Page 51 of The Truth You Told

A few years back, a burly, hairy, ugly trucker had become a regular at the bar. He read poetry and spouted off ancient wisdom between downing half a cask of beer each night. On his right bicep he had a tattoo, a quote from Aristotle.

“One swallow does not a summer make.”

When Shay had asked him about it, he’d told her about the year he’d spent in jail. And he’d told her about how that year didn’t define his life any more than any other year he wasn’t in jail.

One bad event did not doom a person to be evil. One good deed did not a hero make. It was all about a life built on moments and choices and actions.

“You know, she might also just be scared,” Beau offered.

The suggestion shocked Shay. She’d always thought of Max as incredibly tough, almost brave to a fault. After all, she’d dealt with the asshole who was listed on her birth certificate under “Father.” Shewore her attitude as armor, and Shay had always imagined it covered just another layer of stronger armor beneath. And then molten lava at her core.

But she was just a girl, really. There was a serial killer in their area, and some of his victims were the same age as Shay.

“I’m officially a dumbass,” Shay admitted. She had been on edge for a while, but then Kilkenny had arrived on the scene. With him came the possibility of scrutiny into her life, into her secrets. She could admit she was overreacting, but she could also admit there was a reason for that.

“Yeah, but you’reourdumbass,” Beau teased, his foot nudging hers to make sure she knew he was joking.

“I’m going to have to tell Max,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said again.

“What do you think this is going to cost me?” she asked, finally pushing to her feet again.

“If you’re lucky, a bribe of no less than twenty dollars,” he said.

She made a face, but agreed. That was best case. Worst was that she’d lose Max’s trust. It didn’t seem like something she could easily get back.

“I’m calling off from work,” Shay said, and Beau raised his brows. “So that I’m here when she gets home.”

“Oof, ripping off the Band-Aid, good for you.”

“But you’re not going to be here to witness it,” she guessed.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I have no interest in the shrapnel.”

He dipped out of the room as quickly as he’d entered, and a minute later she heard the front door close.

Shay stared at the box of clippings and wondered if she should put them back how they were. Maybe not even ask about them.

She couldn’t even remember what order they’d been in, though.

“What are you doing?”

Shay startled, banging her elbow on the door, looking all the more guilty for it, she was sure.

Max stared at her from the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” Shay said. “I came in to get the phone charger. I didn’t want to be without a phone tonight ...”

As she trailed off, she waved at the elephant in the room.

A tiny, tiny, minuscule part of her watched Max’s expression closely as her attention landed on the box, on the articles.

It gave away nothing.

After several terrible seconds that felt like hours, Max relaxed and shrugged. “Okay.”

Shay opened her mouth, closed it. “You’re not mad?”

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