“Okay?” She laughed and moved toward me. “You destroy my fucking life, and all you can say is okay?”

“Sorry.”

“Apology not accepted.” She smacked me then, upside the head. “I hate you!”

I stepped back, my head stinging. “You’re going to wake the baby.”

“Fuck the baby!” Smack. “I hate the baby!” Smack. “I hate my life!”

Her blows were harder than usual, her drunken rage improving her strength.

“Stop,” I said.

“You love this, you sick fuck.”

“I don’t,” I said, holding an arm up to fend off her blows. “Not anymore.”

“You don’t get to end this game,” she growled, reaching into a box filled with tools I had kept in the kitchen pantry for unexpected repairs. She withdrew a clawhammer. “I end it.”

If I had known what she was going to do, I’d have defended myself. I was twice her size, after all. But the hammer took me by surprise. Freya could be cruel and violent; she’d utilized a weapon before. But it had always been something fairly benign, like a plate or a wine bottle. Once, she had stabbed me in the chest with a fork. A hammer was different. A hammer was potentially lethal. And I didn’t think she was capable of murdering me. Not until I saw her eyes, dark and empty. Not until I saw her swing the hammer at my head with all the force in her body.

At first, I felt nothing, just a loud, shrill ringing in my ears. The pain came a few seconds later, sharp and pulsing. I’d suffered numerous head injuries, but this was different. This was critical. My vision blurred, and then everything started to go black. It was blood, pouring into my eyes from the wound above my temple. And it was darkness closing in on me, taking me under, snuffing out my life. The last thing I saw was Freya’s beautiful face, contorted by rage, hate, and alcohol.

It was the last time I would ever see it.

Chapter 67

67

low

My truck rattled along the winding road that traversed the northern tip of the island. It was a quieter route, with virtually no traffic. I was too drunk to be driving, and despite my suicidal intentions, I didn’t want to take anyone out with me. And I no longer wanted to end it all in a car crash. I had a new plan and it was perfect.

With Thompson’s dad’s gun, I would shoot myself in front of Freya. Unless she begged me not to. Unless she promised to love me like I needed to be loved. But she wouldn’t. She hated me. No, she didn’t hate me. She was indifferent to me. That was worse.