Page 331 of The Lies We Play

“You took the⁠—”

“They missed it. They’re coming back. Two minutes.”

“Hal—”

“Creed. Call my name and I’ll answer. I can’t have another conversation.”

Silence on the speaker for one beat.

Then Creed says, “Hal.”

“Yes.”

“Hal.”

“Yes.”

“Hal, babe.”

“I’m here.”

Liv reaches across and puts her hand on my thigh. She doesn’t look at me. She’s watching the rearview now. Her hand on my thigh is the calmest part of the car.

I think—and I will remember thinking this, I will remember it on a witness stand in a courtroom ten years from now, I will remember it on a kitchen floor in a brownstone in Brooklyn with her hand on my chest⁠—

I think: I shouldn’t have chosen the inheritance.

I think: I should’ve walked away when my father died.

I think: Cornelius’s name is on a building in Midtown, and that building can fall down for all I care. But the woman in this seat can’t, and the man on this phone can’t, and I’ll burn the building myself before I let either of them pay the cost.

I think: How do I save her?

The headlights come back into the rearview.

Both sets.

Closer this time.

“Creed.”

“I’m here.”

“They’re back.”

“Aren is nine minutes out. I have him on the other line. Nine minutes, Hal.”

“I don’t have nine minutes.”

“Hal—”

The lead car pulls into my lane and brakes hard.

I see it before I have time to think about seeing it. The red of his brake lights flares right in front of me. He means to make me slam mine. He means to force me into him so the second car can put them into me.

My foot goes to the brake pedal the way my foot has gone to the brake pedal ten thousand times in the two years I’ve been driving this car.

The pedal goes to the floor.