I laugh just as Mara’s office phone rings. She speaks to the person and then waves it at me, her eyes big. “It’s Mr. Winchester from Birmingham for you.”

I motion to her that I don’t want to talk to him. He’s been calling my cell for over a week and I’m avoiding him.

She gives me an exasperated look when she hands it over. “Take it.”

Fine.

I put it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Miss Ryan?” His tone is dry and wintry and utterly professional. I picture the tall and lanky man who came here in January to tell me my father was dead. “Finally.”

I pace around the room, holding the phone tight. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to confirm that you’ll be in Davenport for the reading of the will. It’s in two weeks.”

My chest constricts. Of course I know when it is. I have it saved in my phone and Mara has it circled on her desk calendar. “I will not.”

There’s a long silence from him and then his voice softens. “Before you make up your mind, I want you to know there is no animosity toward you here.”

I huff out a laugh. “I find that hard to believe with the way my father cheated on their mother for years.”

He seems to take a breath. “I hope you change your mind. It might…do you some good to come back and see where you came from.”

“Please don’t assume you know what’s good for me. I don’t take well to condescension, Mr. Winchester.”

“I apologize.” He continues, clearing his throat. “I conveyed your waitlist situation to Mrs. Mitchell, and she’s sent in a letter of recommendation for you.”

My hands grip the phone, and Mara reaches over and pushes the speaker button. It’s killing her that she can’t hear what he’s saying. “My name isn’t Mitchell. It never was. And what does she know about me? How can she write a letter?”

The line is quiet as he shuffles papers.

“Does she feel sorry for me?” The thought pisses me off.

Mr. Winchester sighs. “I don’t know. It’s common for former alumni to send in letters of recommendation.”

“But if you had to guess, Mr. Winchester, why would she do it?”

There are a tense few ticks of silence. “Who knows the matters of the heart, but perhaps she sees a young girl who never got the chance her own kids did.”

A sweat breaks out on my skin.

“Will you come?”

Mara is waving her hands at me, mouthing, “YES, YES, YES.”

I close my eyes and push out the words. “I’ll let you know.”

37

Zack

I sit up in bed at five on the dot. I haven’t had a nightmare in a while, and I wonder if fighting with Reece helped me get past something.

I don’t know.

I get dressed for my run. I have to or I’ll go crazy from thinking too much.

Right now, I’ve shoved everything to do with Sugar down so far I’m not sure where it is, locked up tight and stuffed in a black box shoved into a corner of my mind. I’ve got chains and a padlock around that box, and no way in hell is any of it getting out.

I’m numb inside, keeping my emotions in check and protected.

I trudge out to the hallway and Long John Silver brushes against my legs. I give her a rub. “Hey, baby girl. You hungry?”

She meows and stalks to the kitchen, and I follow.

I don’t even notice him until I look up, but Reece sits at the table, dressed in gym shorts and an old shirt. He had his head down but it bobs up when he sees me.

We stare at each other and I mumble a terse greeting as I walk by. We’ve been stalking around each other for weeks now, barely speaking, but I won’t budge about Veronica. She isn’t allowed at this house. Once I’m gone after graduation, he can do whatever the hell he wants.

I stop at the fridge to pull out a Gatorade and suck it down. His eyes are on me, and I can’t resist asking, “Why are you up?”

He swallows. “So I could catch you and talk.”

I drink down the blue liquid. “Veronica isn’t welcome back.”

He flinches. “I know. I don’t blame you. What she did…” He shrugs and looks away.

I set my bottle on the counter and study my brother, taking in his bloodshot gaze, the purple bruises under his eyes, the haggard face. “Missing her, huh?”

His grey eyes find mine. “That’s right, good old Reece, always getting what Z doesn’t want.”

Tension zings through me, but it doesn’t have much heat. These past few weeks, I’ve lost some of the vitriol I spewed out the night Sugar walked away.

