Page 53 of Sunshine

My mouth falls open as her words hit me like a freight train. “Damn, Annie,” I mutter through the shock. “Who are you and what did you do with my baby sister?”

She laughs. “I just don’t want you to be burdened by all of this forever,” she admits. “And I think it’s okay for you to be a little selfish.”

I shake my head in disbelief. I love her so damn much, but I’ve always been worried she’d grow up with my mother’s perspective on life. Hearing her now, I realize she’s a force of her own, and it thrills me. “Thanks, Annie,” I say, reaching out to touch her arm. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

June comes by our table, her purple cat-eye glasses perched high on her nose and her curly red hair stacked atop her head. “Hey, Layla,” she greets. “Hi, Annie. Just you two today?”

Annie nods. “Yes ma’am.” June looks back at me, and I can tell by the way her eyes squint that she’s about to say something about Jason.

“Do you have any specials tonight?” I rush to ask.

Her brows arch. “Oh,” she says, tucking a strand of hair into her bun. “We actually just pulled some chicken pot pie out of the oven . . .” She trails off, her gaze locked on something outside the window next to us. I turn to see what’s caught her attention and find Georgia Moore and Emma walking toward the diner from the far end of the parking lot.

Jason’s mother, and the girl he was cheating on me with.

“Is that . . .” Annie starts to ask.

“Yep,” I say, my body already in flight mode. “Let’s go.” I pull my purse off the back of my chair as I stand. There’s a panic climbing up my throat, and I know if I don’t get out ofhere before they make it to the door, I’ll be trapped. “I’m so sorry, June—I?—”

“It’s all right, dear,” she says wistfully, and it’s all the permission I need to book it. Annie stays close behind me, and we make it out of the diner just as Georgia steps onto the sidewalk from the other end of the building.

“Layla?” I hear her call out, but I keep my focus trained ahead. There is no way I can handle seeing both of those women without heavy emotional preparation—especially not after what Wells shared.Is that what’s happening here, too?I think.Is Georgia with Emma to ask her what she knows about Jason’s last few days?

I’m almost insulted that she wouldn’t try to talk to me about it. It’s an entirely new punch to the gut that she might think Emma would know him better than I do.

Does she?

“Layla, you okay?” Annie asks nervously, and I’m pulled out of the thought as I realize we’ve walked right up to the entrance of a car wash.

Sighing, I lean heavily against the brick structure and try to breathe. When I look up across the road, I spot a familiar red and white truck parked in front of Gerry’s Feed Store.

Wells.

I turn to Annie. “Do you think you can walk home by yourself?”

Her face falls, and I hate it. But I need to do something, and I need to do it alone. “Are you sure?”

I try to force a smile. “I just need to talk to a friend. I’m okay though, I promise.”

There’s a reluctance in her eyes, but she relents. “Okay, but you’ll come tonight, right?”

My heart lurches at her fear that I might disappear again. “Of course.” I nod. Mom might be pissed that I’m sending her home alone, but she’s almost fourteen now—the age I was when I started babysitting her. I know she’ll be okay. “Mom and Barry will be back soon.”

“Okay,” she says, and pulls me into a hug. I squeeze her tight, watching her until she disappears down a side street.

In a stroke of luck,Wells shuffles out the door of the feed store as soon as I make it across the street. He’s carrying a bag of grain over his shoulder like it’s nothing, his standard backward hat propped up on his head. He makes it all the way to his truck before he finally spots me standing beside it, his brows lifting at the surprise of finding me here . . . waiting for him. Because I realize that’s what I’m doing.

“Layla,” he says, his movement stalled.

“Hi,” I offer. My mouth stays parted as I try to form more words.

“You need something?” he asks tentatively, eyes tracking across my face like he might be able to decipher what it might be.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he could—he always seems to know.

I look at the truck, at the rust-edged steel and fading red paint. “Take me somewhere?” I ask, looking back at him.

Dark brows dip in confusion. “Are you okay?”

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