Page 115 of When Sky Breaks
“Oh, you wanna bet?”
Trek and I wrestled as boys do all the time growing up. When you spend the bulk of your time either watching WWE or playing the video games, the urge to act it out never fades. We think we’re the best, and we have to prove it or risk our pride being swiped from under our feet. Kids are dumb and we were no better. Those memories were my favorite. I haven’t had a close friend like Trek, aside from Benny, since.
He slaps the paper on my leg. “Read this and then let me know if you still want to fight afterward.”
Eyeing him from the side, I gingerly pick it up. I spread it open on my lap and rub out the creases, prolonging the read. Fear roots in my gut as my insides churn. My eyes scan the page, and my heart seizes over and over again in my rib cage, sputtering as I read to the end. Sweat pops up under my arms, and I tear through my bottom lip, the sharp tang of blood coating my tongue.
Disbelief clouds my judgment, and I choke on the words. “Is this true?”
“It’s real, Moore. All of it.”
I turn my head to face Trek and he looks just as shredded as I am.
All this time.
“It wasn’t me, I—” I swallow the hard lump in my throat. “I didn’t start the fire.”
Trek slowly shakes his head and takes the paper from my trembling hands.
My voice grows hoarse. “It was just faulty wiring.”
He nods again, letting me process this bomb out loud.
“I didn’t kill her dad. Or Chase. I wasn’t at fault.”
More silence. Pain pulses in my veins as shock settles in my brain.
“It would’ve happened whether you gave me the matches or not.”
The door creaks loudly as I thrust it open and scramble out. Shaking, I can’t stop the tears. They leak from my eyes, trail down my cheeks, and plop onto the pavement as I hunch over my knees. Years of guilt flow like a river with no dam in sight. I bite my knuckles to curb the sob breaking loose in my chest.
I didn’t do it.
I didn’t start the fire.
I didn’t kill Chase.
A disjointed howl disturbs the night, and I realize it’s coming from me.
For thirteen years, I blamed myself, saw myself as this monster, this hollowed-out version of a man not worthy to live, let alone have any of his dreams come true.
Flashbacks of that night filter in. The heat of the summer well into the evening. My feet crunching over loose rocks on the sidewalk, the box of matches weighing heavy in my pocket. Silence pouring out of Sky’s house from that broken window. The smell of sulfur as the match lights. The indecision, the souring of my gut. Then, the trembling flick of my wrist and my heaving chest as I ran in the other direction. I didn’t look to see if the match made it into the house. I just assumed it did.
But somehow, I wasn’t the one who started it.
Faulty fucking power strip.
Bewilderment claws its way out of my throat before sudden relief takes its place. My heart rate slows as the truth inhabits my bones, curling around my tattered soul.
I didn’t do it.
My lungs quietly inflate with air. One breath. Two, three. Each exhale banishes the ingrained denial.
I didn’t kill Chase.
Trek must have gotten out while I was breaking down and now leans against the car next to me. Waiting. Watching as I tumble my innocence around in my mind.
It wasn’t my fault.