by Jill Shalvis
Walker the boy hadn’t been silent. He’d been feral, and there’d been nothing calm or quiet about him.
But things changed, and so had he. She watched as he set out his chair. It didn’t dare misbehave, opening for him with a flick of a forearm. He then set a Batman action figure next to the others on the gravestone, and with a hand braced on the stone, stood still for a moment, staring down at Michael’s name.
When he finally turned to them, both Caitlin and Heather lifted their arms in greeting, and he obligingly bent to hug them one at a time, murmuring something too low for Maze to hear. Whatever it was seemed to comfort them both, and it did something deep inside Maze to see their honest emotion, something she herself had a hard time revealing on the best of days—of which this wasn’t. Didn’t stop her from soaking up the sight of Walker. He wore dark jeans, work boots, an untucked blue button-down stretched taught over broad shoulders, and . . . a sling holding his left arm tight to his body. Dark aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them. That sky-blue gaze of his was burned onto her soul.
There’d been a time when he’d smiled at her with warmth, affection, and hunger. There’d been even more times when he’d made her laugh, made her feel—back in the days when she still could. All of it was long gone now as around them the air went thick with memories, some of the best and worst memories of her life.
Maze did not lift her arms in invitation.
And he did not reach for her.
“Maze,” he said simply and gave her a single curt nod. She got it, but even after all that had happened between them, a little tiny part of her yearned to see that old spark of pure trouble in his eyes, accompanied by that bad boy smile, the one that promised a thrill and had never failed to deliver.
Caitlin pulled something from her bag.
A bran muffin.
Walker didn’t do cake, or any junk food for that matter, never had. He ate to fuel his body, which of course showed since he looked like a lean, hard-muscled fighting machine. Food wasn’t a pleasure button for him like it was for her. Nope, Walker had other pleasure buttons, something she sometimes relived in the deep dark of the night.
Taking the muffin, he let out an almost inaudible sound of amusement before turning to stare at the gravestone while slowly, and clearly painfully, lowering himself to the chair.
“What happened to you?” Maze asked him softly.
He shrugged with his good shoulder and took a bite of the muffin.
She turned to look at Heather and Caitlin.
Caitlin looked pained, but said nothing.
Heather was biting her lower lip like she was trying to hold back, but finally burst out with “He got shot.” Then she slapped her hand over her mouth.
Maze sucked in air. “Shot?”
“On the job,” Heather said from between her fingers. “He’s on leave.”
Walker sent Heather a long look, and she tossed up her hands. “Whatever, Walk. You all know I don’t keep secrets anymore, not for anyone.” She began to chew on her fingernails, painted black and already bitten down to the nubs. She switched to waving a hand in front of her face. “And now I’m sweating.”
Maze, Heather, and Walker had all come from vastly different but equally troubled backgrounds by the time they’d landed in the same foster home—run by Caitlin and Michael’s parents—that long-ago summer. After The Event, the one that had unintentionally scattered them all far and wide, Maze and Heather had been fostered into new, fairly decent families within a few months of each other. Walker had ended up in a group home, ageing out of the system less than a year later. From there, he’d gone into the military and then the FBI. The rigorous discipline had molded him, given him a sense of purpose and a way to channel his demons. It’d toughened and hardened the already toughened, hardened kid.
But Maze knew him better than most, or at least she had. Very few understood that beneath the edgy shell he wore like armor beat a heart that would lay itself down for the people it beat for. Once upon a time, she’d been one of those people.
“The leave is temporary,” Walker said. “I’m going back next week.”
Heather’s eyes filled. “You almost died.”
“But I didn’t.”
Maze’s gut clenched. As kids, they’d all had hopes and visions of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Walker had wanted to run a bar or restaurant. He’d wanted to be surrounded by friends and be able to take care of them by feeding them. Simple dream, really, but it spoke of his deep-seated need to have those few trusted people in his life close to him. That was all that mattered.
He’d ended up going in a very different direction. Maze wasn’t sure why exactly, but her working theory had always been that he figured giving a shit had never gotten him anywhere, so why try.
“You almost died?” she asked softly.
He looked pained as he swallowed the last of his muffin. “I’m fine.”
“But—”
“Drop it, Maze,” he said in a warning tone that she imagined probably had all the bad guys’ gonads retreating north.
Good thing she didn’t have gonads. She opened her mouth to tell him that very thing, but Heather pointed to the carefully tended gravesite and said quietly, “I love the wildflowers you planted last year, they’re all blooming now.” Ever their peacemaker. At nineteen, Heather was the youngest, and therefore remembered the least about that long-ago night. She’d never been able to process bad stuff, and the rest of them always shielded her the best they could.
Caitlin smiled her thanks at Heather, but it wasn’t her usual two hundred watt. If Heather was the group’s soul, Caitlin was their heart. “I was out here last week to pull the weeds.” She paused. “Without using Daddy’s tractor.”
Everyone looked at Maze, who sighed. “One time. Jeez. You borrow”—still holding her fork in one hand and the paper plate in the other, she managed to use air quotes for the word borrow—“a guy’s tractor one time, and no one lets you forget it.”
