Page 29

A weird nervousness stirs within me as I arrive at Sam’s apartment, and I try to remind myself that I don’t need to tell her anything I’m not ready to talk about. It’s been months since I’ve last been here, and I can’t help but remember all the time we spent inside these walls together. The endless sleepovers, movie nights, coffee catchups, and study dates. The times we laughed together, cried together, and sat in silence together as we navigated some of our most tumultuous years.

I knock on the door loudly, and it’s only a few seconds later that she answers, launching herself at me with such force that I nearly fall over. She hugs me until I can barely breathe, and it takes me a moment to relax under her touch. When she finally releases me I walk inside, and I can’t help but chuckle at how different our tastes are; where my apartment is rustic and old, hers is glamourous and new. Almost everything in here is white: the marble countertops, kitchen cabinets, the walls, and her furniture. And the gold hardware only helps accent the chic look she’s going for.

“Ready to work?” Sam asks with a small smile.

“Tell me where you need me!”

It feels weird pretending that everything is fine around Sam, but I need this escape, to just let everything go for a day and spend time with someone who knows me outside of the shit that’s happened recently.

“Ok, so,” Sam starts as she walks into her living area, “I think we’ll paint this room first, and then when it’s drying I’ll order lunch, and we can choose what photos and artwork to hang.”

I nod as I assess the space. “What color are we painting it?”

Sam shrieks with excitement as she opens the can of paint in front of us, and I try to hide my laughter at the bright pink staring back at me.

“It looks …”

“Amazing right?!” She cuts me off.

“It’s definitely something,” I say with a smile. Trust Sam to paint her extravagant apartment the most ridiculous color.

“I’ve lived here for years and I haven’t even decorated it yet, or made it my own. And since my favorite color is pink…” She trails off and I can’t help but smile at the excitement in her eyes.

“Let’s do this,” I say with a laugh.

Sam picks up the paintbrush and dips it delicately into the bright liquid, before swiping it across the white walls.

“Holy shit that’s bright.” She laughs and I join her as we stare at the hot pink streak across the wall.

“Too late to change your mind now.” I laugh as my paintbrush follows suit.

We chat as we paint for a couple of hours and Sam catches me up on everything going on in her life. As I pause to wipe the sweat off my face an odd feeling washes over me as I listen to her speak; I don’t think she’s telling me the full truth of what’s going on in her life. It’s not like she’s outright lying to me, but it seems as though she’s holding something back.

I dip my brush back into the vivid paint and go back to touching up the walls around the trim, as I try to avoid any bright pink ending up where it shouldn’t.

“I think I’ve decided I don’t like painting houses,” I say to Sam with a sigh.

“Is that so?” she asks with a smile.

I turn to face her, gesturing to the wall behind me. “I’m not cut out for this.” I laugh. “First I was sweating from moving furniture out of the way, now I’m sweating as I try to get all these tedious spots, hoping the painter’s tape holds and you don’t end up with pink all over the place.” I smile.

“Surely it’s easier than painting on a canvas? Of having to make something out of nothing? At least this is straightforward… make sure the paint ends up on the wall.” She laughs.

I think about what she’s said as I turn back to the wall, running my brush up and down it a few times.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think a canvas is a lot easier—a lot smaller—and the paint sort of tells me where it wants to go. And there’s no painter’s tape. And I never had to worry about dropping paint on the floor, at least, not at my apartment.”

“And at Jax’s?”

I smile. “I don’t think he’d care if I covered the whole place in paint splatters, as long as it meant I was painting again.”

She pauses again, and I catch her giving me a thoughtful look out of the corner of my eye. “He seems to really care about you.”

“He does,” I agree, as warmth fills my chest.

“And you’re absolutely head over heels about him,” she assesses.

“More than you know.”

“I’m happy for you, Evi, truly.”

I give her a smile and we go back to painting until my stomach growls so loudly Sam hears it from across the room.

“Sushi or pizza for lunch?” Sam asks with a smile as she puts her paintbrush down.

“Sushi!”

*

We sit on her living room floor, and now, instead of paint, it’s soy sauce I’m trying to keep off the rug, but Sam wants to revel in the beauty that is her newly painted room, so here we are.

“So,” she starts with an undertone of hesitancy in her voice, “how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” I say, keeping my voice light.

“Evi …”

“Sam …”

She sighs, and I know she’s trying to get more out of me, if only to be supportive.

