“What does she do for a living?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me anything specific about her life now, and I didn’t ask.”
I shook my leg under the table and stared into my coffee. “Why did my dad lie about it?” I asked, then clamped my mouth shut. I hadn’t meant to ask that right now.
“Gibson…” She paused and reached across the table to put her hand over mine. I didn’t pull away. “Your father believed Callie would be in danger if her parents ever found her. And your mother’s death sealed his silence. He didn’t think it was an accident. He told me a hundred times I was never to utter a word about any of this to anyone. I think he was afraid he’d be next.”
I shook my head. This was so fucked up. My father, so afraid of Judge Kendall he’d kept the biggest secret in Bootleg Springs until he died. And my mother’s death was probably tied to Callie. Had the judge really had her killed?
“Did he say why?” I asked. “Why he thought my mom’s accident was connected?”
“He did, but I didn’t realize what he’d been talking about until I found out that the last place your mom had gone was that hotel. You have to understand, he was very distraught when he came to see me. It was hard to put together everything he was saying.”
“What did he say? Why did Mom go out there?”
“I can’t be sure, so don’t take this as gospel. But I think the two of them fought about keeping Callie’s secret. She wanted Callie’s mother to know that Callie was all right. Your dad disagreed—vehemently. But it sounds like Connie went to talk to Mrs. Kendall anyway.”
“Sounds like Mom. She always did what she wanted.” I took a deep breath. “Guess she should have listened to him that time.”
Jenny squeezed my hand. It felt good. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
I didn’t meet Jenny’s eyes. Talking about my mom had always been rough, but talking about her with Jenny was harder. “If Mom told Mrs. Kendall, the judge could have found out and decided to get rid of her so she wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
“It’s possible.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
She squeezed my hand again. “I couldn’t agree more.”
I didn’t want to talk about my parents anymore. It was such a confusing mess. I pulled my hand away and took out my wallet. Grabbed the photo strip and put it on the table.
Jenny turned it so she could look at them right-side up. “So this is what the fuss was all about.”
I grunted.
“You’re both so young.”
“You’re sure the woman you met is Callie?” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Jenny. But I had to be sure.
She nodded, her eyes still on the photos. “She looks different now, but some of that is age. She has a baby face here. But I can tell it’s her.”
How was I supposed to ask if she’d had rainbow hair and a scar on her cheek? I didn’t want to talk about what had happened last night.
“Different, though?” I asked. “Different how?”
Jenny shifted in her seat. “Well, she had pink hair, like she’s blond but dyed it. It was very cute. There’s something else about the shape of her face that seems different in these photos, but it could just be her age. Maybe her nose? And she has a scar on her cheek now. I suspect she got it the night she disappeared.”
My chest tightened. Scar on her cheek. The woman last night had a scar.
But I didn’t say anything to Jenny. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to tell anyone I’d seen her. If Maya was Callie, she hadn’t wanted me to know. That stung. But I didn’t want to talk about that either.
I slid the pictures back across the table and put them in my wallet. “Thanks. I guess… I just wanted to make sure it was really her.”
“Of course you did,” she said. “Tell you what, honey, let me buy you breakfast.”
“Thanks, but I have a lot of work to do.”
I stood and she followed. Before I could turn and head for the door, she wrapped me in a hug. I was so startled, I just stood there for a second, not sure what to do. Then I put my arms around her and patted her on the back before she let go and stepped back. Great, now I had two women in my family forcing hugs on me.
“Have a good day, Gibson,” she said with a smile.
I cleared my throat and gave her a short nod. “You too.”
Ignoring the whispers of the other diners, I left and drove home. I knew people were talking, but fuck ’em. They could say what they wanted.
I hadn’t been lying; I did have work to do. My workshop was in a metal pole building I’d constructed next to my house. It smelled of sawdust and wood stain. Granny Louisa was finally replacing her kitchen cabinets. Devlin had hired Scarlett to do a lot of work on Granny Louisa’s outdated house already, but they were just now tackling the kitchen. They’d chosen a nice maple, the design simple and classic.
My stomach growled while I worked. I probably should have taken Jenny up on that offer of breakfast or grabbed something on the way home. But I had too much on my mind. I felt on edge, like a rubber band pulled too tight.
I worked until lunch, then took a break. By the time I got back to it in the early afternoon, I’d buried most of my feelings in sawdust and sweat. If Maya was Callie, at least I’d gotten a glimpse of her. She was alive, and there was relief in that.
And why did it matter? She wasn’t an ex-girlfriend—not the one who got away. She’d been my friend for a couple of summers when we were both young. Whether or not I had the chance to see her again didn’t impact my life. I didn’t know why I was so bent out of shape about it.
I put the sander down and took off my goggles. The cabinets were coming along nicely. I brushed the sawdust off my hands—some of it, anyway—and shook out my shirt. I needed some water.
