“Admit it,” Garrett says, his voice ragged. “You were with Thayer, weren’t you?”

My mouth goes dry. I don’t even have the heart to deny it anymore. But I don’t want to admit the truth right now either—not in the middle of nowhere, when he’s this drunk, this angry. Before I can move, he rips a sapling up by its roots and snaps it in half, screaming with rage.

“Goddamn it, Sutton!” His voice echoes, ricocheting around the ravine below. He throws the broken halves of the little tree over the side, and I watch as they are swallowed by the darkness. “How could you do this to me? I love you.” He pulls at his own hair, grabbing it with his fists.

Terror flashes through me, and suddenly I think of the shadowy figure behind the wheel of my Volvo as it crashed down on Thayer. Of the driver who hijacked my car to run down the boy I love. A bleak realization starts to blossom inside of me. I take a step away from him. “How long have you been following me?”

“Long enough,” he sneers. My heart twists in my chest. This is Garrett, I try to tell myself. Sweet, dopey Garrett. He’d never run anyone over with a car—not even Thayer. Right?

But then the moon comes out from the clouds, and I can see the muscles in his neck and shoulders taut with barely restrained rage. His jaw is clenched into a twisted rictus grin, his eyes flashing wildly. The thought comes to me with a sudden dull thud of my heart—maybe this isn’t Bad Garrett after all. Maybe this is a Garrett I haven’t seen until now. Insane Garrett. Violent Garrett.

“What did you do?” I breathe.

He laughs, and it’s a bitter, broken sound. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He takes a step toward me, grinning nastily.

A rush of anger flashes through me, burning my fear away. For a moment it’s almost like I can hear the sickening crunch of Thayer’s leg snapping again, like I can hear his voice call my name, weak with pain. I clench my fists, pushing my face close to Garrett’s. “You’re so fucked up,” I whisper. His eyes widen.

“Me?” He takes another step toward me. I stand my ground, even though he’s inches from my face now. “Who’s the liar here? Who’s the slut?” On the last word he shoves me, a short, hard push. I stumble but catch my balance before falling. “Who’s the one who just . . . can’t . . . tell . . . the truth?” With every word he pushes me farther back. My blood is pounding in my ears, and this time it’s as much from anger as it is from fear.