Page 21 of Every Good Thing
His small, one-breath laugh that feels like a win every time I hear it.
The way he holds my hand under the table whenever we go to dinner—maybe he’ll do that tonight.
His deep, gentle voice that mesmerizes me when he talks.
I long to feel close to him again and feel ashamed that we’ve drifted apart in the first place.
My speed sneaks up on me, as does the sharp curve around Clayton’s Swamp. I’ve driven this road thousands of times at higher speeds and in unfavorable weather conditions, but I’m hellishly preoccupied.
“Distraction can be deadly.” Ben’s words from previous driving lectures flitter my thoughts like an omen.
I take the narrow, tree-lined curve too fast and feel my rear end fishtailing behind me. Shit, shit, shit. I slam on the brakes too hard and overcorrect the wheel. The car jerks in nonsensical directions as the steering wheel refuses to turn where I tell it. Tires screech against the pavement, joining my screams when the car twists, and I feel inexplicably weightless.
No, no, no. Oh, God, no.
Airbags whoosh, but a brutal hit breaks against me, anyway. Sharp pains lightning bolt through me, and immense pressure pins me to the seat.
I can’t breathe.
Then, darkness.
Five
BEN
My hands strangle the steering wheel hard enough to form blisters in the Riley Trust Bank parking lot. I’m nervous. I don’t get nervous. I bump up the Jeep’s AC to combat my damp palms and beading forehead. This morning still bothers me. Distracted over Lena, I failed to prevent one of Ruthie’s classmates from grabbing my leg with his glue-covered hands. Preschoolers view me as a rock wall, ready for climbing, which is fine when I’m not in a suit. Wet spots linger on my pants’ legs from my rigorous cleaning in the preschool bathroom.
Nothing is going right. My gut instinct assures me this won’t either.
Nervous. Irritated. Distracted. The evidence is clear—I shouldn’t be here, but I’ve already committed. Drink water. Drive on. Do your fucking duty.
I shake out my sore fingers and roll my head around my neck.
Refocus and assess the surroundings.
The Riley Trust Bank campus is impressive. A twelve-foot-high black iron fence surrounds the property, not unlike the type I want for Saddletree. Lena doesn’t think we need it, that we’re too far from the city to worry about robberies and break-ins.
But everyone thinks it won’t happen to them. Until it does.
A uniformed security officer checked me in at the gate and provided a temporary badge. Top-of-the-line 4K cameras perch on every lamppost leading into the sprawling, meticulously maintained thirty-acre campus. Majestic pines and thick-leaved magnolia trees shield the area from the main roads, hiding the business like a secret. Most people probably don’t know it’s here—no cut-throughs or main roads.
Several buildings occupy the grounds, but I stare at the tallest one—a glass structure a dozen floors high with small trees surrounding the top floor. That’s where my party awaits me.
Thirteen minutes early, I wait and reread Lena’s text. Dinner tonight is just what we need, and I’m relieved she suggested it. She isn’t upset with me, and tonight, I’ll tell her everything and hope she’ll forgive me for putting it off this long.
I silence my phone and tuck it into my jacket pocket. I repeat my rules for this meeting: listen as promised and avoid anything personal.
This will be a challenge. The Rileys make everything personal.
I exit my vehicle in an unwelcome train of memories—glasses clinking across the Riley’s large dining table, the glass of a Molotov cocktail breaking against the Humvee that day in Afghanistan, wine glasses shattering over Lauren’s hardwood floors.
Fuck. There’s no way to keep this from being personal.
A cleansing breath moves me forward. Focus.
Cameras occupy the corners, and security guards man the doors.
The restaurant is named after Lauren’s mother, Jillian, a vibrant woman consumed by fundraising events and perfectionism—her house, her wardrobe, and her daughter. At least, when I knew her. The upscale restaurant on the top floor resembles its namesake. It’s elegant, expensive, and intimidating.
