Chapter 4
four
. . .
REAGAN
“I feel awful.”
“You look it too,” Lainey said, grinning at me.
Rolling my eyes, then wincing as the movement aggravated the headache I’d been unable to shake for the last three days, I pinned her with a look. “You’re an asshole.”
“You love me.”
When I grumbled noncommittally, Lainey threw one of the pillows from our couch at my head.
“I meant about the trip,” I explained. “You know it’s my turn.”
She gestured to me, where I was curled into the fetal position on one side of our sectional, dressed in sweats and layered with blankets to ward off the chills that had plagued me as long as the headache. “You’re on your deathbed, Rea. You’re hardly in a position to fly across the country.”
“It’s just the flu,” I protested, albeit weakly.
The truth was, I hadn’t been this sick in a long time. The up and down fever, the body aches, headache, and occasional bouts of nausea and vomiting had sapped all of my energy. For the last several days, I’d barely been able to shuffle between my bed and the couch.
As much as I hated to admit it, she was right.
After graduating college nearly seven years ago, Lainey and I had started our own photography business.
Though it had taken a few years, we’d built a large social media following.
Thanks to our online popularity, we frequently fielded inquiries about jobs across the country.
Long ago, my twin and I had come to the agreement that we would alternate who took the trips.
Our styles were similar enough that we’d never encountered an instance where a client preferred one of us over the other.
We were simply Twin Flames Photography, the faces behind the cameras.
“Are you sure it’s even a good idea for you to go, though? You know, since you-know-who…”
I trailed off. Lainey knew who I was talking about. In fact, I didn’t even know the guy’s name. When we’d come back from our spring break trip to Idaho seven years ago, Lainey had brought a stalker with her.
Maybe stalker was the wrong word. As far as we knew, the guy had never come to our small town in eastern Tennessee.
But for six and a half years, he’d refused to leave Lainey alone digitally.
He would call and text at all hours of the night.
Lainey would block him, but he’d reappear with a new number in days.
He’d also harassed us both on our business and personal social media profiles.
Begging Lainey to come back. Asking her to give them a chance. Reminding her what a good time they’d had together that night in Dusk Valley.
Over the years, I’d pleaded with her to go to the police, especially after he threatened to leak some naked pictures he’d taken of her while she slept that night.
But she hadn’t, claiming he’d eventually get bored and find someone else to bother.
“Besides, I’m hot as fuck. Having my nudes leaked would hardly ruin me,” she’d said once.
That was Lainey—irreverent as hell, almost to a fault sometimes.
About six months ago, though, her prediction had come true, and she hadn’t heard from the creep since.
Still, sending her back to that place alone was difficult, knowing he was likely still around.
Lainey dropped onto the couch and reached for my hand. “I’m going to be fine.”
“I wish you’d at least stay at the motel where there’s some security.”
Now my sister rolled her eyes. “That place has about as much security as a paper bag,” she quipped.
“Hey, they could’ve upgraded since we were there last.”
“I’m camping, and that’s the end of it.”
Lainey had that look in her eye that told me no amount of pressing the issue would change her mind. She’d dug her feet in and planted roots. There’d be no moving her.
That deep-seated stubbornness was a quality—like many others—we had in common.
“You have your SAT phone?” I asked.
She dug into her bag and withdrew the black, boxy device.
Thanks to that trip seven years ago, and numerous ones closer to home since, we knew the signal out in the wilderness was dicey.
While I enjoyed the occasional camping and hiking trip, my sister had a habit—more like a penchant—for going off the grid when the voices in her head got a little too loud.
I’d purchased the phone for her a few years ago when she disappeared for three days without a word, leaving me with a mountain’s worth of worry.
I didn’t judge her for it. Goddesses knew there had been days when I’d take off on the road with nothing but my camera and the desire to find a sliver of peace and quiet away from my own demons.
But she was the only family I had left, and I wouldn’t survive if something happened to her.
Lainey zipped her bag after returning the phone to the disorganized mix of clothes and toiletries. In contrast to the haphazard jumble of her duffel, next to it, her camera bag with all of its equipment was neatly packed.
Then she faced me, one hand on her hip, the other raised, fingers folding over her palm. “Out with it.”
“Out with what?”
“The big sister lecture you always give me before I take off like this. Even if you are only five minutes older,” she added with an eye roll.
I snorted. “If you know it’s coming, you should remember it from all the times I’ve given it before.”
“Humor me.”
Shifting slightly on the couch, though every bone and muscle in my body protested, I reached out and clasped her cheeks in my hands.
Most people never got to see their face with their own eyes, but I found mine in Lainey every day.
The same green eyes, same naturally honey-blonde hair, the same mouth—though hers had a small white scar cutting through her top lip thanks to a bar fight with a sorority girl in college.
The same girl my ex had cheated on me with.
Lainey had always had my back, and now I would have hers.
“Be careful. I know you’re a pro at this, but if something feels off, you bail. Get a hotel room. Ask for help.” I stressed that last one with a playful tug on her hair. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”
“I know.”
Lainey was the most free-spirited, independent woman I’d ever known. I was the more careful of the two of us, the level head. The planner. The worrier.
But Lainey was a grown woman, and I had to trust she could take care of herself.
I hauled her to me even though I ached, hugging her tightly, not wanting to let go.
I couldn’t explain why, but I was more anxious than I’d ever been for her to leave.
“I’m going to be fine,” she said with a laugh, eventually pulling back from my embrace after I allowed it to drag on longer than normal.
As she did, a car beeped outside—her ride to the airport.
“I know,” I sighed. “You have everything?”
“Yep.”
Unable to help myself, I brought her in for one more squeeze.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”