Page 18 of Begin Again

Well, that’s cryptic and not at all what I was expecting.

Me:I’m leaving the cafe now.

Her message is cryptic. Not the usualHey, I need a favororLet’s grab food.It stirs an unease I can’t quite explain.

My house isn’t far, only a fifteen-minute walk, so I take my time, letting the fresh air clear my head. The scenery helps a little—old brick buildings, tree-lined streets, and the quiet hum of Shadow Grove in the late afternoon. But the unease still lingers, curling low in my stomach.

By the time I reach my place, Mo’s car is already in the driveway.Of course,she let herself in. Mo and I have been best friends since our preteens so it makes sense that we have keys to the other’s place.

When I step inside, it’s quiet. I don’t hear music or the usual sounds of her pacing back and forth on the hardwood. Instead, there’s only the faint bubbling of the coffee pot in the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed dark roast drifting through the air.

That’s not normal.

Mo only brews coffee when she needs a stronger jolt than tea—when sleep’s impossible or a heavy worry weighs on her.

I round the corner into the kitchen and find her standing with her back to the counter, arms crossed, watching the coffee drip into the pot like it holds all the answers.

Whatdoessurprise me is seeing Bennett at the kitchen island, leaning forward with his hands clasped like he’s waiting for something. The two speak in low tones but when they see me step in the room they immediately stop.

“I didn’t realize you were bringinghimover, Mo,” I keep my tone light, but I watch them carefully.

Mo exhales, finally moving to pour herself a cup of coffee, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.

I frown. Okay.What is going on here?

“Do either of you care to let me know what’s going on?” I ask, as no one answers me. “What’s with the cryptic text message?”

Mo hesitates, glancing at Bennett like she’s silently weighing a decision. The tension in the room is palpable. Mo won’t meet my eyes, and Bennett sits there like he belongs in my kitchen, his expression unreadable. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not here for small talk. I position myself strategically close to the counter where a knife block is for a weapon if needed and with a clear view of an exit if needed. Just in case.

Mo sighs heavily gripping her coffee mug like it might be an anchor for her. “Theo,” she hesitates before continuing. “This is going to be a lot to take in, and I’m not sure how to say it.”

A chill runs down my spine at her words. “Okay…” I say slowly, crossing my arms. “Does it have anything to do with the elephant in the room?” I ask, nodding my head to indicate Bennett sitting in front of her. He’s not exactly an elephant, but he has a large presence you can’t ignore. Like he could take me out if he wanted to, and I’d never see it coming.

Bennett looks over at me with an unreadable expression as he puts his elbows on the counter and steeples his fingers. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” he asks, his voice measured, calm.

Too calm.

I force a dry chuckle, even though my gut tells me I won’t like either. “Oh goodie, I have a choice. Always the bad news first.”

His next words hit me like a sledgehammer.

“Your parents were murdered.”

The room spins,what?

Bennett keeps going, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, somehow sounding like it’s coming at me through a tunnel. “Technically, your dad was, but your mom died because he was poisoned and he was the one driving. From what I read you almost died too.” He says that last part as he gestures to the scar through my right eyebrow.

My world tilts, the words hitting me like a physical blow. My entire body feels like it has been sucked into a vortex—weightless, breathless, and spinning. A dull buzzing fills my ears, drowning out everything else.

That’s not right.

The thought stumbles through my mind, sluggish and foggy. My parents died in a car accident. I was there. I remember.

Black ice on the road as we were on a switchback. The car spinning out of control, and Mom screaming.

Or… had she been screamingbeforewe hit the ice?

The memory twists, warping now, edges fraying and slipping away as Bennett’s words carved a crack through the story I’d told myself for years.