Talk To Me

Chapter Twenty-Five

Present

The tires screeched as Oliver slammed the brakes, the silver Prius jerking to a sudden stop in the middle of the busy street. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, fingers clenched around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"You're going to kill us!" Leah shouted, her voice shrill with panic. Oliver cast her a smug glance. "You're going to kill—you, I mean you," she mumbled, correcting herself.

A loud honk cut through the air, the driver behind them slamming his palm against the horn in frustration. Someone yelled from a distance, but Oliver barely registered the noise. An elderly couple shuffled across the street ahead, moving at an agonizingly slow pace.

"The light turned red," Oliver said, nodding toward the traffic light as if that explained everything.

Leah's eyes darted to the car's panel, where the turn signal blinked in a steady, rhythmic pattern. Click. Click. Click.

"So why the hell are you signaling to turn?"

"I'm going back to the restaurant," Oliver said with a shrug.

Leah's head snapped toward him. "No, you're not!"

"Oh, yes, I am." His jaw tightened as he swung his gaze toward the right.

"You are going to the apartment. Lily is awake, and she's confused—"

Oliver's hands flexed against the steering wheel, his patience fraying. "I don't care," he muttered. "I'm going back, and I'm going to kill that guy."

Leah let out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh, making Oliver narrow his eyes.

"You're going to kill him?" she repeated mockingly. "You—the guy who carries flies and spiders out of the house so he doesn't have to kill them? You're going to murder a human being?"

Oliver clenched his teeth, glaring at the traffic light as if it had personally insulted him.

"Why are you like this?" he snapped.

"Like what?"

"Since you appeared, you've been either mocking me or making ridiculous demands."

"Ridiculous?!" Leah's voice shot up an octave. "My best friend was locked in a goddamn trailer against her will, and they raped her daily. And you think it's ridiculous that I want to help her?"

"Also," Oliver said, scratching his chin, "you yell a lot." He exhaled sharply. "And best friend? I didn't even know she existed until now." His fingers tightened around the wheel. "I get that you care about her, but it just seems like you don't care about anything else."

Leah's expression darkened as she glanced out the window, watching the elderly couple reach the sidewalk.

"Because everyone else is already fine," she muttered.

Oliver scoffed. "I'm not fine. Dad's not fine—"

"Dad has Kathy," she interrupted. "And you—you have your own adventures."

Oliver turned his head sharply to look at her. "Meaning?"

Leah met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "You've slept with at least three girls since I died, so you seem fine to me."

His stomach clenched. A strange sensation prickled the back of his neck.

"How do you know that?" he demanded.

Leah smirked. "Turn off the signal, and I'll tell you."

Oliver scoffed. "Seriously?"

Another honk from the car behind him made him glance at the light—it had turned green. When he turned back to Leah, she was gone.