Page 43 of Meant to Be

I’m speechless. I never knew Harley to observe anything about me, let alone something like this. The fact that he knew I wore it then and haven’t until now …

My breathing is far heavier than it should be when I speak next. “Found it today.”

“Did you visit her?” he questions.

“Elise?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he answers, and for a moment, I truly can’t believe I’m sitting here, having a somewhat civil conversation with Harley Caldwell.

“No.” I shake my head. “I haven’t spoken to her since I left. We … didn’t end on great terms.”

Harley’s fingers stop dancing over my bracelet. I stare up at him curiously, registering the unusual expression on his face.

“What?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “What is it?”

“You don’t know.”

Not a question. I lean back, placing one of the blood-soaked towels into the makeshift bin beside me.

“Know what?”

“Elise,” he answers after a heartbeat. “She’s dead.”

* * *

My ears are ringing. I stare down at my hands, clutching the paper towels, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe. This house is suffocating. The air is clogging my nose and filling my throat.

Elise is dead.

“Josie?” Harley whispers.

We’re so close that my knees are between his. I can smell him. An intoxicating blend of caffeine, citrus, and cigarettes. He leans close, capturing my small hands in his big ones.

IhateHarley Caldwell. I don’t want him anywhere near me, let alonecomfortingme, but I’m frozen, hardly daring to blink.

“Josie, shit, I’m sorry,” he says, his rough hands squeezing mine. Blood drips from his face onto our joined hands, and he curses again, rushing to clean it. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“How long?”

“Hmm?” He stops, his eyes burning into mine.

“How long ago did she die?”

“Ah …” He thinks for a moment. “Two years ago, maybe.”

My head feels thick. A couple of years ago, I had all these messages from family and friends. I deleted my account, not being allowed—and also not wanting—anything to do with my past. I blocked the numbers calling.

They would have been trying to tell me this. Elise. My best friend. Who died without me.Buriedwithout me.

I stand so quick I almost knee Harley in the face. I stagger to the kitchen and empty my stomach into the sink, unable to make it to the bathroom in time. My knees knock together as I wretch.

“How?” I choke out. “How did she die?”

“A car accident,” he answers cautiously as if fearing I might explode any moment. “Eric … your friend … was the driver of the other car.”

Eric. The boy who has loved Elise since we were children. Her friend, her companion ... her killer.

“He’s fine,” Harley says, although I didn’t ask. “Some cattle got out. He swerved to miss them. The sun was in his eyes. He didn’t see the other car.” Harley pauses. “Are you okay?”