“I’m not going to pretend to know everything, but I do know what you told me, and I know that what you’ve been through is traumatic. Like capital T traumatic,” she says softly.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I lie, focusing on the sushi I’m dipping into soy sauce.

“Your ex-boyfriend kidnapped you and held you hostage before Jax found you… that sounds pretty bad to me.”

I chew slowly, thankful that Jax only gave Sam a bare bones overview of what happened. Despite Sam being my best friend, I intend to keep her in the dark about what happened to me, because the idea of her knowing the full truth causes my skin to feel clammy. The idea of her perception of me changing, of her only seeing me as someone who is made up of horrible experiences, makes me feel sick. She’s already looking at me as if I’m some delicate flower and I want her to see the old me again. And knowing what happened, what really happened, won’t help that at all. So I’ll stick to the curated truth; not lying to her, but not explaining everything.

“You’re right, it was bad, and scary—terrifying at times—but other people have it worse. I’m just lucky Jax found me when he did.” I take a breath. “I started therapy though,” I say, moving the conversation away from what I went through.

“And?”

“And I think it will be helpful… She’s nice, my therapist, and she seems to know what she’s talking about. You were right, it can be pretty cathartic just talking about everything.”

Sam smiles as she starts to tell me stories about her own experience with therapy, and I’m thankful for her doing more of the talking as I grab another piece of sushi with my chopsticks.

Eventually our conversation shifts towards her apartment, and all the plans she has for her space.

“Would you rather put the photos I printed into frames, or tape off my bedroom—”

“Frames!” I answer, cutting Sam off with a laugh.

“Okay but just promise me you won’t laugh when you see the family photos—some of the outfits I used to wear…” She trails off with a laugh.

“Family photos? And here I thought you would have burned them all by now,” I say jokingly.

“Seeing as I get along with my family about as well as you get along with yours, I probably should have.” She laughs.

“I don’t know how you did it growing up with them. At least I had Garrett in my corner, growing up with parents and siblings you don’t get along with is rough.”

She nods while taking another bite of sushi, chewing slowly. “It was. I mean, I barely saw my parents most days. Between Veronica always at dance lessons, and Lockwood getting into trouble constantly, my nannies and parents were spread thin. I am kind of jealous of your relationship with Garret though. I never had any common interests with my siblings, so we never tried to spend time together, and we still don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unsure of what to ask her next. Sam is never one to talk about her family, always changing the topic the second they’re mentioned.

“Flying under the radar growing up had its perks.” She smiles. “But my parents still like to keep up the facade of us being close-knit. Hence the occasional family photo.”

“Hmm, doesn’t that sound familiar,” I say, giving her a look as I smile.

“Well,” I say, putting my chopsticks down and wiping my mouth on a white napkin, “if I see you wearing a hideous outfit standing beside four people I don’t recognize, I’ll let you know.” I smile and the corners of her mouth turn up as she grins back at me.

She wipes her hands off on the napkin in front of her before standing up slowly and stepping over plastic sushi containers as she makes her way over to the kitchen table. I mimic her movements slowly as I follow her out of the room. She grunts as she moves a box from the floor to the table, setting it down loudly before pulling a large brown envelope out of it.

“There’s about fifty photos in here,” she says, setting the envelope on the table. “I didn’t have time to decide which to frame, so just pick your favorites”—she gestures to the box—“and there are a ton of frames in here. Just match the size of the photo to whatever frame you think will suit it best, and then find a spot for it somewhere in the house.”

“Easy enough.” I smile.

I get to work, pulling all the frames out of the box, and laying them down on the table side-by-side. They’re all varying shapes and textures and, unsurprisingly, a lot of them contain some shade of pink.

I pull out the first photo from the envelope and study the picture in front of me. It’s a landscape with rolling hills, cypress trees, and a vineyard in the distance. Based on what I’m seeing it’s from her trip to Italy last summer.

I pick up a wooden frame that compliments the tones in the photo, and open the back of it, and delicately slide the picture inside before closing it again.

I keep a steady pace, pulling out one photograph at a time and matching it to a frame. At this rate, Sam’s apartment is going to look like an art gallery. Stacks of frames sit on the table, all filled with photos she took, and still more sit in the box waiting for me to match them to a picture. Her photos are an eclectic mix of her life, with landscapes, self-portraits, her horses, and even a picture of the two of us now filling the frames.

“Almost done in there?” Sam’s voice rings out from her room.

“Yeah, a few more to go!” I call back as I reach into the envelope.

