Page 83 of Every Heartbeat After

Tomas nods, expression filled with understanding. “Of course I can call, Kit. And I can be there for the arrest, too, if you want. You shouldn’t have to put yourself through that?—”

“I’m his big brother,” I interject. “It’s my responsibility to take care of him. And even though he can’t see it, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. What I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He holds my gaze for a long time without blinking. I hope he sees the truth there. That I’m terrified but determined. That I’m learning to let go, little by little, even if it kills me.

Finally a grim smile tugs at his mouth. “Whatever you need. I’m here for you, man.” He reaches for the door but pauses. “Send over what you have for contacts down there, if any. I’ll give them a call tonight. You go do what it is you do best: take care of your people. It’s what makes you such a damn good deputy and an even better friend.”

He leaves me alone in the silence of the cab, listening only to the spitting rain and my own heartbeat. There’s so much to do: I need to call my parents. I need to actually get dinner. As trusting as Gage is, coming home empty-handed would be egregious even for him. But for a moment I hesitate. I forget everything I need to do and focus on the only thing I want more than my next breath.

I pull up Tess’s contact and, ignoring my last unanswered message to her, fire off another without hesitation. I stare at it for a long time, imagining her in some house I’ve never seen in a small town a lot like my home, smiling down at the joke.

Me

I don’t know about you, but I could really go for one of Alex’s daiquiris right about now.

Then I lock the phone and pull out of my spot.

ChapterThirty-Four

Tess

If May isthe balmy prelude to true summer, then June is the sweltering first act. After straining muscles I didn’t know I had to help some pot-bellied gentleman from the next town over load my grandparents’ old red couch into the bed of his truck, I’m drenched in sweat. I stumble back into the dimly lit house, make my way to the kitchen, and retrieve a soda from the fridge. Then I lie down in the middle of the living room floor to sip it while willing the cool hardwood to chill my feverish skin.

I’m not sure if minutes or hours pass, but at some point I fall asleep, only to be woken by the sound of my front door slamming shut. Only one person enters without knocking, and soon a flash of pale skin and thick, black hair confirms my suspicions about my intruder.

Alicia flops onto the floor beside me, hair sprawling in an onyx fan around her face, and tilts her petite nose up at the wood-paneled ceiling. “Do I even want to know where all your furniture has gone?”

The floor is unforgiving as I roll my head from side to side, taking in the shockingly empty space. No more red couch or solid oak coffee table. The ginormous rear-projection television was picked up yesterday by a teenage boy obsessed with all things vintage, while I tried not to cringe at the fact that objects of my childhood are now considered as such. The elevated dining room area seems especially bare. My grandmother’s dining table—which had had the leaves in for so long they could no longer be removed without excessive force—made a family of six who just moved in on my street very happy.

I turn to my best friend and frown. “I don’t honestly know. When I got back from Florida, I looked around and saw so many things that reflected my grandparents’ taste, or even my parents’, but none of it felt like me. So I started selling things online. Figured I’d use the money to buy things I genuinely like.”

It was therapeutic, actually. Watching each piece be carried out the front door. It felt like the beginnings of ripping a Band-Aid off a wound I hadn’t even identified yet.

She lifts a brow. “And?”

“And what?”

Her teeth flash as she lets out a bright giggle. “Well, did you have new stuff coming on order? Or did you decide you prefer the minimalist approach?”

I smile, because I suddenly remember how. “You’ve gotta admit, the floor works wonders on a sore back.”

She snorts, reaches for my soda can, and takes a swig. Her purple lipstick leaves a print on the rim. “Speaking of, you missed Delilah and Truett’s 5k fundraiser this morning. Turns out I’m a shit runner. And my hip is killing me for some reason?”

I let out a groan that echoes in the empty room. “I forgot that was today. Were they super upset?” Delilah’s such a sweet person, and I had every intention of showing up to support her and her fiancé. Ever since her dad was diagnosed with early onset dementia, she’s been trying to find a way to make a difference. Raising money for local families unable to afford care for their loved ones seemed like the perfect way to do it. What a shit friend I am for missing it.

Alicia scoffs. “There were over three hundred people in attendance. I don’t think they even noticedmypresence, let alone the lack of yours.”

Thank God.My chest deflates with a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay, Tess? You’ve been so discombobulated since you came back from the Carmen. And now you’re giving away all your earthly possessions.” She waves a hand toward the room. “The mental health training all the teachers had to go through with the school counselor last year tells me you’re a flashing, neon red flag.”

“Does the color red come in neon?” My skin squeaks against the hardwood when she shoves me, and I laugh. Both at my friend and the ridiculous sound. “I’m all right. Just trying to figure things out, one baby step at a time.”

She’s silent for so long that I lift a finger under her nose to ensure she’s still breathing, which she swats away with a frown. “Have you spoken to Deputy McHotStuff since you got home?”

His last message pops into my mind. The thought of sharing a drink with him was so tempting that I almost texted him back just to say so. But then I’d scrolled up, back to the photo he’d snapped of Fly Hollow’s exit sign moving past in a green blur, and the twisting feeling in my stomach became too much to bear. I’d locked my phone and, consequently, any hint of that feeling was shoved far away.

I shake my head, focusing on the rustle of my hair against the floorboards rather than her tongue-click of disappointment. My lips roll, and I close my eyes. “I saw a listing for a skydiving instructor in Denver.”

---