1. Juliette
JULIETTE
SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
R osebrook Falls is cursed.
At least, that’s what the legends say.
Beverly has always told my three brothers and me stories of the town’s lore.
She’d whisper about how the actual buildings were poured on top of broken hearts and buried secrets. How two people fell in love despite being promised to others, and how it ended in despair.
I hadn’t believed her tales. Not really, anyway. Until she told me one of them was a Calloway, and the other a Montgomery.
That part I believed.
Loyalty means everything in this family, so it makes sense the generations before felt the same.
She’s never said it specifically, but I imagine she’s talking about the actual founders of the town: Theodore Montgomery and my great-great-grandfather Alabaster Calloway.
A construction juggernaut and a real-estate tycoon.
They had a deal. They’d build Rosebrook Falls together, sign the WayMont Compact Agreement to make sure everything was split fifty-fifty, and then they’d keep the power and influence in the family by marrying off their kids to each other.
So, when Theodore’s son Kenneth went and found himself a Voltaire girl to fall in love with instead? Alabaster took it personal.
The Voltaire girl wound up dead, and accusations were tossed out like candy on Halloween.
I don’t know if there’s any truth to it, but I do know that Marcus’s wife Eleanor was a Voltaire before she wound up dead, too.
My brother Alex loved to tell Beverly’s tales anytime we’d go camping. He’d jump up on his soapbox, creating visions of death and destruction where civil hands were stained with civil blood and fierce love went to die.
I loved watching him in his element, acting out scenes and capturing his audience. Sometimes I’d even fantasize about writing novels with him starring in their adaptations.
To this day, Alex swears they’re all true stories, but considering they were told with a flashlight under his chin and his voice wavering like the spirit of our great-great-grandfather was about to jump out and snatch us, I don’t really trust his claims.
My eldest brother Paxton says Beverly was creating tragic fairy tales to explain why our parents are constantly at each other’s throats.
It makes sense, I guess.
To be honest, it’s been years since I’ve given much thought to the Rosebrook Falls wives’ tale at all.
Today, though, it’s stuck in my brain.
Maybe because Paxton just announced his engagement to Tiffany Heartinger, the oil heiress from Pennsylvania, and while everyone else is gazing at them with heart eyes, I can tell Paxton doesn’t give a damn one way or another.
For him, it’s just another business deal. Strengthening the family ties and all that.
But seeing him so resigned to his fate has me thinking maybe Beverly is right, after all.
Maybe the town is cursed.
Either way, I’m thankful to get away from the celebration, even if it is because Mother sent me on a wild goose chase.
Freaking Lance.
I’m going to punch him in the throat when I find him.
It’s just like his dumb ass to disappear, and somehow, whenever he goes missing, it’s always me who has to track him down.
I’ve checked all the usual spots, everywhere from Verona University’s small college campus to Fortune’s Fool, the local theater in the town square.
But my troublemaker of a brother is nowhere to be found.
So now I’m at my last resort, hiking up to the tallest spot in Rosebrook Falls: Upside Down Rock, a secluded area hidden off the overgrown trails in Verona County Park.
My phone rings as I’m trekking the steep hill, but I already know it’s either Paxton or Mother, so I don’t answer.
As I walk the weed-filled and dusty path, nostalgia hits me in the center of my gut.
For my thirteenth birthday, Lance taught me how to sneak out and come here. Said it was “a rite of passage for a teenaged Calloway.”
He claims the area calms him.
I think it’s his getaway spot for whenever our dad pisses him off.
There’s a large boulder perched on the cliff’s edge, its surface the size of a small SUV. We’d always carefully climb on top of it, lying with our feet toward the sky until the blood rushed to our heads and we thought we’d either faint or fall.
It was exhilarating…and dangerous.
I can’t remember the last time Lance had that carefree look in his eyes; the way he did back then.
Nostalgia hits even harder when I stop in front of the rock, and I place my hands on my hips and glance around.
