by Roni Loren
Liv’s chest squeezed tight, and Daniel turned her way, apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Ms. Arias, if you need to go, please do. I appreciate all the time you’ve given me.”
He held out his hand for her to shake, and she took it. “It’s fine. Knowing that the proceeds are going to the families helps. I know you’ll do a good job with it. I just don’t have any more to add.”
She released Daniel’s hand and turned to Finn, giving him a little nod of thanks. “I’ll get out of here so y’all can get started. It was good to see you, Finn.”
Finn’s focused attention held hers, for a moment kicking up old memories that had nothing to do with gunmen or violence or the way it all ended. Instead, her head filled with snapshots of stolen minutes and frantic kisses in the library stacks and his big, full laughter when she’d tell him her weird jokes. Before Finn had abandoned her that night, he’d saved her each day of that semester, had given her something to look forward to, something to smile about when things were so awful at home. He’d made her hope.
But even before the shooting, she should’ve known there was no future for the two of them. The signs had been there the whole time. She’d just been too dazzled to see them.
“It’s been too long,” he said quietly. “We should have a drink and catch up. Are you staying in town?”
She was. But she didn’t feel prepared for that conversation. She didn’t feel prepared for him. All those years after he’d disappeared, she’d had a thousand questions for him, but now she couldn’t bring herself to ask one. This interview, the twelve-year anniversary, and seeing him had left her feeling too raw, exposed. And what difference would his answers make, anyway? The past couldn’t be changed.
She wanted to lie and tell him she was heading out tonight. But she was staying at the Bear Creek Inn, the only decent hotel in their little Texas town, which meant that was probably where he was staying, too. If she lied, she’d run into him because that was how the universe worked. “I’m meeting up with some friends for dinner. I’m not sure I’ll have time.”
He watched her for a moment, his eyes searching, but then nodded. “I’m in Room 348 at the Bear. Call my room if you change your mind, and I can meet you at the bar.”
She forced a polite smile. “Will do.”
“Great.” But she could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t believe her.
This was all just a formality, and maybe his offer for a drink was the same. No matter what had happened between them before the night of the dance, all they were to each other now were bad memories and even worse decisions.
She told both men goodbye and turned to head to the door, forcing herself not to look back. This place, this story, were her past. Finn Dorsey was her past. She didn’t need anything or anyone reminding her of that time in her life, of how fragile she’d been. She’d worked too hard to lock all that stuff in a fail-safe box so that she could finally move forward. She couldn’t linger here.
She picked up her pace. Her high heels clicked on the gym floor at a rapid clip.
But instead of hearing her footfalls, all she heard were gunshots. Click, click, click. Bang, bang, bang.
Anxiety rippled over her nerve endings, and she tried to breathe through the astringent pine scent that haunted her. No. Screams sounded in her ears.
She walked so quickly that she might as well have been running. Finn might have called out her name.
But she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t turn back.
The faster she could get away from this place and the memories, the better.
She was not that girl anymore.
She would never go back.
chapter
TWO
Finn needed a stiff drink, a warm bed, and a long-ass vacation. He gratefully accepted the first from the waitress at the hotel’s only restaurant and ordered another before she could leave.
“You want to add a little food to that, hon? We’ve got a great chicken-fried steak tonight with homemade white gravy and mashed potatoes. That’ll make any night better.”
Finn fought back a grimace. Nothing could improve this night except a pass-out-in-bed kind of drunk. But Janice, who’d been working there since he was a kid, looked way too eager for him to crush her with a snide comment. This was why he’d moved away from here. The whole town always wanted to do something for the Long Acre High survivors. But there was nothing anyone could do.
Even he had found himself trying to do something today when he’d seen Olivia Arias. Beautiful, quirky Liv all grown up. Seeing her had hit him like a hundred fists to the gut. Had jolted him back to a time when what he’d looked forward to most each day was sneaking away with Liv to steal a few kisses and share a few sparring words. A bittersweet ache like he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember had tightened his chest and stolen his breath.
He’d wanted to reach for her. He’d wanted to fix things. Apologize. Do something to take that haunted look out of her eyes. Do something to show her how goddamned sorry he was for how spectacularly he’d let her down. But he’d seen it in her face. There was nothing to be done. The past was locked in stone. He knew that better than anyone. The scars were deep and permanent, and he’d left an extra vicious one on Liv.
Now this lovely woman was trying to fix it with deep-fried beef. He found his voice, the words like gravel in his throat. “Sounds great.”
Her smile brightened. “You betcha. I’ll get one going for you right now and bring by that second drink.”
Finn laced his fingers around his glass of Maker’s Mark, staring into the liquid, watching the amber light play along the ice cubes. He should’ve gone straight to the lake house. The interviewer had asked all of them to stay in town an extra night in case he needed more information or more footage, but Finn felt exposed here and out of place. He wasn’t the kid who’d left Long Acre. And after years of undercover work, he wasn’t sure he knew who the man he’d become was either. Two weeks ago, he’d killed a guy and almost gotten killed himself. Tonight, he was supposed to be the hometown hero who’d shielded his date. The shift was enough to give him whiplash.
