The man’s face twisted in anger. He kicked Evan in the head. Evan saw stars. Blood was dripping into his eyes. The world was fading.

The man staggered out of Evan’s view again. When he returned, he had a kitchen towel pressed to his side, a large knife in his other hand.

He held the knife to Evan’s neck, the cold blade under his Adam’s apple. Terrified, Evan couldn’t even close his eyes now to brace himself for what was next. But then the man moved away from him, and Evan no longer felt the steel on his neck.

The man seemed to be examining the mark he’d left on Evan’s head from his boot.

He stood, hands on hips, studying Evan and the blood trail.

Then he seemed to make a decision. He carried Evan outside and dropped his limp body on the patio.

On his side, Evan could see everything. The man looked around, as if surveying whether Evan was visible from outside the property. He was gone again, but returned with what looked like food from the refrigerator. He poured leftover spaghetti meat sauce all over Evan. Dumped mac and cheese and bread near the gate. With his latex gloves covered in red from the spaghetti, he unlatched the gate for some reason, opened it a crack.

“I’ll give you that,” the man said to Evan. “You’ve got a lot of fight in you. We’ll see how you do with the dogs.”

Evan didn’t know what he meant by that.

At that moment, he was in the football bleachers holding Liv’s hand on a cold Friday night in October, the kids—Matt, Magpie, and somehow even Tommy—sitting beside them cheering at the spiral that had just connected and won the game. The quarterback tore off his helmet, his eyes searching the stands until he found them, pointing at Evan and his family, as if it were all for them.

And it was.

CHAPTER 65

MATT PINE

The front door was open. Matt walked from the foyer to the living room. Well decorated with crown molding and wainscoting, the room was filled with flowers and wreaths on stands.

Matt went into the kitchen and saw dishes in the sink, half-eaten slices of cake, finger food on plates, the remnants of the wake for his family.

Kyle Brawn walked into the kitchen, carrying more dishes.

“Matt! Oh crap, you scared me,” he said. “We were just cleaning up. We had so many people wanting to pay their respects, your family was so loved, it was just so—”

Matt charged him.

Kyle Brawn flew backward, his arms flailing, the dishes flying, crashing to the floor. Kyle’s back slammed against the large stainless-steel refrigerator. Matt’s forearm jammed against Kyle’s neck. Kyle’s eyes bulged, wild with fear.

Matt screamed, “You thought you got away with it!”