Let Her Go by Briana Pacheco

Author:Briana Pacheco [Pacheco, Briana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novel
Publisher: Briana Pacheco
Published: 2017-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

In the distance, I see the outline of a male body hunched over like he’s in pain. If I didn’t know where I was I would think he needed help. But as my jogging slows to a stop, and my breaths grow lighter, I see the memorial marker; a white wooden cross adorned with flowers across the street. In loving memory of Michael Stevenson is written on.

At first I think it’s Owen standing by the cross. The light snow flurries make it kind of difficult to see that far. I’ve watched him stand there and say a few words before he turned and saw me in the distance, standing in this exact spot. I never go closer.

It’s the spot his father lost his life.

It’s a reminder of what I did.

We’re both monsters.

When the man turns, it’s not Owen. I take a step back, wishing I could just turn and run back home. I don’t know why I ran this way. I avoid it at all costs.

Beckett Stevenson raises his arm and wipes his eyes quickly. I haven’t seen him since I left for college. Looking at him is harder than looking at Owen. Because he looks at me like he knows the truth; that I killed his father.

When he looks up and our eyes meet from fifty feet away, I see the surprise quickly turn into a heated, indignant glare. I wish he’d look at me like he used to when he was younger. He was much nicer.

Now, he looks at me like he hates me, like he knows I’m hiding something. He always asks the same three questions. They always get answered with the same three words; I don’t know. What the fuck happened before the accident? How don’t you know? You were fucking there. Why is he dead and you are still alive?

He never asks these in front of Owen. He thinks I’ll tell him the truth if we discuss it in private. He thinks he can break me. If only he knew I was trying to keep him from breaking.

I take the first step toward my best friend’s fifteen-year-old brother. His red-rimmed blue eyes widen a bit by the time I’m standing in front of him. “Hi,” I say, eyes never straying from his. I don’t want to look at the cross. I don’t want to see Michael’s name or think about him anymore than I already do.

Beckett grunts a response, curling his hand into a fist and then uncurling it. He’s in black sweatpants and a black hoodie zipped all the way up. His cheeks and ears are bright red from standing outside in the cold too long.

I run in the cold weather all the time. It doesn’t faze me. I breathe out, white puffs of air blowing between us.

“Owen’s coming out soon. I thought we were running alone.”

He looks down at his sneakers, running his hand through his brown hair. The hoodie hides his lean frame. He’s not scrawny for a teenager. Owen has told me that Beckett is constantly working out in the spare room that they transformed into a home gym.

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