by Clara Kensie
“That last one is original.” I laughed. “Neal asked me a lot of the same questions. We did some research into religions and philosophy, but we didn’t find anything conclusive. Lots of conflicting information. Neal said that even if we found the one correct answer and were able to prove it, people of different faiths wouldn’t accept it. They wouldn’t want to change their beliefs.”
“You’re right about that,” he said, then asked, “but without proof, how do I know you’re not making all this up just to cause drama?” There was no mistaking the suspicion in his tone. “The past lives thing and the Neal thing?”
Slightly hurt, I shook my head. “I’m not making up anything. It’s all true. Every word.”
He stared at me again, and he must have decided to take a leap of faith because he whispered, “I believe you.”
And then he kissed me. A quick kiss, just one, before pulling away. Then, cheeks flushed, pupils large, breath heavy, he kissed me again, this time for longer. Much, much longer.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Not because I was impatient to get my acceptance or rejection letter from CFGU, or because I was consoling Diana over another breakup with Brandon, or because my dad was sleeping on the couch again, or because I was trying to figure out who was driving the car that had killed Neal and what the heck I was going to do about Rick Paladino covering it up.
No, I couldn’t sleep because Will Duston had kissed me, and I’d kissed him back. A lot. A lot a lot. And then we more than kissed.
Hours later, as I lay in bed, I could still feel his lips on mine,
on my neck,
on my stomach…
His fingers roaming,
caressing.
His body warm,
and lean,
and strong.
I was alone in my bedroom, but I hid my face in my pillow. I was grinning so hard that my cheeks ached.
Forget leaping from bridges or jumping from trees. Forget flying in Javier’s plane. Kissing Will was the biggest adrenaline rush I’d ever experienced. Was it because I’d kissed a boy I knew my parents would disapprove of? No, it was because I’d kissed a boy I really,
really
really
really
liked. Will Duston, Will Duston, Will Duston!
I woke in the morning without realizing I’d fallen asleep, and after a quick shower, breakfast, and a wave good-bye to Mom, I ran out the door. It was still spring break, and I had to spend the morning working for Dad. But after that, Will and I had the rest of the day to spend together. We’d figure out which member of the baseball team had killed Neal, and then we’d reward each other with kisses.
I didn’t want to risk running into Rick Paladino on my way to Agri-So, so I purposely avoided the police station and The Batter’s Box by taking the long way around to the back alley behind the theater. Vinnie Morrison was there, leaning against the brick wall by the dumpster in his oversized camouflage jacket. His dark hair was long enough to cover his eyes, but I could see that he looked tired. His new baby was probably keeping him up all night.
“Lookin’ good, princess,” he said, exhaling cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth.
Gross. I walked past without acknowledging him. He had nothing to do with Neal’s death, I knew that now, so I had no reason to talk to him. I could feel him leering at me from behind, and I tucked my diamond pendant under my top, just to keep it safe.
I slipped under the chain-link fence behind Smiley’s and followed the train tracks through the woods. Birds chirped and the sun shone through the lattice of leaves. The last thing I wanted was to spend the morning stuffing envelopes inside a factory. I should take another look at that Viper, maybe find another clue. Just a quick look, then I’d go to work. Old Sutton Farm was practically on my way anyway.
I detoured from the tracks through Old Sutton Farm’s weedy fields and approached the abandoned barn. No climbing trees and jumping onto roofs this time—I was much more responsible now. I sensibly crawled through the hole I’d made at the back of the barn, taking care not to scrape my side against that jagged piece of wood again.
I stood and wiped the dirt from my knees and palms. It was full daylight, and there were enough holes in the structure that the barn was only semi-dark. Finding additional clues, if there were any, should be easy. That was why, when I went to look, I was so surprised that I stopped. Blinked. Because there was something wrong. Something was missing.
The car was missing.
There was
nothing
there. Except for the piles of old hay and crumbling horse stalls, the barn was completely empty. There weren’t even tire tracks in the dirt on the floor. My footprints, and Paladino’s, were gone too.
There had been a Viper here two days ago. A brand new, shiny blue Viper. I saw it. I touched it. I rubbed my side, where I’d scraped myself leaving the barn. It hurt a little, confirming that I hadn’t imagined it.
I exited the barn through the hole in the back and went around to the front. The doors were still boarded up. Someone—Rick Paladino, or the killer, or both—had removed the car yesterday, then swept the dirt clean of tracks and prints, and boarded up the doors again. It was the only explanation.
There was a noise behind me, a twig snapping, and I jumped and whirled around. I couldn’t see anyone, but there was a toothpick in the trampled dirt at my feet. “Will?”
He stepped out from the other side of the barn, the sun behind him, shadowing his face. “Red? What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
He came over to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to check out that Viper,” he said. “I looked through one of the holes in the wall, but it’s not in there.” He looked at me suspiciously.
A panicked thought flew through my brain—Will didn’t believe me anymore. He thought I’d lied, that I had made everything up to cause trouble and get attention.
That thought was quickly followed by another—my original suspicions were correct, Will did kill Neal and throw his body in the creek.