Even his name felt like an ill-fitting shirt. He found himself forgetting to answer to it. For almost two years, he hadn’t been Finn Dorsey, former high school running back and school shooting survivor, he’d been Axel Graham—employee of Dragonfly Industries, a company that owned strip clubs officially, but trafficked drugs and guns by the shit ton while the pretty ladies danced.
He’d done what the FBI had needed him to do, even though he hadn’t found what he’d ultimately been looking for. On that front, it’d been another false trail. One of many he’d tracked down over the years. But he’d uncovered high-level criminals and turned them in. Mission accomplished, though he wasn’t sure at what cost. Pretending to be a bad guy for two years, seeing all the things he’d seen, and being part of those things, had seeped into him like tainted water. He wasn’t sure when or if he’d ever feel clean again. Even his boss was concerned about him. But a summer alone at the lake house would hopefully be a start—if he could ever get there. He just needed to make it through one more night in Long Acre.
He lifted his glass and drained the liquor. The alcohol turned to smooth fire at the back of his throat right as Liv Arias walked in. He stilled and almost choked on the bourbon.
Liv didn’t look his way. She’d have no reason to. He’d grabbed a corner booth in the dark restaurant to do his drinking, and she was already in conversation with someone. But he definitely couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’d walked in with three other women, all around the same age, and he vaguely registered that the redhead was Rebecca Lindt. The others were probably classmates of his, too. The reporter had told him that he’d managed to get eighteen of the survivors for interviews and the mother of one of the shooters. But Finn hadn’t considered that he’d be running into anyone. He’d
been too focused on making sure the guy understood Finn couldn’t be shown on film.
He needed to bail. The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk with anyone. But he couldn’t seem to move from his spot. Liv was smiling at one of the women, a simple tilt of glossed red lips that illuminated her entire face. He remembered that smile. He used to be able to put it there.
She’d changed from her business suit into a pair of figure-hugging black pants and a simple white shirt that emphasized her bronze complexion. Her hair was pulled back into a curling ponytail, and his gaze snagged on the delicate tattoo on the back of her neck. That little detail had heat building in him that had nothing to do with the alcohol. That was the Liv he remembered. The girl who’d had a rebellious streak, the girl who’d dyed her hair crazy colors that skirted the edge of school rules, and the girl who had trusted him with her secrets. The girl who’d put up with being his secret.
God, he’d been such a spineless coward with her. He hadn’t dated Liv publicly because his family would’ve had a shit fit. The daughter of the man who took care of their lawn, she was from the part of town his parents had told him not to drive through at night. On top of that, she was artsy and weird and foul-mouthed. She wouldn’t have known the right fork to use at his mother’s dinner parties. And she wouldn’t have cared. So he’d kept their relationship hidden, and she’d put up with it.
She should’ve kicked him in the soft parts and told him to go screw himself. He had a feeling grown-up Liv would know what to do, based on her quick dismissal of his earlier offer to meet up tonight. She didn’t look like a woman who would be walked on. Which, of course, only made him want to talk to her more, to discover who she’d become. But he didn’t deserve her time. She’d pretty much made that clear, and he didn’t blame her. He’d lost that right on so many levels he couldn’t name them all.
Janice stopped at his table with another drink and set down a fried slab of meat as big as his head. White gravy sloshed off the side of the plate and onto the pine table. “Hot sauce and ketchup are by the sugar caddy if you need them. Can I get you anything else right now?”
“Lipitor?”
She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Strapping young man like you? I think you’ll handle it just fine. I’ll check on you in a few.”
Finn took a half-hearted bite of his food as he watched Liv and her friends. They headed to a large round booth in the corner, and the bartender brought over two giant pitchers of margaritas. Apparently, Finn wasn’t the only one ready to get hammered after the day of interview questions and hellish memories.
Liv was smiling still, listening to something one of the others said, but she was the first to reach for the pitcher, and she poured her glass to the top. When she lifted it to her lips, she drained half in one go, telling him exactly how much of a facade that carefree smile was.
He lifted his glass in silent camaraderie. Here’s to drinking away the dark, Liv. Let’s hope we can outrun it for another night.
* * *
The sounds of the restaurant and her former classmates blurred at the edges, everything becoming a little more fluid, a little less crisp. Liv set down her glass, knowing that three margaritas were more than her limit. She didn’t drink like this anymore. College Liv could’ve taken down twice this much and still been on her feet—well, before she ended up off her feet in some random dude’s dorm room. She wasn’t that girl anymore. And she wasn’t going to let this rocky hike along memory lane resurrect that train-wreck version of herself. But dinner with these women needed a little boozy fortitude, so she’d allowed herself a few.
“Need a refill, Liv?” Kincaid asked as she poured another glass for herself, her bangle bracelets clinking against the pitcher. Somehow the woman still looked put together after a long day of interviewing, not a lock of her golden hair out of place—a Texas beauty queen if ever there was one. “We can make a toast and then open the jar.”