A family portrait stares back at me, and it looks as though it’s straight out of a lifestyle magazine; A man, who I’m assuming is her father, sits in a leather chair. His dark suit and stern look stares back at me, and a woman—her mother—stands behind him, her hand resting dutifully on Mr. Lockwood’s shoulder, her posture straight, her hair and makeup immaculate. She’s even got a string of pearls around her neck, and the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen sits on her finger. Circled around them are the kids, all young adults in this photo. Sam’s dark hair is long, her expression bored, and based on what I know about her relationships with her family, it’s no surprise she looks like she doesn’t want to be there.

My eyes move over to who I assume are her siblings that I’ve never met, and have barely heard anything about. Her sister Veronica looks like the polar opposite of Sam, with blonde wavy hair that stands out brightly beside her dark locks. Her chin is held high, and her smile is wide, and I can’t help but notice everything about her contrasts with how Sam looks in the photo. My eyes then move to the last person in the photo, where dark brown—almost black—hair and deep brown eyes stare back at me.

Suddenly my blood goes cold as Bryce stares back at me from the photo.

My thoughts start moving at a hundred miles a minute as I try to piece together what I’m seeing in front of me.

My hands shake as I continue to stare at the photo. At Bryce.

What is Bryce doing in Sam’s family photo?

I don’t hear Sam come into the room until she speaks, and I jump slightly at the sound of her voice.

She laughs lightly as she sees the photo I’m holding in my hands. “Veronica is the only one who wanted to be in the photo. Lockwood and I would have rather been anywhere, but you’d never be able to tell from his smile.”

I stare at Bryce’s picture-perfect smile.

Bryce.

Bryce is Lockwood.

Sam’s brother.

I place the photo down on the table, my hands no longer feeling like they belong to me as I back away slowly.

“What’s wrong?” I hear Sam ask, and I mumble something unintelligible in response. My heart pounds in my ears as I back further and further out of the room, trying to maintain my composure, and failing miserably until I give up, turning around and rushing for my keys, opening her apartment door, and darting to the elevator.

*

It doesn’t take long for me to drive back to Jax’s place, his car zooming through the city streets and twenty minutes later I’m walking through the front door, throwing the keys on the entryway table, looking for any sign of him.

Loud voices sound as I walk down the hallway, and I’m surprised to hear them so clearly through the closed office door.

“You need to think this through.” Ryan all but yells to Jax.

“You saw her when we found her. You know what they did to her. There is nothing I need to think through. They are dead men walking,” Jax says, his tone sending shivers through me, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of worry for anyone on the receiving end of his wrath.

I hear Ryan sigh, and someone starts to pace around the room.

I wring my hands nervously as I start to walk back and forth down the hallway, waiting for a lull in the conversation, needing to tell them the news that has rocked me to my core.

“And how will you explain a trail of dead bodies?” Ryan questions intently, his voice still loud. “We already left a few behind. It will draw too much attention if more people in their circle are found so soon after. It’s only a matter of time before Evi’s name gets brought into it—”

I jump at the sound of glass shattering as Jax’s voice reverberates through the entire house.

“I will kill anyone who even thinks about trying to bring her into this investigation. The whole city will bleed before I let them say her name.”

“Always so level-headed,” Ryan says in response as footsteps storm towards the door.

The door swings open and my eyes meet Jax, the rage that’s usually contained boiling to the surface, anger etched into every feature.

He softens as soon as he sees me. “Sorry, love, I didn’t realize you were—what’s wrong?”

He closes the distance between us, his hands cupping my face.

“You’re as pale as a ghost, what happened?”

“Bryce. Bryce is… Sam’s brother,” I stammer.

Jax’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he listens quietly to me as I explain everything that just transpired at Sam’s apartment.

When I’m done talking I look up at him and notice that at some point Ryan has joined us, standing in the doorway to the office, listening to everything I just said.

“How?” I ask no one in particular. “How can Bryce be Sam’s brother? How can she be related to someone like that?” My eyes shoot to Jax. “How could she not mention the fact that her brother died ?”

“Let’s find out,” Jax says, his voice dripping with violence, as he gestures behind Ryan. I follow their gaze, only to see the security cameras in the office showing Sam as she walks up the front steps of the building.

I meet Sam at the front door before she even has a chance to knock.

“Are you okay?” she asks worriedly. “You took off in a panic…” She trails off, looking at Jax’s expansive entryway behind me.

“So, this is where you live now—”

“How did you find the place?” I cut her off, having never given her Jax’s address.

