Page 31

THIRTY-ONE

BECCA

FIVE YEARS LATER

Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left.

My finger hovers over the face of an attractive, dark-haired, green-eyed man. He’s the first one I’ve seen on this damn dating app that doesn’t have characteristics I do everything in my power to avoid.

I don’t use this app to “date” per se. More like a nice, free, uncomplicated way to find a nice out-of-town dick to ride, without having to deal with the town gossip or the messy complications of someone wanting strings.

This guy, Braxton, lives in Chattanooga and looks like he’d be a good distraction.

Swipe right.

I toss my phone to the side, leaning back on my lounger, soaking up the Saturday morning rays. It’s summer here in Sugarlake, and the Tennessee sun is hot and delicious on my skin. I’m not a fan of many things in this town, but I do love relaxing on the back porch of my little one-bed, one-bath cottage. I rent, of course. Don’t want to be too tied down in case I actually get the balls to leave.

I have about an hour before meeting Lee for brunch at Patty’s Diner.

It’s a thing—our Saturday morning brunches. It has been ever since I moved back five years ago and realized Lee wasn’t any better mentally than she was when I left for college. Somewhere between me being in Florida and our other best friend, Jax, being on the road all the time, she’s regressed into this melancholy state where we have to force her to be in the land of the living. I think she’d rather slip away to be with her momma’s ghost.

I don’t mind focusing on keeping Lee afloat. If I submerge myself in other people’s problems, then I don’t have to focus on my own.

Probably why I became a social worker for the high school.

Never mind the fact I’m twenty-six and back in the town I always dreamed of escaping. Or how I’m still under my old man’s thumb, worse now than I ever was back then because now I don’t put up a fight.

Better the devil you know.

Sabotaging your own future is something I excel in. Too bad there wasn’t a major in that. I would have passed with flying colors and taken over the world. Until I inevitably fucked it up, of course.

But I have my little cottage, my own money, and my career. All things Papa can never take from me. I’ve learned to stay afloat through compromise, wading slowly toward a life of independence. I don’t know if I’ll ever get there, but at least now I know better than to dream.

I glance at my phone to check the time because I want to get to the diner before Lee. She’s been avoiding me again. No surprise there .

Chase Adams is back in town. The boy who broke her heart and hung her out to dry, just like I always said he would. She doesn’t have a clue I know, so she doesn’t realize her energy spent avoiding me is wasted, but I don’t blame her. I’ve been firmly in the hating Chase camp since the moment he blew into town when we were eleven years old, making Lee’s naive little heart swoon in curiosity and wonder.

I know at brunch she’ll spill the beans. She’s shit at holding in secrets, and if I ask her point-blank, she won’t hide from the truth. There’s nothing Lee hates more in the world than a liar.

My stomach turns at the thought of things I keep from her. Things I’ve been keeping from her. Things I have no plan to ever tell her.

Omission is not a lie, Becca.

Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.

An hour later and I’m sitting on the patio at Patty’s Diner, texting Lee. She’s running late, and I’m wondering if she’s even planning on showing the hell up. Normally, Jax would be here, but he’s in high demand out in California, being the car guru on movie sets, so he leaves a lot. It’s a shame he’s gone now because he’s the one who usually wrangles Lee, making sure she actually comes.

“Hey, girl.”

I glance up at my long-haired, honey-blond best friend as she plops down in the seat across from me. Despite the dark circles that line her eyes and the sorrow swirling in her baby blue gaze, she’s gorgeous.

“She lives,” I deadpan.

Lee grins, waving my snark off and diving into a story about her new job at some dance studio a couple of towns over. I let her ramble, knowing her filter is nonexistent and sooner or later she’ll vomit out the truth. Her body is practically vibrating, and I’m sure it’s from her nerves of telling me what I already know.

The air around us quiets as she sips from her mimosa, fidgeting in her seat.

I arch my brow.

“Chase is back,” she blurts.

“I know.”

She groans, throwing her head in her hands. “Dang it, how’d you know about that already? Is that why you’re bein’ so weird?”

“Ran into him the other day.”

She sighs. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Her shoulders relax, like all she needed to relieve the weight was to speak it out loud.

A spark lights her eyes as she talks about him, and my chest warms at the sight. It’s something that’s been missing ever since her momma died. Ever since Chase tore her up and disappeared in the first place.

Is it that easy to forgive her heartbreak?

Hope that has no place living inside me makes a home, digging in deep and planting its roots. Ideas perch on my shoulder, whispering that maybe my mistakes aren’t a permanent tarnish. That maybe forgiveness is a family trait.

“I get it, I guess. We all have secrets.” I shrug, attempting to shake off the notion. But the thoughts are always there, lingering like a song stuck in my head, driving me wild even though no one else can hear. They scrape against my scars, the sting reminding me they haven’t fully healed.

I doubt they ever will.

Up until this point, I’ve been a master of avoidance, the years having only strengthened my ability to push things down to the darkest corners of my soul.

“Oh, and you’ll never guess what else,” Lee says, while I pick from the breadbasket.

“Does it have to do with you, Logan, and a bottle of lube?” I grin, wiggling my eyebrows. Logan is her fling of the moment, and a fine specimen if there ever was one. I never miss a chance to try and get her to dish the dirt on his abilities.

Lee’s cheeks flush pink and I tamp down a laugh. She’s so easy to rile up. So innocent in her acts, even as an adult. As sweet as cherry pie and as shiny as a whistle. I’m sure when Papa prays, he tacks on a favor from God, asking to make me more like her.

She rolls her eyes. “No, you deviant. Eli’s comin’ home.”

My heart stammers so violently in my chest my body physically jerks, causing my fingers to fumble my champagne flute. I watch in despair as the alcohol-infused orange juice sloshes over the sides. If I heard her right, I’ll need all the drink I can get.

“What?”

Lee’s lips move, but I can’t hear a thing over the blood whooshing through my ears or the bang of my heart slamming against the icy cage it’s been frozen in.

“What?” I repeat.

She nods, her nose scrunching while she sips from her glass. “I know. Get this, he’s gettin’ married. ”

The knot forming in my chest surges up, lodging itself in my throat, my stomach spiraling against the turbulence of my body.

“What?” I rasp.

Her eyebrows draw in. “Are you broken? Is that all you can say?”

I’m surprised I can even manage that. A knife to the gut would hurt less than her words. Years of shoddy patchwork burst apart at the seams, the wounds I’ve tried to cover bleeding out.

My hands fly to my stomach, and I fold in on myself. The agony so deep, so visceral, I don’t know if I’ll survive the pain.

Married. Eli’s gettin’ married.

He’s moved on.

He’s loved again.

Thick, green jealousy oozes through the cracks of my heart, coating my lungs, and weighing down every breath.

I’m a coward. Too afraid of ending up chained down and miserable. Scared of being the spitting image of my momma. Only…I ended up in that life anyway. Shackled to my old man instead of being with the one who wanted nothing more than to love me. The one who only wanted to give me a piece of his soul.

And now he’s giving that piece away. Letting someone else stake their claim.

I did it to myself. A fact I remind myself of as I lay in my bed that night, speaking to a God I don’t believe in.

For the first time since I was thirteen years old, I pray.

I pray that whoever she is, she’s able to love him the way he deserves. The way he’s supposed to be loved. The way I can’t.

And I take solace in those simple truths. But before I fall asleep—my pillow damp from my regrets—the darkness creeps in, and I’ve never felt so alone.