Page 47 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
Dylan studied his sister’s profile in the pale moonlight. The shadows under her eyes were deeper than they should have been, and he didn’t like the way her tone came across as brittle. It was as if she were holding herself together through sheer force of will.
“What's really going on, Kin?” Dylan asked, stepping close enough that she couldn't ignore him. “And don't give me some bullshit line about needing rest for tomorrow's game. And this isn't about Beck Serra showing up tonight, although I’m sure that didn’t help. This is about whatever's been eating at you for months. The last two years, actually. I thought you and Dad were…mending things.”
Kinsley tilted her head back and stifled a groan.
“We are, Dylan,” Kinsley responded when she finally focused on him. She reached up and pulled the hair tie out of her hair. The rest of her blonde strands fell around her face while she massaged the back of her head. “Things are going back to normal, aren’t they? Family dinners are like before. Mom is happy, and Dad hasn’t brought up work at the dinner table in a long time. Everyone is moving on, and I guess I let Serra’s presence here tonight get under my skin.”
“You made it sound like this wasn’t a one-time deal, though.Ishe harassing you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“And there’s nothing else bothering you?”
Kinsley parted her lips, and he would have sworn she was going to straight up lie to him. Instead, she averted the truth by making him question whether or not she knew about him and Lydia.
“We all have some secrets, don’t we? There’s nothing wrong with keeping some things to ourselves.”
The words carried implications he wasn't sure he wanted to unpack. Yet there was also something in the way she utteredthem, a weight that suggested her secrets were darker than his own carefully guarded relationship with her best friend.
“To answer your initial question, everything is good,” Kinsley replied as she stepped forward to give him a quick hug. “I’ve got a game to win tomorrow. Will you be there?”
“I wish I could, but I’m helping move some livestock to another field tomorrow.”
“Enjoy your evening then,” Kinsley said as she turned to walk away. Before he could do the same, he caught her turning around and walking backwards while smiling as if her verbal altercation with Beck Serra hadn’t taken place. “And Dylan? Don’t hurt her. I’d hate to have to disown you for breaking my best friend’s heart.”
19
Kinsley Aspen
July
Sunday — 12:47 pm
The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly on the makeshift football field behind the community center, turning the grass into a furnace beneath Kinsley's cleats. Sweat stung her eyes as she sprinted toward the sideline, her lungs burning with each ragged breath. The humidity clung to her skin like a second jersey, and she could taste salt on her lips as she pivoted sharply to avoid Travis Collins’ outstretched arm.
“You’re getting slow in your old age, Travis,” Kinsley taunted with a laugh as she tossed the football to the center ref. The man caught it before walking toward the middle of the field. “I bet you’re wishing that stormfront heading in our direction hadn’t stalled out.”
“Keep up the smack-talk, Aspen,” Travis called back good-naturedly. “One interception, and the game is over.”
“Keep dreaming,” Kinsley yelled as she rested her hands on her hips.
She slowly headed toward the huddle, trying to steady her breathing. The physical effort was just what she needed to burn off steam from last night’s clash with Beck Serra. She had spent quite a bit of time on her laptop when she got home, and what she found confirmed her belief that she had connected the right dots.
Beck Serra hadn't published a major article since his exclusive with Calvin Gantz and her father during the trial. His byline was no longer in major publications, and even local newspapers seemed to have lost interest in his work. He was a journalist whose career had peaked with one sensational story, and now he was desperately trying to find anything that could bring back his relevance.
“Aspen, let’s go!”
“What’s your big play, Wally?” Kinsley asked after joining the huddle. Wally hadn’t gone to her three times in a row the entire game, which meant Alex, Shane, or Izzy were up next. “We need a touchdown to win, and there are nine seconds on the clock.”
“These smoke eaters think I’m going to throw to Alex. I’ve gone to you twice, but I want you to cut toward the right. They won’t expect you to get the ball this time. Izzy is going to hold back for a second and then follow your lead. You’ll then throw a lateral.”
“That does not sound like a?—”
“You’ve got this,” Alex exclaimed as he elbowed her in the side. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
The others in the huddle laughed at the backward encouragement. Even Izzy was tugging her black receiver gloves into place with a rather wicked smile.The only one who hadn’t engaged in any kind of conversation with her today had been Shane.
As a matter of fact, she wasn’t even sure he had made direct eye contact with her.
