Zoey laughs. “What was it she said? ‘It promotes unrealistic expectations of sexual relations,’” she mimics our old teacher’s snooty voice.
“Well, she was kind of right,” I giggle, remembering her face when she walked in during a raunchy scene.
“Speak for yourself,” Zoey says smugly. I toss part of my leftover muffin at her. She ducks, laughing.
“Enough about all your sexy Frenchmen,” I protest. “Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have men falling at our feet twenty-four seven.”
“I don’t know, this place has possibilities,” Zoey muses, looking around. “I bet there’s a rugged, handsome guy here for you. The kind of man who wears plaid and can build you a house with his bare hands.”
I think of Ryland in his shirt and work boots, tanned skin and stubble on his jaw…
“Hello,” Zoey drawls. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That smile,” Zoey insists, looking excited. “You’re holding out on me. Spill!”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Less than nothing.” She’s still waiting, expectant, so I sigh. “There was almost a thing, but it was over before it started.”
“Hmm…” Zoey narrows her eyes at me, in a way I know just spells trouble. “Does the mystery man have a name?”
“Ryland,” I answer reluctantly. “Ryland James Ray.”
“Sexy,” Zoey grins. “He sounds like an old-time bank robber.”
“You’re crazy,” I laugh, setting down some money and rising to my feet.
“But that’s why you love me.” Zoey links her arm through mine and steers me to the door.
Outside, the clouds have burned off, and the sun shines down from a clear blue sky. “Perfect,” Zoey exclaims, as we walk back to her rental car. “Let’s hit the beach, and you can tell me everything about your sexy bank robber.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, but I can’t stop myself from glancing across the street towards the auto shop. Ryland is there, bent over the hood of an old pick-up. I can’t see much from this distance, but just his presence makes my pulse skip with a nervous surge.
Zoey follows my gaze. “Better and better,” she claps her hands together. “Is he the guy fixing your car? Let’s go see how he’s doing.”
“Zoey!” I protest as she grabs my hand and starts to head in his direction. “Zoey, no!” I drag her back. “I mean it, please,” I insist, praying that Ryland hasn’t seen us. “I’ll tell you everything, but I can’t go over there. He’s made it clear, he never wants to see me again.”
Zoey pauses, searching my expression. She must see my hurt, because she drops my arm. “Off-limits, asshole, got it.” She turns to glare at Ryland’s back with such a fierce expression, I have to laugh.
“I’ve missed you, babe,” I tell her, feeling a rush of affection.
“Damn right you have.” Zoey beams, hugging me close. “Now let’s get back to your mansion. There are a couple of lounge chairs with our names on them!”
We head back to her car, but as we go, I can’t resist glancing back over my shoulder.
Ryland is standing, watching us go. I feel a spark of fire, just in the moment our eyes meet. Then he turns away, and I remember.
He doesn’t want me.
I turn back to Zoey and keep walking away.
17.
Zoey distracts me for the rest of the day. We sunbathe for hours and swim lazily in the pool before feasting on junk food and ice cream. Zoey suggests going out to eat nearby, but I don’t feel like dealing with people, so we stay in instead: snuggling up in front of the huge cinema system Dex installed in the living room, watching old teen movies and painting our nails like we’re sixteen all over again. I fall asleep beside her on the couch, wrapped up in a comforter and our familiar friendship.
I wake from nightmares, shaking in a cold sweat.
Connor, pale and unmoving. White marble. Red roses.
The end.
No.
I gasp for air, terror still thick in my veins. I clutch a pillow and wait for the panic to fade, but it doesn’t: the fear grips my whole body, crushing my chest with pain and guilt until I can barely breathe.
My lungs burn. My heart skitters, wild and out of control. I scramble to my feet and lunge for the door, stepping over Zoey’s peaceful sleeping body, trying not to wake her.
Breathe, I order myself, dizzy and desperate. Just breathe through it, everything’s OK.
I stumble into the hallways and fall against the wall, trying to hold myself up. Connor’s voice echoes in my head.
“You’ll be sorry. One day, you’ll see. This is all your fault.”
They were the last words he ever spoke to me.
The last time I saw him alive.
Breathe!
The iron band around my chest finally snaps. I gasp, filling my lungs with a rush of blessed oxygen. I breathe fast, gulping for air, until finally I can stand straight again; the room stops spinning, the world settles back into place.
The house is dark and silent. Zoey sleeps.
I’m all alone.
I feel a sob well up in my chest, sharp enough to split me wide open. It’s his birthday—the first of a hundred birthdays Connor isn’t here to see.
Was it my fault? Could I have saved him, in the end?
The whispers I’ve kept at bay for month now start to rise, soft and seductive, full of blame.