“He told me I needed to be careful about what I said and did,” I said to Aaron. “That the cops were going to ask questions, but if I played it smart, it would work out. He said he’d arranged things at the scene so it looked like you were driving and not me. And I said I didn’t like that, that I wanted to tell the truth and face whatever music I needed to face, even though the thought of it made me sick. But Blake reminded me of my mom and the money she’d borrowed for me to finish college. And he told me my life would be over, ruined, if I took the blame for the crash. And he said everyone was going to think you were driving. He told me to keep my mouth shut about my role.”

“He told you,” Aaron said. “Blake.”

“Yes, he did. I was so foggy. I was drunk, and I hit my head in the accident. . . .”

“Then you didn’t remember anything,” Aaron said. “Blake told you what you did. Blake supplied all the details and all the information. Blake planted the whole story in your head.”

It was my turn to take a step back. A shakiness started in my hands and felt like it passed through my entire body.

“That’s not possible,” I said. “I was there. It was my car. I did—”

Then Blake spoke up. His voice rose above mine.

“You didn’t, Ryan,” he said. “You didn’t do any of it. I know because I did it.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” Blake said. “I was driving that night. I was the one behind the wheel when the accident happened.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

After Blake spoke, he exhaled what had been a deeply held breath. His posture, which had become rigid and stiff, relaxed some, and he even lowered his hands from behind his head, where they’d been clenched as long as I’d been in the basement.

“You don’t have to say that, Blake,” I said. “It’s not necessary.”