Then a third—Will had removed the car from the barn after I told him about it yesterday, literally covering his tracks.
“Paladino must have taken it out of here,” he said, then drew me into his arms. “You okay?” He kissed my forehead so tenderly, and when he moved down to my lips, all those panicked thoughts disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ever ~ Present Day
I lean against Ash’s tree the next day, listening to the babble of the creek below. The spring leaves are beginning to bud. It’s cooler today, with gray clouds in the sky. Joey frolics in the field nearby, chasing a frog or maybe a grasshopper.
Ash is at his house, digging through Miss Buckley’s computer. I’m doing my own detective work by trying to figure out who warrior74 is. My best guess is he was a baseball player, a former state champion, and 74 was his uniform number. I texted Courtney last night, reminding her to send me the players’ contact information so I can send them an e-vite to the Training Camp. That contact info could help me identify warrior74, but my texts to Courtney have so far gone unread. Hopefully she’ll read my texts when she gets back from her softball tournament later today. But a small part of me is afraid those texts will go unread until Ash is no longer part of my life.
Until I get that info, I’m on my own. I researched on my laptop for hours last night, and I’m scrolling on my phone now. But I can’t find a list of the players from back then. The high school’s website doesn’t list them, and the official Ryland website is no help. The Wikipedia page about the town has a paragraph about Agri-So with a link to the Agri-So website, a sentence about Lily Summerhays with a link to a separate Wikipedia page about her murder, and two paragraphs about the Warriors in their glory days of winning eight state championships. One of those paragraphs is dedicated to Brandon Lennox, with a link to his own Wikipedia page. But his high school uniform number was number 09. His jersey is hanging over
the trophy case in the front hallway. I see it every time I enter the building.
There are a few photos of the players from back then, mostly the same images that are hanging on the walls at The Batter’s Box. I’m able to make out a few uniform numbers, but none of them are 74. Javier Soto, Ash’s boss at the airfield, is in one of the photos, but it’s only of his face, not his number.
Maybe the 74 isn’t a uniform number after all. It could be a birth year or a lucky number. That number could mean anything. It could mean nothing. Maybe there were seventy-three other accounts that started with “Warrior,” and 74 was the next one available.
A shadow falls over me. I look up at the tall, broad shape, features darkened by shadow, the sun glowing like a halo around him.
“So my secret place is public property now?” There’s amusement behind Ash’s rumbled tone as he settles next to me.
“Joey needed to get out of the house and run around, but with all those murder suspects out there, I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”
At that moment, Joey rushes over and jumps on Ash with a whoop, climbing onto his back like a little monkey. “Caught a frog,” he says proudly, reaching over Ash’s shoulder and showing him the frog in his tiny hand, then scampering away again.
“I thought for sure you’d freak out over how dirty he is,” Ash says. “Or give me some statistic about how many people are killed by frogs every year.”
I didn’t even notice that Joey was dirty. A first for me. “The poison dart frog is one of the deadliest animals in the world,” I say. “But they’re native to South America. Joey is fine.”
“You took Joey and walked all the way across Railroad Bridge,” he says. “You didn’t slip off into the creek and you didn’t get hit by a train. You’re becoming quite the little badass.”
“What can I say?” I chuckle. “You’re a bad influence on me.”
We sit comfortably in silence, his long legs splayed casually as he digs a stick into the dirt.
Ash is scary, and big, and rough and growly and kind of mean. He breaks all kinds of rules. He’s intimidating and he hates everybody. He does things on purpose to scare me and he teases me endlessly. He’s dangerous.
Then they spill from my mouth, words I’ve never spoken aloud before, not even to Court or Keith. “It was always my mom, my dad, and me. We had our little house and our little family. And then… surprise. When I was twelve, my mom got pregnant.”
Ash doesn’t move. Just continues digging in the dirt with the twig.
“She was only four months along when she found out she had ovarian cancer. She refused treatment. My dad begged her, begged her, but she wouldn’t do it. She didn’t want it to hurt the baby. The doctors said it was safe, that there was a ninety percent chance the baby would be fine. But my mom didn’t want to take even the small risk. She was so positive it would be okay. She thought she could wait until after he was born to get treatment. But she was wrong. She waited too long.”
I blink, and Ash becomes blurry, my tears making it look like rays of sun are reflecting off him.
“Joey is healthy,” I say. “That’s what she wanted. She never regretted it, not for one moment. But my dad… he works long hours. He says it’s to pay the medical bills and the default on the loan for the bookstore. He didn’t have to take a trucking job. He could have gotten a job at Agri-So or anywhere else in town. I tell myself that he took the trucking job because he misses my mom so much that it hurts to be home. Or that Joey looks so much like my mom that it hurts too much to look at him. Something romantic like that. But I know that’s not true.”
Keith, if he were here, would tell me that I’m wrong and that I need to stop being so upset and then change the subject. But Ash says nothing. He just sits, digging at the ground with his stick, listening, waiting for me to tell him more.
