by Roni Loren
Rebecca shook her head and put her piece onto Kincaid’s plate instead. “Sorry. That just smells off to me.”
Wes looked down at his wife, concern in his eyes. He cupped her cheek, examining her. “You sure you’re okay, Bec? You look a little pale. Maybe you’re getting a stomach bug. Xavier had it earlier this week. I sent him home, but he worked for a few hours in the truck.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I’m just… I’ll stick with quiche today.”
Wes didn’t look convinced, but he kissed the top of Rebecca’s head, which made Taryn smile. Seeing her friend so happy and in love gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling. If Rebecca could find that kind of happiness after all she’d been through, maybe there was hope for them all.
Wes dished out bacon to those who wanted it, then disappeared into the big, yellow school bus he and Rebecca had converted into a food truck, leaving them to their girl talk.
“You sure you’re okay, Bec?” Taryn asked after he’d walked away.
“I’m fine. Probably just spring allergies throwing my sense of smell off.” She flicked her hand toward Taryn. “Go on with what you were saying. How are you going to get around the school board?”
Taryn smoothed her napkin, a ripple of anxiety going through her. “I need to take it to the public, to the media.”
Liv’s dark eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. “Like call out the school board for saying no?”
“No, I considered that, but it would get ugly and political. The message would get lost in the mix,” Taryn explained. “I mean bypass them altogether and go to people directly.”
“I’m listening,” Rebecca said, her business face on.
Taryn took a sip of her mimosa, trying to organize her thoughts. “I’d thought about writing a piece for the newspaper or a website, but then I was watching some videos yesterday, and I was struck by how powerful they were, how much they affected me. I think that’s the better path. We live in a world of visual media and viral videos. That’s what gets my students’ attention. Plus, we live in a time where grassroots stuff can turn into a big deal. Think of how many marches and movements are started on social media now.”
“Right,” Kincaid said, her attention fully on Taryn. “But what exactly are you suggesting?”
Taryn looked to each of her friends. “I’m thinking I should raise money and put together a video campaign about the befores and afters of a school shooting. I love hard data because it’s solid and I can see proof, but statistics are just numbers to most people. My whole presentation is full of facts and figures, but you saw what happened the other night. It didn’t move anybody. It should, but that’s not how humans work. We don’t feel numbers. We feel people’s stories.
“It’s not enough to say, ‘This many people died.’ It’s more effective to show ‘This person died. This person who was going to be a scientist or an actress or who loved her dog and wanted a family.’ Or ‘This life was changed in this way. This person will never be the same because he’s been through this.’ Or even with the killers, showing ‘This is what could’ve been if someone had stepped in to help them.’ I need to stop talking about intervention and instead show exactly what difference it could’ve made.”
Rebecca was leaning forward now, her food abandoned. “Like if Trevor’s depression had been caught early and he’d gotten help.”
Taryn nodded. Rebecca had been secret friends with Trevor in a therapy group before the shooting, but Trevor had been deeply suicidal by then. Rebecca still carried the guilt that she could’ve done more. “Exactly.”
“But how would you do that?” Liv asked. “Get those messages across?”
Taryn pushed her food around with her fork, the plan crystalizing inside her but overwhelming her a little. She’d never relished cameras being turned on her. “First, I’d need to raise money to make high-quality videos. Then, I get victims and their families to volunteer their stories, talk about the befores and afters, the what-ifs, and have them provide photos and home videos. Then we put the testimonials out there, explain how my program could help keep future tragedies like this from happening, and then ask for donations to fund my program independently. If we could get enough traction, I think that would also put pressure on school boards and lawmakers to consider more comprehensive programs. Even if that doesn’t turn their heads, if I can get enough money to try the program in one school district, I could do a trial run to demonstrate the model, show how it helps and how it can be affordable. Go in with tried-and-true results next time.”
Rebecca sat back and shook her head. “Wow, that sounds amazing.”
“It does, but it also sounds like a really, really huge project,” Liv said with a little frown.
“Yeah, sugar,” Kincaid said, her voice gentle. “I love the idea, but the doctor told you to take on less stuff, not more. Planning fund-raisers. Producing and directing high-quality videos. Getting people to participate and arranging all that. Talking with victims and stirring up all that stuff. Then handling the press? That’s…a lot.”
“It’s a full-time job,” Rebecca agreed.
“I know.” Taryn took a long sip of her drink, wishing it was more champagne than orange juice. “There’s no way I can pull all of that off while continuing my research and teaching my classes.”
Her friends all frowned in unison.
“Which is why,” she continued, “I’m going to take a leave of absence from my job.”
Kincaid’s eyes went wide.
Liv sat up straighter. “Can you do that? Like a sabbatical?”