“That’s because thanks to you, it’s now illegal to drive a tractor without a permit in the state of California,” Walker said.
Eyes narrowed, Maze searched his gaze, because she’d have sworn she’d heard amusement in his tone, but his expression was completely blank. “That’s a total exaggeration. I didn’t even get arrested.” Not that the implication that she’d been wild and impulsive was wrong. Still wasn’t. She’d merely learned how to fake being mature.
Caitlin smiled and reached out for Heather’s and Maze’s hands, waiting for Heather to take Walker’s so they were all connected. “I love you guys.”
“I love you too,” Heather said.
“Love you,” Walker said quietly in his low baritone without a single beat of hesitation.
There came a beat of silence, and when it wasn’t filled, once again everyone looked at Maze.
“Me too,” she said.
Heather shook her head.
Caitlin rolled her eyes.
Walker didn’t react at all.
“What,” Maze said defensively.
“You never say the actual words,” Caitlin said.
“Of course I do.”
“Never,” Heather said.
Okay, so they were right. But as far as she was concerned, those three little words held way too much power.
Caitlin had been eyeing her watch and craning her neck to look behind them at the parking lot a good hundred yards back.
“What are you looking for?” Maze asked.
“Mom and Dad should’ve been here by now.”
Maze’s stomach dropped. “You invited them?”
Heather raised her hand. “Actually, that was me. I was checking in with them the other day and I mentioned our annual thing.”
“You mean our secret annual thing?” Maze asked.
“Again,” Heather said slowly and clearly. “I don’t keep secrets anymore. And you know why.”
The cake soured in Maze’s belly. Yeah,
she certainly did know why Heather no longer kept secrets. She turned to Caitlin. “Why didn’t you tell me Jim and Shelly were coming?”
At the use of her parents’ first names, annoyance flickered over Caitlin’s face. She probably thought Maze was trying to get back at them for the last time they’d spoken, which hadn’t gone well to say the least. But that wasn’t it. Well, at least not all of it. It was more that Maze felt like she didn’t deserve to call them Mom and Dad.
“Today would’ve been Michael’s nineteenth birthday,” Caitlin said quietly, and Maze’s heart clutched. Michael had loved birthdays. And he’d only gotten nine of them.
“I didn’t tell you they were coming,” Cat went on, “because I knew you then wouldn’t.”
“It should’ve been my choice to make, not yours.” And great, now Maze’s voice was trembling. “You don’t get to make choices for me anymore.” It was a low blow and she knew it. But she wasn’t sweet like Heather, and she sure as hell couldn’t be rational like Caitlin.
“Michael was their son, their baby,” Caitlin said.
See? Rational. “Believe me,” Maze said tightly. “I get that.”
Disappointment joined annoyance on Caitlin’s face. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that they have every right to be here at their son’s grave.”
While Maze did not. Right. She started to stand up, but Caitlin tugged on her arm. “Don’t go. They’ll want you to be here. And Michael would want that too.”
“Did you ask them?” Maze met her gaze. “Or is this a complete surprise for them as well?”
Caitlin winced, giving herself away. Dammit. Maze shook her head. “See, this is why it’s easier to not be part of a family.”
“A family?” Caitlin asked. “Or this family?”
Contrary to popular belief, Maze did have a few social skills and could read a room. She knew she was treading in dangerous territory here, and was about to seriously piss off the only people who’d ever remained at her back. But a funny thing happened to her when she felt cornered. It made her . . . feel, which also made her even more stubborn than usual, and that was saying something.
Heather was already crying. But to be fair, Heather cried at the drop of a hat.
Maze closed her eyes. “Heather . . . don’t.”
But then Caitlin sniffed too, and when a tear ran down her perfect cheek, it shook Maze because Caitlin almost never cried. “Stop that. You’re all just proving my point.”
Caitlin swiped angrily at her face. “Let me guess. You suck at meaningful relationships, so why bother, right?”
“Something like that.” But the real truth was, Maze didn’t just suck at them, she destroyed them. That was what she did, self-destructed her happiness. And she was good at it.
“Bullshit,” Caitlin snapped. “You just don’t like needing anyone.”
Maze drew a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t come here to ruin this for you guys. But we all know that we’re here because of me. I’m the one. This is all my fault.”
Caitlin stood, vibrating with fury. “No. You don’t get to own this, Maze.” She began shoving everything back into her bag, her movements jerky with anger. “We all made decisions we regret that night.”
Maze was vibrating too, with sorrow and angst. “I’m not a kid anymore, Cat. You don’t have to protect me, and I don’t need your misplaced sympathy. You should hate me.”
Heather was still crying and Caitlin put her hand on her shoulder as she stared at Maze. “Is that what you want? Us to hate you?”
Okay, so she’d backed herself into a corner, and as always she was going to start swinging, taking out only herself. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I want.”
Everyone stared at her in shock. Except Walker. He was still showing nothing.
“I refuse to believe that,” Caitlin finally said. “You’re part of this family, whether you like it or not. You can’t just run away. Love doesn’t work like that and I thought you knew it.” She nodded to Heather. “Come on, honey, let’s go wait for Mom and Dad in the parking lot.”
