I slump down and take a breath. If only I had some?—
A water bottle is shoved into my face, and I freeze, eyes widening. My heart pumps harder than it has all night.
When I slowly look up at who’s holding it, I nearly cry with relief. Then, stiffen with dread.
Ashlyn stares at me with concern. Then, she studies the body lying on the ground next to me.
A thousand explanations fly through my mind. Maybe she’llbuy that it was an accident and I’m just doing this for our physical education credits…
Instead, she shakes the bottle until I take it and attempt to get up, but she stops me with a severe look.
Then, silently picks up the shovel and stabs it into the ground. Continuing the work I set out to do.
We trade off and on until the job is done in the quiet. Only asking for swaps of the water bottle when needed.
When it’s over, we dip into the lake, cleaning ourselves off. Then let our legs dangle over the cedar pier just as the daylight breaks in streams of purple and gold.
She gathers my hand in hers, and I let her.
Big, blue eyes hold my gaze until my belly flips and my skin gets hot. She presses her lips to every knuckle and kisses the cut I got somewhere in the fight.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she says softly.
“I know.” I can’t breathe while she’s touching me.
Her thumb brushes the cut again, like she’s healing it. “Are you scared?”
I shake my head once. Honest. “Not if you’re still here with me.”
She drops my hand only long enough to gather my face between hers. I can make out each freckle in the morning light. She’s never been so serious before. It makes my pulse race. “I see you, Aiden Isaac Cardell. I see you. And I’m still here.”
That’s it. That’s the moment when it happens.
Her breath stutters, like she didn’t expect the truth to land that hard. “I always will be.”
Something inside me gives way. Clean. Complete. Done for.
This girl is part of me now.
And there’s no reversing that.
twenty-three
There’snothing more depressing than a covered pool.
Leaves float on the wet tarp like scabs over old wounds, hiding whatever green, murky mess is festering underneath. Memories of happy, sunny times replaced by the smell of nature’s rot.
And it sits right in front of the grave where I buried my baby.
“But it’s heated,” I say, spearing a piece of stuffing and dragging it through the cranberry sauce like it’s blood. “I don’t understand why you started closing it.”
No one answers. Forks scrape plates, chairs creak, conversation hums without me. Wyatt elbows my arm on his way to another mound of mashed potatoes while Dad talks his ear off about some boxing match they saw last night.
On my left, Mom and my three sisters are a cackle chorus about wedding plans, dress fittings, and flower arrangements. The brothers-in-law and boyfriends are deep in a separate debate about who could take down the biggest turkey. Typical Thanksgiving holiday, where it’s easier to ignore Ashlyn thanengagewith her.
The worst part? Right across from me sits Talon. Battered and bruised. With tape covering his busted nose. He keeps staring at his phone under the table, which buzzes constantly with notifications. Instead of looking worried, he smiles to himself like he’s got his own comedian in a palm-sized device. My eyes twitch every time he looks down.
“Maybe I’ll use the hot tub,” I add to the table, mostly to myself. “Or I’ll have one of the staff open the front pools. Or I’ll do it.”