The tension in the room instantly becomes so heavy, you could cut it with a knife.
There’s something alarmingly dark and ominous in her tone—something besides the darkness of the words themselves.
I don’t know what, but something bad is about to happen.
“My parents died in a car accident,” I say slowly. “Hit by a semi-truck. The driver…”
And that’s when it hits me—crashing into me like a tidal wave—pinning me beneath the water and drowning me in it.
I stand up so sharply, my chair knocks over behind me.
“Whoa,” says Dean, standing up and reaching out for me. “Quinn, what—”
“No,” I whisper, eyes glued to Calypso, as hot, salty tears sting them. “It can’t be. It was an accident. He wouldn’t—”
“Who?” Finn asks, rising to his feet, too. “Quinn, what—?”
“Brett,” I whisper. My hand fli