Taryn shook her head, her knee bouncing beneath the table. “No, I’m not eligible for a sabbatical yet. And they may not grant me a leave of absence at all. They could just let me go. It will for sure mess up my road to tenure. But…I have money saved up to get by for a while, if need be. And what else am I supposed to do?” she asked. “I can’t go back and start a new research project and forget this one. I can’t just file this away as ‘Oh well, that one didn’t work.’ This is the only reason I went into this field. Maybe this attempt will fail spectacularly, but I have to try.”
Her friends were quiet for what seemed like an interminable length of time. Taryn expected Rebecca, the most practical of the four of them, to tell her she could absolutely not risk losing her job. Or Liv to encourage her to take more time to think about it. She was half hoping they would talk her out of it because she was freaking out a little. What did she have if she wasn’t a professor? That was her life. But her friends said none of those things.
Instead, Kincaid slapped the table, rattling the cups. “Well, hot damn. We’ve got ourselves a project, ladies.”
The break in the quiet startled Taryn, and she turned to Kincaid. “Oh no, that’s not why I’m telling y’all. You don’t—”
“Oh, the hell we don’t,” Liv said, waving her fork at her. “If you’re doing this, we’re in, too. Your program needs to be in schools. Someone needs to freaking listen to the people who’ve actually been through this shit for a change. We aren’t going to make you carry that torch alone. I can help with the filming and photography. After being part of that documentary, I’ve been itching to branch out into short films anyway.”
“And we can all help with the initial fund-raiser,” Rebecca said. “The costume run was a big success. I can show you how I structured everything, got sponsors, and advertised for it. We could do something similar to get some seed money.”
“I have contacts who could get the word spreading,” Kincaid offered. “Plus, with my blog, I’m dialed into a pretty big internet community. They would help us share online once we have the videos.”
Taryn’s nose burned, and the view blurred in front of her. “Y’all are killing me.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised—not that her friends wanted to help and not that they hadn’t batted an eye when she said she was about to
leave her job. That was what they did for one another. No-strings-attached support.
They believed in her idea. Even though it was crazy. And risky.
No, they believed in her.
In that moment, it was all she needed.
She stood up and forced them all to their feet to give them hugs. They ended up in a weird four-person formation. Their heads next to each other and shoulders at odd angles.
“I love you guys,” Taryn said.
“We love you back,” Rebecca said, giving another squeeze.
They stayed that way for a second longer until Kincaid burst out with, “Yes, we love each other and this project is going to kick ass, but am I the only one who’s going to bring up the fact that Rebecca is so obviously pregnant and no one is discussing this amazing piece of information?”
“Kincaid!” Rebecca shrieked, jerking upward and breaking the group hug. Taryn almost stumbled backward at the sudden shift, and Knight started barking.
“Dude,” Liv said, giving Kincaid a shocked look.
Kincaid put her hands up, the picture of innocence. “I’m just saying. Not drinking champagne. Meat making you nauseous. Superhot husband who obviously can’t keep his hands off you. Could you be more knocked up?”
“I’m not—” Rebecca’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit.”
Before they could process that Kincaid had just broken news to Rebecca instead of the other way around, Rebecca was rushing off to the food truck.
Kincaid turned around and gave Taryn and Liv an oops look. “So…more quiche?”
Chapter
Fifteen
Shaw was kneeling by a weight bench, wiping down the equipment after his last training session Thursday evening while music blasted through his earbuds. His muscles were sapped, and the music was too loud to let him think. Mission accomplished. He was about to finish up when he caught a shadow moving across the wall in front of him.
“Riv?” he called out, turning down the music and wiping the last spot he’d sprayed down. Rivers had said he was heading out a while ago to have drinks with a friend, but maybe he’d forgotten something. However, when Rivers didn’t answer, Shaw turned around, finding himself face-to-face with the woman he thought he’d never see again.
“Oh.” He yanked the earbuds out of his ears and got to his feet, the sudden silence almost as jarring as the sight of her. “Taryn.”
She was in casual clothes tonight—tight jeans, knee-high boots, and a pink sweater that fell lower on one side, giving him an enticing view of her bare shoulder and a bra strap that blended with her skin tone.
She gave him an apologetic smile and adjusted her glasses. “Hi. Sorry if I scared you. Rivers let me in.”
Shaw set down the bottle of cleaner and the towel. “He let you in after hours?”
He really wanted to say, He let you in, knowing who you are? What the fuck?
“I may have had to do a little convincing,” she admitted, holding up her thumb and forefinger and pinching air. “He’s pretty protective of you. Good thing to have in a friend.”
Shaw tilted his head, confused. “Why are you here?”
His mind raced through the possibilities. Maybe she was here to yell at him now that it’d sunk in that he’d lied to her. Maybe she’d changed her mind about outing him. Maybe she’d told people…
Taryn bit her lip, contemplating, as if she were nervous. “Well, there are a few reasons, but the first is that I need your help.”
That was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “Help.”
She tucked her hands in her back pockets, which only made that sweater look more spectacular on her, and stepped a little closer. “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about it and not just go through Rivers.”
Rivers? Shaw wasn’t tracking at all. Maybe because she was so close and smelled so good, his thoughts were scrambling. “Talk about what?”