Maze didn’t watch them go. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. The ocean. Puppies. Thai takeout. But it didn’t work. She strained to hear their retreat, but they must’ve been already gone because all that came to her was the rumble of not-too-distant thunder.
Good to know she could still clear an area without even trying. Feeling sick that she’d just destroyed everything—once again—she opened her eyes and stared up at the churning, turbulent sky, which was in exact accord with her mood. Telling herself to get over it, she swiped her own tears on the hem of her shirt before reaching for her chair to try to close it. When it fought back and pinched her finger, she gave it a good kick.
A low male snort came from behind her and she froze. Why was it that Walker of all people always got to witness her most humiliating moments? Was it karma? Had she once forgotten to say thank you, or maybe very slightly cheated on her taxes? Lied about not wanting to be a part of the only family she’d ever wanted as her own?
Walker gave her a slow clap.
“Well done, Mayhem Maze.”
Rolling her eyes at the old nickname, she glared down at her chair, now upside-down on the grass but still fully opened.
When Walker reached for it, she stopped him. “No, I’ve got it,” she said, practically choking on her stubborn pride. The theme of her life, of course: being stupidly, doggedly stubborn, because being perceived as helpless or needy made her nuts.
Walker pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and eyed her. “You going to kick it again?”
“Probably.”
There was a small smile on his mouth, but not in his eyes, those sharp blue orbs that saw everything and revealed nothing. “You never change.”
Aware that this wasn’t exactly a compliment, she looked away, because facing Caitlin’s parents was nothing compared to facing Walker. Forget the chair. She needed to be anywhere but here. Even a root canal without meds would be preferable.
“Walking off for the win,” he said to her back. “Shocking.”
She whirled around. “You’re the one who’s always gone.”
“For work. Not because I’m running scared.”
A direct hit. She barely managed to get the words out. “Your work doesn’t deserve your dedication. It nearly killed you.”
“What do you care? These days all I see you is once a year, here, and you ignore me.”
“Well, I’m trying,” she said, tossing up her hands. “For all the good it’s done since you’re still right here.”
He just looked at her for a long moment, then folded her chair with annoying ease—one handed—and set the strap on her shoulder. “Always good know I still irritate the shit out of you, Maze.”
He was favoring his shoulder, and her heart hurt. “It’s time for a new job,” she said quietly. “You know that, right? At some point, you’re going to run out of your nine lives.”
He just shook his head, either at the truth of her statement or because he just didn’t want to hear her opinion. Both were entirely possible. “There are lots of other jobs,” she said. “You don’t have to put your life on the line for a paycheck.”
His smile was grim as another rumble of thunder sounded. Ignoring the rain as it started, he shook his head. “It’s what I know. I can’t jump around like you do. What is it this week, business school?”
The rain cooled her skin, but not her anger. Yes, she’d jumped around, doing a huge variety of jobs before landing on bartending while working her way through business school, but she felt she finally had it right. Not that that was any of his beeswax. “Still a total asshole, I see.”
“Maybe I just care.”
And maybe once upon a time, she’d believed that to be true. “Screw you, Walker.”
“You already did that. Didn’t work out so well for me.”
Since that was the shameful truth, she should’ve been wise and kept her m
outh shut. But when had she ever been wise? “Just . . . stay the hell away from me.” Then, as she had the morning after they’d gotten hitched by an Elvis impersonator on one shockingly memorable drunken night in Vegas a few years ago, she turned and walked away.
Praise for Jill Shalvis
“Believable, realistic characters are at the heart of this novel. Shalvis will immediately grab the reader’s attention with a strong heroine and caring connection between two wounded souls.”
—Publishers Weekly on Almost Just Friends
“Fans of the TV drama series This Is Us as well as love stories ripe with secrets waiting to be spilled will devour Shalvis’s latest in the series.”
—Library Journal on Almost Just Friends
“Sisterhood takes center stage in this utterly absorbing novel. Jill Shalvis balances her trademark sunny optimism and humor with unforgettable real-life drama. A book to savor—and share.”
—Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author, on The Lemon Sisters
“Jill Shalvis’s books are funny, warm, charming. and unforgettable.”
—RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author, on The Lemon Sisters
“The love story you need to read this summer isn’t what you expect: it’s about the love between sisters. Jill Shalvis has written something totally different for your beach read this year—and you’re going to love it.”
—Bustle on Lost and Found Sisters
“Readers will be utterly charmed by Shalvis’s latest, and will be eager to visit Wildstone again.”
—Bookish on Lost and Found Sisters
“I love everything about this book, the family dynamics, the humor, and the amazing romance. Just amazing!”
—Lori Foster on Lost and Found Sisters
“Shalvis’s rich cast of characters add just the right dose of color and sage advice, while she spins yet another sexy contemporary tale that showcases her indelible wit and eye for sweet, compulsively readable romance.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Romance . . . you can lose yourself in.”
—USA Today
“Hot, sweet, fun, and romantic! Pure pleasure!”