“I followed you here, obviously. You took off in such a rush I wanted to make sure you were okay, which I’m not so sure about.”

Her brows crease together with worry, as she looks at me.

I let out a sigh, not sure what to think, not even sure if I want to process the idea that Bryce is related to Sam. Or even worse, that Sam could somehow be involved.

I look at her again, her deep brown eyes alight with concern as she fidgets nervously.

“I think we need to talk,” I say, pushing the door open further and ushering her inside.

Sam follows me through the house to the kitchen, where I smell coffee brewing. My stomach twists in knots, both at the idea of asking her about Bryce, not sure I want to hear what she has to say, and the thought of Jax and Ryan grilling her about everything.

We enter the kitchen, and the first thing I see is Ryan leaning against the counter, a calculated look on his face as he gives Sam a once-over and me a look that says good luck.

I turn from him, and my eyes immediately find Jax, sitting at the head of the table, the air around him charged with an energy that sends a shiver down my spine. Anger, not directed at me, radiates from him as he quietly assesses Sam. He looks at her as if he’s trying to decide if she’s a friend or a threat.

Sam follows behind me and Jax stands as we approach the table, and I walk up to him. He leans over to kiss me before I sit down in the chair to his right. Sam stays at the end of the table, shifting nervously as she looks between us, unsure of her place in this world, in our world together.

“Welcome to our home,” Jax says, his voice not unkind, but not remotely welcoming either.

“I… I just wanted to check on Evi,” Sam says quietly.

I’ve never seen her this nervous, this unsure, before. I look to Jax, wondering what his next move will be, wondering how exactly he plans to get to the bottom of everything.

“It seems like we have a lot to talk about. Sit.” He motions to the chair opposite me as he takes a deep breath, reining in his anger. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“I’m fine, but what’s this all about?” She looks at me. “We were fine, you were fine, and suddenly you bolt from my house.”

“I didn’t expect to see him in your family photo… Bryce.” I stumble over my words as my hands fidget nervously in front of me. “I didn’t know Bryce was your brother. I didn’t know your brother died.” I contain my emotions as best as I can, but the sorrow is audible in my tone. Jax’s hand comes to rest on mine as if reassuring me and comforting me simultaneously.

“Died?” Sam asks with confusion as she looks between us. “He didn’t die.”

She picks up her phone, texting quickly before I even have a chance to think of what to say next, of how to explain this to her.

A second later her phone chimes and she holds it up for me to see. “He’s very much alive. He just texted me back. Evi, what is this all about?”

I take a deep breath. “Bryce was there,” I say quietly.

She gives me a look and I continue, “Bryce was at Rhett’s. He stayed in the boathouse with me most of the time, making sure I didn’t leave. He caught me when I tried to escape and brought me back.”

She’s shaking her head no before I can finish my sentence.

“No, what? It can’t be… I know I said he used to get into trouble, but not like this… never like this… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He’s not a bad person. Maybe it was just someone who looks like him?” She sputters, looking between Jax and myself.

“How do you know he wouldn’t do something like this if you don’t know him well?” I look at Jax before looking back to Sam. “You always say you weren’t close with your siblings growing up, and that you’re not close with them now. How do you know what he gets up to?”

“Did he say anything Sam? Did he tell you he was going away for a while or seem suspicious at all?” Jax asks.

“I might not be best friends with Lockwood—Bryce—but I’ve known him my entire life… he’s friendly, kind, and helpful. Someone I know wouldn’t be involved in this… my brother wouldn’t be involved in this,” she says, looking between the three of us in shock.

“Sometimes the people we love turn out to be the people who disappoint us the most,” Ryan says quietly.

Sam’s eyes dart to his, taking him in for a moment before she continues, “We may never have been close, but if he was involved in this—and I really hope this is just some huge mistake—then I don’t know anything about it. I could never know someone was involved in hurting you and not say something, not do something to help you, Evi.” She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Besides the time I went out partying with him, which was the first and last time, I only see him at family dinners, and yes, I saw him at Thanksgiving, and he was the same as he always is—eager to leave as soon as the formalities were over. That’s how it’s been since I moved out years ago. If you think he was involved you need to talk to him.”

Her features crumple as she looks at me, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Let’s just invite him over for a cup of coffee, I’m sure he’d just love to sit down for a chat,” Ryan says, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Sam glares at him as I shoot him a look that says play nice .

“Or we keep something of his until he comes and gets it,” Jax says quietly, the fire behind his eyes dancing.

“Like what?” Sam asks.

“You.”