Elyna inhaled sharply. “My mom too,” she said quietly.
My chest tightened as the name settled between us like a bruise. Elyna’s mom, Maggie, died in a car crash with Kyle Jensen in the car. Mom and Maggie had been best friends. My sister Isabelle and I were the youngest of all my siblings. At eighteen months apart we remembered mom less than the rest of my brothers. Still that hadn’t stopped us from searching for answers since none of us knew why mom took off without everlooking back. Hell it was the reason Becket became a cop and Eric was obsessed with saving every person he met.
No one spoke for a long moment. Eric finally cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said gently. “This was supposed to be a light dinner.”
Becket lifted his beer. “We’re not exactly built for light.”
A quiet, rueful chuckle moved around the table.
Eric squeezed Harmony’s hand. “Doesn’t mean we can’t try.”
I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the conversation pressing in. Claire Segal didn’t know this family. Didn’t know how deep the scars ran here. How many ghosts lived in Val-du-Lys. And yet somehow, she’d stepped straight into the center of it. I didn’t trust her. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her either. And that scared the hell out of me. After dinner, I thanked Eric and Harmony and took off towards my cabin. I had moved into it over a year ago when Sandy started dating Dad. I figured we could all use the space. I removed a wall that connected two cabins and opened the space so I could have a room to train and a room to sleep. But tonight, my skin felt tight. Like I needed to head outside and let off steam. I headed toward an area I set up for myself for training and hit the heavy bag harder than I needed to. The chain rattled against the oak branch overhead, the sound sharp in the quiet. My knuckles stung through the wraps, but I welcomed it. Pain was easier than thinking. Dinner didn’t sit right. Claire Segal didn’t sit right. I circled the bag, throwing another combination, breath steady, muscles burning. This clearing just off to the side of the orchard was mine. Dirt packed hard. A few mats stacked near the fence. A bag I’d repaired more times than I could count. Headlights flared at the edge of Maple Valley’s drive. I stopped mid-strike and saw a car idling where it shouldn’t be. I peeled off my wraps and jogged toward the road, irritation already curling tight in my chest. When I got closer, I recognized the car. Claire’s. Windowdown. Engine running. She was staring down at something on her phone.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
She startled, looked up at me, then frowned. “Do you always like to sneak up on people?”
“You’re on my land,” I reminded. “It’s dark. And you’re leaving.”
“That’s true,” she confirmed, her tone carrying a hint of sarcasm. Her answer landed wrong.
“At this hour?” I asked. “After everything we talked about?”
She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “You don’t get to interrogate me every time I step off the property.”
“I do when you’re doing something stupid,” I countered.
Her blue eyes flashed. “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Enlighten me.”
She hesitated, and that worried me more. I had a fight to prepare for. I needed to stay focused. I didn’t need to worry about her and her next move.
“I’m just going for a drive,” she said too lightly.
“Bullshit.”
She exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes. “Why do you care so much?”
Because you’re walking straight into something that doesn’t let people walk back out. I didn’t say that out loud.
Instead, I said, “Because people don’t leave Maple Valley at night unless they’re looking for trouble or trying to avoid it.”
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Fine,” she said, full of irritation. “You want honesty?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t asking for a lot.
“I’m looking for someone,” she said evenly.
My stomach dropped. “Who?”
She looked past me, toward the trees. “Nico Mercier.”
The name hit like a punch to the ribs.
“You’re what?” I snapped.