One thing is sure: I’m close to losing my brother. And that scares me.

He looks down at the gold box I brought out last night and set on the counter. “Those your letters?”

I give them a brief look and nod. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing with them?”

I toss my empty bottle in the trash, grab the box, and stick it inside my running backpack. “Letting them go.”

He blanches. “Where?”

Resignation colors my voice. “Where do you think? It’s time. I…I don’t love Willow, Reece. I haven’t for a long time. What we had wouldn’t have lasted. I was too young and so was she. You get that, don’t you?”

“Sugar, huh?” There’s an expression of acceptance on his face, a quiet realization.

My shoulders shift as I turn away from him and grab a protein bar from the cabinet.

“Z?”

I look over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

He licks his lips. “The photo of us…can I keep it?”

I give him a nod. I feel so tired. “Sure. It’s yours.” I open the box, pull it out, and hand it over.

“Thank you.” He takes it gingerly, as if it might fall apart in his hands.

I rub at my unshaven face and look away from him, finding it hard to take in his unhappiness. He’s hurting too. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror, and I’m death warmed over with my thin face, shaggy hair, and scruff that’s now grown into a thick, dark beard.

I look back at Reece and he’s watching me, pain etched on his features until they contort and his face compresses, his teeth chewing so hard on his bottom lip that blood comes out.

I walk over, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and giving it to him. “We’ve got to get past this, man. You’re my brother.”

He blots at his lip and shuffles to his feet. Staring at me, he opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then he doesn’t, his teeth clamping together.

“What?”

Misery plays over his face and he pinches the skin between his nose. “I need to tell you something about the night Willow died.”

Dread crawls over me. “Okay.”

An audible breath leaves his mouth. “The night of the party…you told me to tell Willow you needed to think about the baby and figure things out, but I didn’t tell her. I let her assume whatever she wanted about your absence. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she was worried, and I didn’t say a goddamn word.”

I frown. “But you said you did. You said you told her I was just thinking.”

“I lied.” His gaze holds mine.

I swallow. “Why?”

He paces around the kitchen, his hands rubbing at his face. I see a drop of blood forming on his lip again.

“Why?” I repeat, this time sharper. Reece is my brother, but if he’s lied to me or held something back… “Reece? What the fuck?”

He stops, his face white. “We sat outside talking, and I kissed her, man. I kissed her…and she kissed me back. She was so pretty and I wanted her…” He stops, his voice off. “I loved her, and it was my one shot, because I really thought you guys might break up since you were going to college, and she and I would still be there, and I didn’t even care that she was pregnant. I just wanted her.”

I ease down the cabinets until I’m sitting on the floor.

His fists curl. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

I lean my head back against the wood, my head spinning. I blink rapidly.

He pulls at his hair. “I’m the reason she ran out of that party. Me. She felt guilty for kissing me, and I tried to stop her, but all she wanted was you. She was going to find you.” He squeezes the edge of the table. “You’ve been carrying all that guilt and…I let you.”

I rub my chest. “Why?”

He closes his eyes. “Because part of me hated you for having her heart.”

“Fuck.” A knife stabs me square in the torso.

He flips around and slams his fist into the wall, and sheetrock sprays. “I’m the reason she died on those rocks, not you.”

The silence stretches between us as I grapple, my head spinning.

“It’s taken me this long to get the balls, to man up and tell you. I’m sorry, Z. I’m sorry about your nightmares. I’m sorry about your game.” A long sigh. “I’m sorry for everything.”

I can’t think straight.

“Do you hate me?”

I don’t know.

I pull myself to standing and weave as I head to the den. I sling my backpack on and start for the door.

His voice is behind me, low and broken. “Forgive me, Z. Please. I’m living with this guilt too. Please, man.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob, but I don’t know what to say.

“Z?”

I can’t deal with this. I want to stuff it away. I want to bury it down deep where all my other shit is.

I open the door and head out for my run.