She cocked her head toward the set of weight benches he’d been cleaning. “Can we sit?”
He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
He sat on the bench he was closest to, and she took a spot on the one across from him, their knees only a few inches apart. Her scent drifted toward him, cutting through the astringent tang of cleaner and filling the space between them with the smell of orange and vanilla.
She braced her hands on her thighs and looked at him, something vulnerable there. “All right, I’ll just get straight to the point. I know I told you the night of the workout that I had a big presentation with the school board coming up.”
He had to hold back a frown, remembering the video he’d watched. “Right.”
“Well, it didn’t go well,” she said flatly, her focus sliding to some spot over his shoulder as though she was seeing the terrible meeting play out again. “It went pretty much the opposite of well. It was—”
“I saw.” The words slipped out.
Her gaze flicked back to his. “What?”
Shut up. You sound like a damn creeper. But it was too late. She’d heard him loud and clear. “Yeah. The night you told me about it, I saw how much it meant to you, that it was a big deal. I wanted to know how it went, so I looked up the video.”
Her nose wrinkled like she smelled something bad. “So you saw me fail spectacularly.”
“No, I saw a bunch of people who had already made up their minds and weren’t listening to you,” he said, unable to hide his irritation. “I’m sorry it didn’t go well.”
“Thanks. It sucked, and you’re right. They didn’t listen, but I’m tired of walking around complaining about it,” she said, a line of steel running through her tone, hardening the words. “My parents always told me that you can’t wait around for other people to do something. You want action, you be the action. That’s why I need your help.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. He was too captivated, seeing the strength and resolve rise in Taryn. He’d seen her softer side, her vulnerable side when she’d run off the stage at the bar and when she’d fallen at the race. This woman before him was different. This was the woman who’d walked through tragedy and fought her way to this point. This was the professor who’d spent her life busting her ass to get answers. This woman was tough. But then the rest of her words registered. “My help?”
“Yes.” She gripped the edge of the bench and leaned forward. “I stepped down from my position at the university this week.”
“You did what? Why?”
“Because I need to get this program into schools, Shaw. If the school board can’t help, then I need to do it on my own. The university is granting me leave through the summer to try to get my program funded myself, but that’s hardly any time at all. I need to act fast if I want to be able to go back to my job after this launches.” She met his gaze. “That’s where you and Rivers come in.”
“I don’t understand,” Shaw said, his pulse picking up speed. He didn’t want to come into anything involving Long Acre. He could feel himself leaning back.
Hell. No.
“I’m going to make a series of videos to promote the program and raise funds, but I need to have a fund-raiser to get seed money to start the project. Some kind of event that I can put together quickly, that doesn’t cost too much, and that would appeal to a lot of people.” She turned her head, looking at all the equipment and obstacles around them. “I need your gym, Shaw. For one day. One big event. It will be like the costume run, but people can compete here instead. Maybe some kind of team event. I was thinking maybe people could sponsor high school athletes—ones who’d have a good shot at completing the course. That’d get their parents and families to come, too. We could offer prizes.”
Horror worked its way through him. “Taryn—”
“It would promote the gym, too,” she said, rushing past his interruption. “It would get a bunch of people in here to see what y’all have put together. People will probabl
y put videos on YouTube of the event. It’s a win-win.”
“A win-win?” he repeated in disbelief. “Taryn, I get what you’re trying to do and damn, it’s admirable as hell, but you know that’d be putting me in a situation I can’t be in. I can’t have something here, sponsor something, about Long Acre. I might as well put a big target on my back and invite the press here myself.”
“I know. I knew you would say that,” she said, putting a gentling hand up between them as if she were calming a skittish horse. “I’ve already thought of that. You would only have to help behind the scenes. I’d just need you to be my contact person so we can get everything organized. During the event, I’ll bring in my friends and volunteers to run it. Rivers can help if he’s willing. You don’t even have to be here.”
Shaw ran a hand through his hair, his head suddenly pounding. A school-violence charity event. Here. With high school kids. Welcome to his nightmare. “Look, I feel like a dick saying no, but you’ve got to understand. I can’t, Taryn. I just can’t.”
“Please.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Before you say no, at least hear me out. The last thing I want to do is expose you. I absolutely will not let that happen. You need to know that I get it.”
“You get it,” he repeated, not sure where she was going with that.
“Yes. I get why you lied to me. I get why you wouldn’t want to help with this. I get what you’re trying to do here. Start fresh. Not have a past. Not be reminded of Long Acre.” She took a breath. “To be honest, I get it probably more than you know.”
Right. She probably thought she did. But being a victim and being the brother of the one who created the victims were two totally different things. People didn’t hate her. People didn’t want her thrown into a mental hospital or jail because like brother, like brother. He nodded. “If you get it, then you understand why I have to say no.”
“No, I’m saying I get why you would think that, why you’re hiding. But I also think your plan kind of sucks,” she said bluntly.