Page 27

“You think it’ll work?” he asked. “Running away like this?”
I hadn’t really thought of the move as “running away”, but he was right. I shrugged. “Maybe.”
We were weeks into the summer break, and I’d spent the months since my brother’s passing in a daze, only broken up by the moments I spent in bed with a married man. After our affair came to light, Christian (said married man) lost his job coaching at the school, as well as his wife and the respect of his kids. If it wasn’t for the whole wife and kids thing, I’d say I got the shit end of the stick. I was still forced to show up to school every day, walk through the hallways with a heightened stigma to one that already existed.
I was called everything under the sun. A whore, a home-wrecker, the lot and then some. I couldn’t even fight back, because they weren’t wrong. I was absolutely and undeniably all of those things.
The only person to give me grace was Levi, but he did it in private, away from the eyes of those who could possibly judge him for the iota of sympathy he threw my way. But he saw me in ways others didn’t. To him, I was and always will be the little sister of his best friend—the annoying little girl who followed them around the house, pestering them for just a second of their attention. The girl who spent nights before games making posters and pom-poms to cheer them on in the stands. The girl who worshiped her brother, even from the shadows.
“I messed up, Levi,” I told him. It was a truth I’d held close to my chest because my pride didn’t allow me to voice it out loud.
“You sure did, Low.” Levi was never one to sugarcoat things. “And that mess ain’t going to clean itself up just because you walk away from it.”
It felt like a punch to the gut, but I knew I needed to hear it.
Then he added, “Don’t think for a second that your past ain’t going to follow you wherever you go.”
It was those words that softened the blow when Jace showed up at my house that day to tell me (and my dad) that people had found out about the affair. I’d be stupid not to expect it and, in a way, I wasgrateful it happened early on, so I wasn’t always on my toes, waiting for the ball to drop.
I figured once it was out, that would be the worst of it. I thought that’s what Levi meant when he said my past would follow me. I didn’t expect it in a literal sense, because I sure as hell wasn’t prepared to be standing in the parking lot of the skating rink on a random Sunday with a tray of drinks in my hand, locking eyes with the ghost of my past.
The other times I’d seen these eyes, I’d melted into them, fallen into his arms, then within minutes, fallen onto whatever soft surface was nearby.
Now, I stand frozen, my breath caught in my chest. Feet away, Christian smiles, as if actually happy to see me. And at that thought, I come back to reality. Gaze lowered, I slow beside him and mutter, “You can’t be here.”
His voice is soft, even when his tone isn’t. “Says who?”
I look down at the order slip on my tray and find the parking space number. Then I plaster on a smile before I look up, head over to the faded blue truck with a couple of people from school sitting in the bed. Sundays are the busiest days because the town likes to come together after church. The families with young kids hang out inside the rink while the grown-ups with no kids end up at the general store. Then there are the older kids, most of whom go to my school, who spend most of their Sundays in the parking lot, snacking between shit-talking.
There are about fifteen trucks in the parking lot right now, around thirty odd people, which is approximately sixty eyeballs, and I can guarantee that every one of those eyes is on me.
Keeping my smile in place, I hand out the drinks and say, “I’ll be right back with your food order.”
None of them respond, too busy looking at the stranger behind me. I turn away, my smile slipping, and try to bypass Christian. Of course, he won’t let me go. Why would he? He somehow found me, drove five hours to see me, so he clearly has something to say. I make my way back to the serving window, but he follows me, so close his chest bumps against my shoulder. “Are you really just going to ignore me?”
I stop in my tracks, slowly face him, and keep my voice low. “I’m at work right now, Christian.”
“I’m sure you have a break soon.”
“Not anytime soon.” I push forward an inch, knowing everyone is watching, straining to hear the words shared between us. “I’ll call you when I finish,” I tell him. I owe him that much. “But right now, you need to leave.”
I make it one step toward the building before his hand circles my wrist, squeezing tight, stopping me from moving. I wince from the pain of his touch, but keep my mouth shut. My eyes too. Breath hot against my ear, he says, “I lost everything because of you, and you think you can just ignore me?”
Fear wraps around my throat, making it impossible to breathe. “Look, I’m?—”
“You’re too close.” My eyes snap open, land on the owner of the familiar voice. Jace is walking toward us with Jonah at his side. They stand tall, shoulders square, feet falling in sync against the loose gravel of the parking lot. As if their presence, their stance, isn’t intimidating enough, Jace is holding a baseball bat.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Christian calls out, his grip tightening on my wrist.
Whispers float through the air and then die the moment Jace gets between us. He’s off to one side, so I can still see the slight widening of Christian’s eyes when Jace lifts the bat, rests the barrel on his shoulder. “I’m going to assume you didn’t hear me the first time, so let me repeat myself,” Jace deadpans, his tone cool, calm. Almosttoocalm. Then he taps Christian’s collarbone with the bat, one tap for each of his words. One. Two. Three. “You’re. Too. Close.”
“And I’d be releasing her right about now,” Jonah states from beside me. “Unless you want a shattered arm.”
Christian lets go of me, and I immediately hold my wrist to my chest. He watches my movements, follows it with a scoff. “Which one are you screwing now?”
Jace shakes his head, gently pushing me toward Jonah before stepping out of our little huddle. He’s swinging the bat now, around andaround, as if almost begging for a reason to use it. “Jace…” I say softly, but he doesn’t seem to hear me, too busy looking around the parking lot for… something. And then he stops looking and smiles over Christian—this cocky, unabashed, almost sinister smile. He moves again, his footsteps heavy, and it takes a moment for me to realize where he’s going. “Jace, no!”
The first sound of the bat smashing the headlights of Christian’s car is almost ear piercing. The second, just as bad.