There were two reasons I’d become a custom cabinetmaker. One, I could be my own boss. I’d discovered early on that me and authority didn’t get on so well, and I was smart enough to realize I needed a way to make a living where I didn’t have to answer to someone else. Just my apprenticeship had nearly killed me.
Two, I could work alone, in a workshop at my house. Work with my hands, only have to leave to do client installations, and no boss to answer to? Dream job.
I went inside the house and got some water. While I was there, I checked my phone. I had a text from Scarlett telling me—not asking—to come to breakfast at Moonshine in the morning. I didn’t bother replying. I’d go if I felt like it.
A faint sound came from outside, a car pulling up my driveway. I groaned. Now what? I really needed to put a gate at the entrance to my property. With a lock.
I debated whether or not to answer. The engine stopped. Car door closed. Whoever it was, they’d be knocking in a few seconds. It might be a reporter wanting the dirt on my visit to the sheriff’s office. Or another one of those record company dipshits. I had nothing to say to either of them.
But no one knocked.
I put my empty glass down and glowered at the door. What were they doing out there? Wandering around my property? Maybe it was a nosy reporter. They might be walking around, taking pictures. I hadn’t locked my workshop. Damn it, were they over there? I didn’t like people in my space, especially people I hadn’t invited.
In a few strides, I was at the front door. I threw it open, ready to rush outside and kick the nosy son of a bitch off my land.
It wasn’t a reporter.
The woman from last night—Maya—stood on the step, her eyes wide. Her multicolored hair was wild around her face, blowing in the breeze.
We stood for a long moment, staring at each other, like we were frozen in place.
Without warning, she hurled herself at me, jumping up and throwing her arms around my neck. “Gibson.”
The air rushed from my lungs and a lump rose in my throat. She dangled against me, her feet lifted off the ground, so I wrapped my arms around her to hold her up.
I knew it. Deep down, I’d known it was her. I spoke low i
nto her ear. “Hey, Callie.”
Her body shuddered, but I had no idea if she was laughing or crying. Felt like both. Closing my eyes, I held her while she laughed, then sobbed, then laughed again. I didn’t give a crap what she did. She was here. She was alive.
Oh god, I never wanted to let go.
Eventually, she seemed to calm. I let her slide down until her feet touched the ground, then reluctantly dropped my arms.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess,” she said, sniffing. She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, then glanced behind her. “Can I come in? Maybe I shouldn’t. I should probably just go.”
“No.” Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her wrist. “No, don’t go. Jesus, Callie, don’t disappear again.”
She glanced over her shoulder again, then met my eyes. “Okay.”
I gently tugged her inside and shut—and locked—the door behind her. Kinda still felt like she was a flight risk. She glanced behind her and touched the lock a few times, like she was checking it, then turned back to face me.
“I got mascara on your shoulder.” She reached for my shirt, but jerked her hand away, like she was afraid she’d get burned.
I couldn’t seem to get any words out. I just stared at her. At that crazy-ass hair. The scar running down her cheek, leaving a little notch in her upper lip. She wore a loose shirt over a black tank top with a pair of cut-off jeans that showed a hell of a lot of leg—not that I was looking—and beaded sandals. Her shirt gave me a peekaboo glimpse of the tattoos down her arms.
“You’re really standing here, aren’t you?” I said, finally.
She chewed her bottom lip and nodded. “I’m so sorry about last night. You caught me off-guard and I didn’t handle it very well.”
“Goddamn, I thought you were dead. This is freaking me the hell out.”
A few more tears broke free from the corners of her eyes. They were a pretty shade of hazel. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry isn’t enough. It’s just so good to see you again.”
She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with renewed sobs.
It took me a second to react. I didn’t understand women on a good day. I had no idea what the fuck to do right now.
“Come on, let’s just sit down.”
I was almost afraid to touch her again. That hug had felt good—too good. And I didn’t even like hugs. With my hand on her back, I guided her to the couch and sat down next to her.
“I have no idea what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I never cry like this.”
“It’s all right. Just… breathe or something.”
She took a deep breath. “That’s better. Thank you.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on? Who’s Maya?”
“Me. I’m Maya.” She took another breath. “I am now, I mean. I changed my name.”
I nodded. A name change made sense. “Why were you in that bar? Don’t tell me you live fifty miles outside Bootleg.”
“No, I haven’t been in West Virginia since… well, since I left. I’m a producer for Attalon Records. My boss saw a video of you online and he wanted me to talk you into signing a recording contract. I wasn’t going to come, but he had me listen to you sing. And it felt like the next thing I knew, I was sitting in that bar.”
I grunted. “Huh. So that guy wasn’t fucking with me.”
“Oliver? No, he was serious.”
“I still don’t want a record deal.”
She cracked a smile, her cheeks still wet with her tears. “I know. That’s not really why I came, anyway.”
