man was human garbage who exploited vulnerable people. If anyone deserved a bullet...
"Jesus Christ, what am I thinking?" I mutter, shaking my head violently as if to dislodge these dangerous thoughts.
"Should I call the cops?" This isn't just about Summer drugging me anymore, it's about murder. My hands tremble as I open the browser on my phone and type "Taevion" into the search bar.
The first result is a news article from yesterday. "Gang Leader Dies in ICE Dispute, Authorities Cite Drug Territory Clash." I click on it, scanning the details with growing disbelief. The article describes how Taevion was shot multiple times during what appeared to be an Immigration and Customs Enforcement operation gone wrong. No mention of Summer or her brother.
"I guess there's no point going to the cops then," I whisper to the empty car, a sick feeling settling in my stomach.
The rain intensifies, drumming against the roof like an urgent message I can't quite decipher. What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? My wife didn't just have someone killed, she had her ICE agent brother do it under the cover of an official operation.
And she did it for me. For us.
Summer's words from weeks ago echo in my mind, words I'd dismissed as dramatic exaggeration.
"If you ever leave me, I'll kill you," she'd said.
But now...
"Fuck," I whisper, my breath fogging the window. "She wasn't joking."
All those times she'd threatened to "punish" me if I stepped out of line. I thought it was just her weird way of expressing devotion. But she actually had someone murdered. Someone who hurt us.
My thoughts race to Jenna, sitting in that meeting right now, completely unaware of what's happening. If Summer finds out I'm staying with her, even platonically...
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. "She'll kill Jenna without hesitation."
Summer wasn't just being possessive or dramatic. She wasn't full of shit. She's legitimately dangerous, capable of orchestrating murder through her ICE agent brother and making it look like a government operation.
I'm on my feet and moving before the thought fully forms. My body feels disconnected, like I'm watching myself from somewhere outside and above. The rain-soaked walk from the car to the community center passes in a blur. I push through the double doors, barely registering the drone of the speaker's voice echoing through the meeting room.
My eyes scan the crowd until I spot Jenna's pink hair. She's sitting off to the side, fidgeting with her oversized glasses. I make my way toward her, barely aware of the faces turning to watch me as I cross the room. My wallet is already in my hand, fingers fumbling to extract a hundred-dollar bill.
I slide into the empty chair beside her, leaning close so no one else can hear.
"Here," I whisper, pressing the bill into her palm. "Take this."
Jenna's eyebrows furrow as she stares at the money, confusion written across her face. "Scott, what the hell? Are you okay?" She studies my face more closely. "You look sick. Like, really sick."
My voice comes out strained, urgent. "Summer had her ICE agent brother kill my drug dealer."
Jenna's eyes widen, her mouth forming a perfect O of shock.
"I think if she finds out we're helping each other, she'll kill you too," I continue, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I need to go. I can't stay here."
"But I need help," she whispers, her fingers closing around the bill. "You promised…"
"I'm not joking, Jenna," I cut her off, my voice dropping even lower. "She will literally kill you. If she comes looking for you, just say nothing. Don't mention me, don't mention anything." My hand grips her wrist, probably too tight. "Whatever you do, do not tell her you tried to ruin my life, okay?"
She just stares at me, her face pale beneath her makeup. For a moment I think she might argue, but then she gives a small, jerky nod.
"Okay," she whispers, the single word barely audible.
I release her wrist and stand up, ignoring the curious glances from nearby attendees. My legs feel unsteady as I walk back toward the exit, pushing through the double doors and back into the rain. The cold drops hitting my face help clear my head slightly but I still have no idea what to do next.