Whatever reasons Lane had built up to push Charlie away began to crumble. His confident voice of reason spoke louder than the whispers of doubt circling her mind. But what if Miguel wasn’t innocent? What if he was capable of hurting someone . . . like she was? Lane pulled her hand away and took a step back. “It’s more than that, Charlie. Miguel and I are the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night my husband died. I—” She bit her lip. Was she really going to do this? Her stomach tightened with fear at what he would think of her when he knew the truth about what she had done. She licked her lips and started again. “I tried to kill myself. Swallowed a bottle of pills. But then Noah started to cry and I got scared. Mathias was on night duty. I called him and he was rushing home, but the roads were wet. His truck slid into an embankment and hit a tree.

“An ambulance and two state troopers showed up at my door, but it wasn’t until I was in the hospital that they told me . . .” She swallowed against the painful lump in her throat, unsure if she could go on. The truth hurt just as much now as it did that night, but Charlie had to know the truth, so she pushed the words out as fast as she could. “Charlie, Mathias died because of me. I would’ve died that night, but Mathias had already called the ambulance on the way to the house and now I’m here and he’s dead. It should’ve been me who died, but it was him. And I killed him.”

Someone behind them let out a gasp. Lane looked over Charlie’s shoulder and found a handful of people standing there, watching. Listening. Lane’s heart plummeted at the sight of her father. His campaign advisor, Jeffrey Adams, stood next to him—his mouth agape.

A woman wearing a lot of makeup smirked, shaking her head at a man in a suit to her right. Lane didn’t know who he was, but she thought she recognized the woman.

“So, this is how the justice system works?” The woman narrowed her eyes. “I should’ve known this small town was corrupt. Let me guess, as long as you’re the judge’s daughter or dating a deputy, you can kill someone and no one says anything. But if an innocent girl plays a joke on her friend, the whole town decides she’s a monster.”

“Ms. Carson, no matter what you think you heard, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Charlie kept his voice low, but it held authority.

Lane’s heart would’ve swelled with affection at Charlie’s defense if it weren’t pounding in fear. What had she done? She wanted to take it back. But it was too late.