I had so many questions. What had happened the night she disappeared? Had my dad really helped her? Where had she been all these years? But there was one thing I had to know above all else.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”
The smile disappeared from her lips and she looked down at her hands. “I was afraid. The fewer people who knew the truth, the safer everyone would be. I didn’t want to put you in danger. I still don’t.”
“Fuck danger. I thought you were dead.”
“I know this is hard to understand, but it was something I had to do. I had to leave, and I couldn’t come back.”
A battle raged inside me—anger warring with relief. I was pissed at her for disappearing. Pissed that it had hurt me so much. I was mad that she was alive and my dad had known. But god, it was good to see her. Things had changed—we were both older and had been through our own shit—but she was still familiar. I felt like I could pick up my guitar and strum a few chords, and we’d be right back where we were thirteen years ago.
“Well, here you are.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Here I am. But Gibs, you can’t tell anyone I’m here. If word got out… I don’t want to think about what would happen.”
I had an inexplicable urge to scoop her into my lap and cradle her against me. But I didn’t.
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
7
MAYA
This place—and Gibson Bodine—had me completely unhinged.
I was surprised he hadn’t kicked me out for acting like a crazy person. I’d thrown myself at him before he’d even invited me inside. I didn’t know what had come over me. I’d spent the drive here working out what to say—in between arguing with myself over whether to turn around and speed to the closest airport.
When he’d opened that door, his face like a storm cloud, my carefully crafted speech had disappeared. And I’d jumped right into his arms.
As soon as he’d murmured my name, his low voice gravelly in my ear, I’d crumbled. With a flood of tears that smeared makeup all over his shirt, I’d alternated between laughing and crying. It was like I’d gone hysterical.
And now all I could think about was the fact that there was no sign of a woman here.
The only décor was a metal sculpture above the wood stove and a single framed photograph on the mantle. No candles or vases. No knick-knacks or artwork. He had some nice furniture, a TV on the wall, and a stack of wood near the wood stove. Certainly no signs of a family.
No ring on his finger either.
It probably meant he wasn’t married. Had he ever been married? Was he dating someone? He probably was. What would I find in his bathroom? An extra toothbrush for when she spent the night?
What was wrong with me? Gibson’s relationship status had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t like I was staying.
And there were bigger issues at play here.
“I know you probably have a million questions.” I tucked my legs beneath me.
“I do, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I can put most of it together at this point. Things at home must have been real bad.”
Tears welled up in my eyes again and the damn demons in the box howled. I nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Shit, don’t cry again,” he said. “We don’t have to talk about that. So, you ran.”
I nodded again. It was like my mouth was glued shut. I couldn’t talk about that night.
“My dad really helped you?”
“Yes.” I barely managed to croak out the word.
He was quiet for a long moment, opening and closing his fists. “All right, so you got away. And you didn’t think it was safe to come back. I get that, but… why are you here now?”
That was a very good question. I brushed a tear from my cheek. “I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants to run and never set foot in West Virginia again. I’ve worked really hard to move on and live my life. But ever since I heard your voice in that video, it’s like the past keeps trying to grab hold of me.”
He grunted, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied with my vague explanation.
“Seeing you last night dredged up a lot of stuff for me. And then you recognized me.” I glanced up and met his gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t admit it was me, but I wasn’t prepared for that.”
“I wasn’t sure it was you. I don’t kn
ow what made me say your name. You look different. And your hair is distracting.”
I fingered a lock of my hair, glad he hadn’t pointed out the scar on my face. “Not different enough, apparently.”
“Most people wouldn’t know,” he said. “I bet you could walk down Lake Drive at high noon and the most you’d get are some funny glances.”
Then how did you know, Gibs?
“Maybe.” I took a deep breath. “After I saw you last night, I called Henna. She’s my adoptive mom. She casually mentioned I should be careful because my case had been reopened. I Googled it and god, I still don’t know what to think.”
“You didn’t know?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been out of the country for most of the last year. And my parents are… they’re unique. They live off-grid, no TV. To them, keeping up with current events means tracking celestial phenomena and horoscopes. They didn’t tell me, and I had no reason to go looking.”
Gibson stood and started pacing around the room. “It’s been a shit show around here.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t. It’s not your fault my dad kept your damn sweater.”
“I still feel awful that people think he…”
He stopped and met my eyes. “That people think he killed you.”
I shrugged. “Obviously he didn’t. I’m right here.”
Gibson cracked a smile. “Yeah, no shit.”
That smile made my tummy do a little flip. “So I guess… I’m here because I’m sorry about last night. And after seeing all those news stories, I wanted you to know it was me, and that I’m okay.”
“How did you know where I live?”
“It wasn’t hard to find. Property records are public information and Bootleg is a small town.”
“Fair enough. So what happens now?”
Another good question. “People think Callie is dead, right? That forensics report said the body they found is me. She needs to stay that way.”
“What?” His brow furrowed. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s safer for everyone. I’ve stayed alive this long because people kept me hidden. And then because my case went cold. If it’s closed now, I can just go on living my life as Maya.”
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 5