I exhale with a huge, squeaky breath. “My dad has never played with Joey. When Joey comes into a room, within five minutes my dad finds an excuse to leave. He can’t even look at him. If it weren’t for Joey, my mom would have started treatment right away and she would probably still be alive today.”
I confess the last, horrible truth. “My dad blames Joey for my mom’s death.”
Ash purses his lips, and for the longest time, I think he’s never going to speak. “He doesn’t blame Joey,” he finally says, his voice low. “He blames himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He begged your mom to get treatment and she refused. He couldn’t save her. He failed. Your mother took a risk. She lost, but Joey won. Your father was willing to sacrifice Joey’s health, so in addition to grief, he feels guilt. He thinks he’s a bad husband and a bad father. He loves Joey, but he hates himself more.”
It’s the most Ash has ever spoken to me at once, and it takes a while for the lump in my throat to dissipate. I see my father differently now, though. Instead of resentment for him, I feel pity.
Forcefully, Ash digs the heel of his boot into the dirt. “What your mom did for Joey? My mother would never have done that for me. She told me once that she didn’t know she was pregnant with me until she was six months along and it was too late to get an abortion. She wasn’t even drunk when she told me that, so I know she meant it.”
I run the back of my finger down his jaw, feeling the stubble. “It must have been awful growing up like that.” Father in prison, mother resentful of her own son’s existence, misunderstood, feared, and hated by his own hometown. “For what it’s worth, I’m really, really happy you’re here.”
We stare at each other, his eyes warm and inky black, the anger in them fading into desire as his breath becomes heavier, matching mine. I swallow hard, lick my lips. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and his fingers linger.
“Go away,” Joey shouts from a few feet away. “This is our secret place!”
I glance up. Keith is on Railroad Bridge, frozen, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
He clamps his mouth shut, pivots on his heel, and storms back down the tracks.
“Go,” Ash says. “Go talk to him.”
“Keith!” I chase after him, running across the bridge. “Keith, stop! Wait!” I catch up to him on the other side and grab his arm. “I didn’t kiss him.”
“You were about to,” he says.
I try to disagree, but I can’t.
“I knew it. I knew I’d find you with him.” He’s panting, his face red, his hands in fists at his sides. “The chief said Ash hangs out by Railroad Bridge, so when you weren’t home, I decided to see if you were here with him. And yep, here you were, under the tree, about to kiss him.”
“The chief told you that?” I ask. “Paladino? When did you talk to him?”
“I was good to you, Ever.” His chin is trembling.
“Yes. You were. You are good to me.”
“I gave you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“I—” I stop. I can’t agree with that. Not anymore.
“We were supposed to have one of those magical stories like my parents.” His gaze cuts across the creek to Ash, who’s standing guard by the tree, watching intently. “I was going to build a house for you. We were going to run the diner together. But no, instead of letting me give you the perfect life, you’d rather be with a drug dealer whose father is a killer.”
“I can explain if you’d just listen.” I put my hand on his arm, but he jerks away, biting on his lip the way he did when his dog died and he was trying not to cry.
But can I explain? I’ve already tried several times to tell him that Ash is not a drug dealer, and that his father is not a killer. I can’t tell him that someone murdered Miss Buckley. And I can’t tell him about remembering my past deaths. He wouldn’t understand.
But none of that matters anyway. I was about to kiss Ash. There’s no coming back from that. It’s over between Keith and me. I want it to be over. I’m relieved it’s over.
“I thought you loved me, Ever.” His voice cracks.
“I do
love you,” I say, and it’s the truth. “You were there for me after my mom died. I will always love for you being there when I needed you.”
“But you don’t need me anymore.”
“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand on his chest to make him feel better, so we can part as friends, but he slaps it away.
“Hey!” Ash shouts a warning and starts over to us, but I wave him off.
“I had sex with that girl, you know,” Keith says, practically spitting the words. “That chick from Eastfield at that tournament last year. You stayed home to study and she was there, watching me play every inning, and it happened. I felt really guilty about it, but now I’m glad. So yeah. Go ahead and fuck Ash Morrison, you slut. You fucking bitch.”
As I blink the stinging tears from my eyes, he turns and marches down the railroad tracks, through the trees, and never looks back.
Chapter Forty
Lily ~ Eighteen Years Ago
“Door’s open!” a tired female voice called from inside the Dustons’ farmhouse a second after I rang the doorbell.
I opened the creaky screen door and stepped inside. I’d never been in Will’s house before. The Summerhayses and the Dustons did not invite each other to birthday parties or dinner parties or any other kind of gathering. The weathered farmhouse was over a hundred years old, and it showed. The rooms were small and the ceilings were low. The flowered wallpaper was faded and curling at the edges in some places. But the house was clean and bright. In thin wooden frames hanging unevenly on the walls were photos of Will and his brothers, mixed in with photos of past generations of the extended Duston clan. The windows were open, and the curtains waved gently in the breeze. I was sure Mrs. Duston cleaned this place herself instead of having a cleaning crew come in twice a week to do it. Instead of smelling like lemon cleanser, the Duston house smelled like a mix of fresh air and grass and sunshine. It smelled like Will.