Page 26 of Meet Me in the Valley
“Sorry, Iz. I need to get this real quick.” Isabel nods and moves next to me on the couch as I pick up Tia’s call.
“Hey, T.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise the moment I hear her sniffle on the other end. Before I can think, I’m already moving, grabbing my keys from the little bowl Isabel keeps by the front door, heart pounding like it knows something I don’t yet.
“Where are you, Tia?”
Tia’s breath stutters through the line—hiccupping, like she’s barely keeping it together. She never cries. Not like this.
And just like that, every part of me shifts into motion.
I need to get to her. Now.
“T-Torren’s … L-Logan. I-I’m?—”
“Stay there. I’m on my way to you. You hear me? I’m coming, T.”
“O-o-okay.”
I can tell she’s covering the phone, trying to muffle her sobs. I hang up, already gripping the doorknob and ready to bolt. But then I catch sight of the pink welcome mat beneath my feet—and it hits me. I’m at Isabel’s.
I turn to apologize, but she’s already standing there, offering me a soft, understanding smile on her face.
“It’s okay. She needs you.”
Relief crashes over me—I didn’t want to explain, and now I don’t have to. But guilt follows fast. I hate the thought of leading Isabel on. I feel like an asshole, and part of me hopes this doesn’t taint our friendship.
My eyes search hers for reassurance, and Isabel gives it to me by kissing me on the cheek and shoving me lovingly out of her door. “Seriously, we’re good. Now go!”
I give a quick nod and bolt across her yard, adrenaline already kicking in. The engine growls beneath me, and I don’t hesitate. I’m flying down the street, burning through every red light like they don’t exist.
Tia needs me, and nothing’s going to stop me from getting to her.
Chapter Seven
TIA
Apple pies used to be such a happy symbol in my life. Dad says when he and Mom were dating, she had no idea how to make any sort of American dessert. He told her how he hated birthday cake, and if it were up to him, he’d have apple pie for every birthday.
Mom learned how to make apple pie in secret, botching pie crust after pie crust. Then, when she finally nailed it, she surprised him with a single candle in the middle of the pie on his first birthday they spent together as a couple. Over thirty years later, the apple pie shows up on the table without fail.
Now, the smell of sweet apples and cinnamon makes me want to vomit. My mom is sick—and there’s no cure.
I hug my knees, wiping my tears against the fabric of my leggings as I look into the emptiness of the lake. Dark, cold, and stock-still. It hurts to take a full breath. My eyes ache from the tears I couldn’t hold back on the drive over.
Logan’s bike growls through the stillness, the sound slicing through the quiet like it’s chasing the panic from my chest. I turn just in time to see him cut off the engine and kick the stand into place. Then he takes off, sprinting down the hill.
Straight to me.
A sob rips from my throat as I stumble to my feet, barely managing a few unsteady steps along the dock before he crashes into me, arms locking around my body like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. His warmth envelops me, solid and desperate—and that’s all it takes.
The levee breaks, and the grief crashes through me in violent waves. I collapse into him, clutching, shaking, finally breaking apart in the one place I feel safe.
With him.
“I’m here. I got you. It’s okay, T.”
He holds me close as I soak his shirt with tears, letting me release the weight of devastation that now stakes a partial claim in my heart.