Liv lifted a palm. “No, I’m cutting myself off. If I drink any more, I won’t be able to read what’s inside that jar. Plus, I’m too old to be hungover.”
“I’m not,” Taryn said, lifting her glass and shaking it. The ice cubes caught the light, illuminating her brown skin with a disco ball effect and flashing off her dark-rimmed glasses. “If any night deserves a hangover, it’s this one. I want to pretend that I’m here with friends I haven’t seen in years because I missed them, and we’re doing some fun little time capsule thing. Not because we had to recount the most horrible night of our lives in traumatizing detail, mm-kay?”
“I’ll drink to that,” Rebecca said from her spot across from Liv before taking a big gulp of her margarita, somehow managing to look prim while she did it. “And I’m not sure we should open the jar anyway. Let’s just get drunk and move on. The notes inside are irrelevant. We aren’t those teenagers anymore.”
All four women stared at the dirty mason jar they’d placed in the center of the table as if it were going to detonate. Taryn had retrieved it a few hours ago from beneath the lemon tree in her mom’s backyard where the four of them had buried it the summer after senior year. None of them had reached for it yet.
Kincaid tapped a bright-pink fingernail against the worn wood of the tabletop. “We had a pact, ladies. We were supposed to open this two years ago. We’re finally all together. Now is not the time to chicken out.”
“We also made a promise to stay in touch,” Rebecca said between sips, her wry tone at full throttle. “That worked out well.”
Taryn frowned, brown eyes shifting away. “Come on, it’s not like that. We’ve…Facebooked. We’ve just been busy.”
Rebecca arched a brow like she was still on the debate team and her opponent had just made a bullshit point. “For a decade? Yeah, okay.”
Taryn opened her mouth to respond, but Liv cut her off. There was no reason to argue or pretend like this was something that it wasn’t. “It’s not because we’ve been busy. We all know that.”
“We do?” Kincaid asked, looking genuinely curious.
Liv wiped salt off the rim of her glass and rubbed it between her fingers until it disappeared, not wanting to be the one to say it but knowing someone had to. “It’s because we want to forget. We say we want to keep in touch, but it hurts to remember. And what else do we do for each other but remind ourselves of the bad stuff? We were never friends in the Before, only in the After.”
Silence fell over the table, everyone looking as uncomfortable as Liv had felt since sitting down with them. The four of them didn’t have good memories together because they had never been friends before the shooting. Kincaid Breslin had been friendly with all of them on some level because she was the type to be chatty with everyone. She could talk a tree stump into having a conversation and liking her. But it was a saying-hi-in-the-hallway kind of acquaintance. She’d been head of the dance team—gorgeous, popular, and sparkling in a sphere not many could touch.
Taryn Landry had been the honor student and athlete, playing three different sports and not having time for friends besides the other jocks and her younger sister, who had been one of the victims. And Rebecca Lindt, student council president and Finn’s date the night of the dance, had been the goody-two-shoes redhead Liv rolled her eyes over, her nemesis. None of them would’ve ever been friends.
But after prom night, the four of them had ended up in a support group together. Overnight, they’d become members of the same club—a club no one would ever want to join. After what they’d been through, their differences and cliques had fallen away, leaving nothing behind but the bond of knowing no one outside the group could ever understand them like the ones in it. They’d made a promise to keep in touch. And they’d made a pact to live their lives to the fullest to honor those who wouldn’t get the chance. Then they’d stuffed those promises into that freaking time capsule, outlining exactly how they would do that.
Liv didn’t remember what s
he’d written on that piece of paper that was all folded up and tucked inside the jar, but she didn’t really care. Whatever dreams she’d scrawled on that page were silly teenage fantasies of what it’d be like to be grown up. Easily dismissed. But as much as she’d been tempted to, she hadn’t been able to turn down the invitation to meet up and do this. She didn’t know these women anymore, but they’d gotten her through the worst year of her life and she wasn’t going to break her word to them.
“I think we should just open the thing,” Liv said finally. “Get it out of the way so we can relax the rest of the night.”
“Amen, sister. I’m with you. It’s ruining my buzz.” Kincaid reached for the jar. “Let’s open it, and we can each read someone else’s letter out loud.”
“Wait, what?” Rebecca’s blue eyes went wide, her faint childhood freckles seeming to flare in opposition. “No way. It’s private. It’s—”
“If we read our own, we’ll edit. This is about honesty.” Kincaid grabbed her napkin and draped it over the rusty metal lid. “No one outside of this group is going to share anything about the letters. And we can burn the things afterward if we want, close the past for good.”
The sound of the rusted lid grinding against the glass gave Liv a layer of goose bumps, and her palms went clammy. Visions of the night they’d buried the thing flickered through her head, dragging her back in time. The night had been humid, the scent of lemons and fresh-cut grass heavy in the air. None of them had cried. They’d been out of tears by then. They’d kneeled in the dirt and lowered the little jar into the ground together like it was some kind of religious ritual. Four lost girls making a plea to the universe, begging for the future to be better than the present, burying seeds of dreams and hoping they would grow.
Now they would see if they had.