Death & Dying
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I killed my best friend. Thirteen months and six days ago.
Not on purpose. It was an accident. Even the cops wrote it up that way. But if I hadn't dared Logan to race he'd still be alive.
Sometimes I swear I see him. Out of the corner of my eye. Just a glimpse. Like he's haunting me. That accident…I think about it every day. And most nights too.
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—Ce que tu en penses m'est égal. J'ai vu un taureau tuer mon mari et il n'est pas question que je risque d'en voir un tuer mon fils aussi.
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After my brother died, my dad said the nightmares—the ghosts—were all in my mind. That they couldn't hurt me. Turns out he was wrong.
