Page 27 of The Man in the Cottage

I watch her type it in. Watch her hit search. Watch her face change as the results load.

I should have left when I had the chance.

"Oh my god." Her voice is quiet, but something in it makes everyone stop. She's staring at her phone, then up at me, then back at her phone. "Oh my god. I knew it."

"Knew what?" Nicole leans over to look at her screen.

My whole body goes cold.

"You're Travis Howe." Brit holds up her phone, and I can see the image on the screen even from here—a team photo, my face circled in someone's article about the incident. "You play hockey. You're that guy who—"

"Brit." Kelly's voice is sharp.

"No, Kelly, look." She turns the phone toward Kelly. "That's him. That's the guy who beat up that photographer. I knew I recognized him. He's been all over the news."

The kitchen goes silent. I can hear the music still playing in the other room, something soft and sweet that doesn't match the way my stomach is turning inside out.

Kelly is looking at the phone. Then at me. Her face is completely unreadable.

"Is that true?" she asks quietly.

I could lie. I could say it's a misunderstanding, a case of mistaken identity, some other Travis Howe who happens to look exactly like me. I could buy myself a few more hours, a few more days, keep pretending to be someone I'm not.

But I'm so tired of pretending.

"Yeah," I say. "That's me."

Brit makes a small sound. Nicole is staring at me like I've grown a second head. Mona has finally put down her phone.

"I get that a lot," I say, and the words sound hollow even to me. "The resemblance, I mean. People confuse us."

"Travis." Kelly says my name like a door closing. "Don't."

"It is me." I force myself to meet her eyes. "I should have told you. I was going to tell you."

"But you didn't."

"No. I didn't."

The silence stretches out, horrible and endless. I watch Kelly's face cycle through emotions—confusion, hurt, something that might be anger. Her friends are frozen around us, witnesses to something none of them expected.

"Okay," Kelly says finally. "Okay, let's just... everyone sit down, please. Let's just sit down and—"

"I should go." I'm already backing toward the door. "This is your night. I shouldn't have come in. I'm sorry."

"Travis—"

But I'm already gone, pushing through the back door into the cold night air, walking fast across the yard toward the cottage. I hear the door open behind me, hear Kelly call my name, but I don't stop.

I can't. If I stop, I'll have to see her face. I'll have to watch the way she looks at me change into something harder and more distant, the way everyone looks at me once they know.

I let myself into the cottage and close the door behind me, leaning against it in the dark. My hands are shaking. My grandfather's drill is still clutched in my grip, cold metal biting into my palm.

She knows.

They all know.

I set the drill down on the counter and stand there in the dark kitchen, trying to breathe. The cottage feels smaller than usual, the walls pressing in. Through the window I can see the main house, the lights glowing warm and yellow, and I wonder what they're saying about me in there. What Kelly's friends are telling her. What she's thinking.