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Back The Fake Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. EPILOGUE
  39. PLAYLIST
  40. THE PASS SNEAK PEEK
  41. TANNER
  42. SYDNEY
  43. TANNER
  44. ALSO BY REBECCA JENSHAK

“It’s okay. Hey, I’m here. It was just a dream.”

27

NATHAN

We lie on the floor in my room. Chloe must have grabbed the pillows off the bed at some point because there’s one behind my head as I stare up to the ceiling.

I’ve been pouring my guts out to the point I should probably be embarrassed, but I can’t seem to stop. All the things I’ve held onto about my dad and the guilt I feel, I share those with her because she’s here and for the first time I believe she’s not going anywhere.

“Wanna know what the worst part is?”

She nods, the slightest tilt of her head in the darkness.

“It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Her eyes widen and then her brows pull together in confusion.

“About an hour before it happened, we got into a big fight. I’d blown off school to go to the lake with friends, which was bad enough, but I didn’t have cell service so when the school called Mom to tell her I wasn’t there, no one could find me. They’d thought the worst. Mom was in tears when I finally made it home and Dad was so pissed. I’d never seen him so mad.”

“They were worried about you.”

I nod. “Yeah, and I knew I was in the wrong, but my hot head couldn’t own up to it, so I yelled back and then stormed out and went to my buddy’s house. Last time I ever saw him.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“If I hadn’t skipped school or if I’d just stuck around and been there…” I let myself imagine all the possibilities.

“It wasn’t your fault. People argue and they say things they don’t mean. He knew you loved him.”

My eyes burn, and I swallow a lump in my throat. I guess that’s the root of the issue. Did he die thinking I was an ungrateful punk who only cared about himself?

The wound is already open, so I keep going, sharing the darkest parts of me. “Ever since he died, I have these awful dreams. It’s that night except I don’t go to my buddy’s house. My dad and I are sitting together in the living room watching TV. There’s a baseball game on and he’s glued to the screen and I know it’s coming—I know he’s about to have a heart attack, so I try and warn him, but it’s like I’m not really there. I start off calm but then I get frantic until I’m screaming and waving in front of him, but he can’t see or hear me.”