Rosebrook Falls itself sits in a valley, and this is the best lookout. Everything is visible, from VU in the east to the train tracks that skirt along the edges of the HillPoint in the west, closest to the cliff.
It’s quiet. Peaceful. Serene.
And Lance is definitely not here.
I soak in the gorgeous orangey reds and pinks of the sunset sky and my phone vibrates again, pulling me out of my reverie. Sighing, I grab it from my back pocket and open the group chat with my brothers.
The Calloway Kings (and Queen)
Alex:
It’s actually impressive how pissed Mom looks.
Me:
That’s just called resting bitch face.
Alex:
Well, it’s EXTRA today. She’s staring at the front door like she can summon Lance from the underworld. It’s fucking eerie.
Paxton:
She’ll live. Jules, any luck?
And cue the guilt. It’s not like I lost Lance, but not being able to find him makes me feel responsible.
Me:
Nope. Lance if you’re reading this just know you’re dead to me.
Alex:
Samesies.
I snort.
Alex:
Did you check the theater? He’s been banging the lead in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
My nose scrunches up in distaste.
Me:
Ew, isn’t Heidi the lead?
Alex:
Yep.
Me:
Gross.
Alex:
I KNOW! I SAID THE SAME THING.
Me:
Idk, I’ve checked everywhere. I’m tired, sweaty, and Mom’s gonna murder me when she sees what I did to this dress.
I actually changed out of it before leaving, but they don’t need to know that.
Alex:
Like everywhere, everywhere?
I know what he’s asking. He wants to know if my “everywhere” includes the HillPoint.
Me:
Negative. I’m not trying to get shot.
Alex:
Please. They don’t shoot people over there, they shank em.
Paxton:
Where are you now, Jules?
Me:
Being your resident park ranger.
Paxton:
You’re at Verona Park? Don’t hang out there after dark.
Me:
Okay, DAD.
I roll my eyes at Paxton’s overprotective streak, but I won’t lie, it warms my chest a little.
Technically, Verona Park is neutral ground, but the park’s director owes his job—and his annual bonus—to my dad, so the odds skew in our favor.
Alex:
Hate to see you mauled by a bear and land on the cover of The Rosebrook Rag.
Paxton:
There are worse things than bears and tabloids. Get home before dark.
Alex:
Yeah…like getting shanked by a Montgomery goon.
I spin so my back faces the cliff and Rosebrook Falls sprawls behind me, then snap a picture of me flipping them off with a sarcastic grin.
After I pocket my phone, I stroll to the rock, climbing on and twisting until I’m lying with my legs above my head, my spine pressed to the stone.
My heart flutters as I lean back, my hair blowing in the breeze at the cliff’s edge.
Adrenaline kicks in, just enough to feel that soaring, reckless rush, and I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of red birch trees that are so Connecticut-coded, it makes my chest ache.
A twig snaps from somewhere behind me, and my stomach jumps into my throat. I squeeze my eyes tighter, hoping it isn’t a coyote or a bear.
I swear, if I die up here and prove Paxton right, I’ll come back and haunt this place forever.
“Lance?” I call out hopefully.
There’s no reply.
A few seconds, and then there’s another noise.
Footsteps, I realize.
I jerk too fast, trying to scramble off the rock, but instead of sitting upright, I slip entirely.
Air punches out of my mouth as my body slides, and my fingers claw at the smooth boulder, but there’s nothing to grip onto. A scream tears from my mouth as my legs flip over my head, nails breaking against stone as I try to find something— anything —to grab ahold of.
Suddenly, something clutches my arm, yanking me back.
I crash onto the ground hard, breath knocked forcefully from my lungs.
My eyes are squeezed shut, and my heart pounds in my ears, so it takes a second to realize the earth isn’t as solid as it should be.
And that it’s breathing .
It’s warm, and malleable, and—my lids fly open—definitely a person.
Our eyes meet, my chestnut browns locked on icy blues .