“I’m going to do the right thing at the right time, Blake.”

“Are you serious?” he asked.

When the dispatcher came on the line, and I told her where I was and to notify Detective Rountree, Blake didn’t hesitate. He let go of Sam’s hand and went inside the Barn, saying as he went, “My keys are inside.”

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

Once Blake went inside to get his keys, Sam turned and stared at us.

“You’re ruining our wedding,” she said. “Why can’t you just leave us alone? We want the chance to have what you have. We want to have a perfect life too.”

“A perfect life?” Amanda said.

“The baby, the house. Everything you do and share on social media, it’s so perfect. We were going to lose that if Jennifer shared the truth about the accident. Even just my parents finding out has ruined so much. But it’s not the end for us. After all, Aaron already went to jail for the crime. And those letters . . . they’re long gone. Burned. Gone. Who will they believe now?”

“I told the cops everything I know,” I said.

Sam waved me away, a dismissal.

“Our life isn’t perfect, Sam,” I said. “Far from it. That seems pretty obvious.”

“Well, it sure as hell looks that way.”

Blake came back and took Samantha by the hand, and the two of them moved off behind the Barn, where a few cars were parked, including a black SUV that belonged to Sam. They dashed away, leaving Amanda and me standing in their wake.

“Are we just going to stand here and watch them go?” Amanda asked.

“No,” I said.

I took a step forward, but then I heard the sirens.

I looked back and saw the police coming up the long driveway. . . .

Blake drove the SUV around the far side of the Barn and then reemerged, heading down the driveway. In the direction of the police.

Amanda and I watched from a distance.

She reached out and grabbed my hand, her nails digging into my flesh.

I wanted to shout, to tell Blake to stop. But he seemed to be speeding up as they approached the cops.

The police cars skidded to a stop, angling across the driveway and blocking the way.

Then Blake slammed on the brakes, making the tires squeal.

He backed the SUV up fifty feet, and then paused.

“My God, Ryan, do you see that?” Amanda asked.

“I do. He’s going to ram them.”

“No, Ryan. He can’t. . . .”

But it looked like he was going to do it. Like he was going to slam his foot down on the accelerator and fire forward, either plowing through the cops or hoping they would move out of the way.

Or maybe causing a fiery crash.

Was that how this would end? Another car accident?