Liars (Crew of Elmwood Public #1)

1. Kaylor

1

KAYLOR

W e all wear masks—whether to hide emotions and insecurities, cope with trauma, protect ourselves from judgment, or conceal countless other truths. But eventually, those masks come off, and with them, pieces of our souls are lost. We can only pretend to be something we’re not for so long. When the truth is revealed, the lies are exposed.

I had a very clear picture of two masks I’d never forget—ordinary black ski masks with only their eyes exposed. The men who appeared at the end of the alley wore dark clothing, matching the ominous shade of their disguise.

I didn’t see them at first, hidden in the shadows. The only movement in the alley came from Dad, Mom, and me as we meandered around puddles, our shoes sloshing against the wet cobblestones. The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the city slick and glistening. I snuggled deeper into my sweater, wishing I’d brought my coat as a gust of icy wind rushed down the narrow alley. It was a shortcut we’d taken dozens of times before, the uneven stones shimmering under a flickering streetlamp at the alley’s far end.

“Should we stop at The Shack for pizza?” Dad offered, the December air tugging at strands of his auburn hair as he glanced at Mom.

Today was her birthday, and Dad had surprised her with tickets to a play. He might not be a fan of musicals, but he loved her, so he gladly suffered through hours in a theater for his wife.

Our adoration for the theater was one of many things I shared with my mom.

“God, yes. I’m starving,” she replied, moving closer to Dad’s side, shielding herself against the chill as another gust scurried through the alley.

“We can get?—”

I sensed the sudden change in the air, like a charged battery sending out pulses of electricity. The hairs on my arms stood up as my parents, walking beside me hand in hand, slowed. I glanced sidelong at them as the smile on Mom’s lips faded. Their lively chatter died. She reached for Dad’s arm, tension stiffening his large frame. He put an arm out, pushing me behind him, but not before I glimpsed what had triggered his protective instincts.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, faces obscured by black masks. One of them raised an arm, a gleaming pistol catching the light.

“Kaylor, stay behind me,” Dad ordered me, his voice steady but terse.

“Take whatever you want,” Mom quickly said, holding up her purse. “Just let us go.”

But there was no reply, only the sharp, deafening crack of gunfire.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

I lost track of how many shots rang out. Too many. The booming blasts echoed in my ears, thunderous against the frantic pounding of my heart.

I screamed as Dad stumbled backward, blood blooming across his chest. Mom cried out—desperate and raw—before a second shot silenced her. My knees buckled, my vision spinning, and I hit the ground, collapsing onto the wet cobblestones.

At first, I thought I had dropped to the sidewalk, seeking cover from the gunshots, but then a sudden flare of white-hot pain seared through my shoulder, and I realized I hadn’t just fallen.

I’d been shot.

The sound of boots on pavement receded as quickly as they had come, replaced by the soft, indifferent patter of rain.

A deadly silence followed.

The quiet whisper of death.

Groaning, I tried to sit up, pushing myself upright with my uninjured arm. The other one… I couldn’t think about it. Or the warm fluid soaking my sweater.

Neither of my parents moved. I couldn’t see my dad’s face, but Mom… She lay with her head turned toward me, her eyes vacant and unblinking, her hand outstretched as if she had been reaching for me.

The corner of the Wicked playbill lying over my mother’s fingertips was stained red with her blood, the gentle drizzle of rain muting the stain like a watercolor painting.

What had started as the best day of my life had morphed into not just the worst nightmare I could imagine but also an unforgettable moment that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Choking on a sob, I reached my arm toward her, my throat unable to form her name or make a sound.

Blackness devoured me.

I woke to a siren blaring, the sound whirling through the air with a sharp urgency. The stretcher beneath me shook slightly. A haziness clouded my vision, and I blinked again and again, trying to clear the fog, but my eyes were so heavy. A cold trembled through my veins, making me shiver despite the weight of a blanket draped over me.

“Kaylor Steele.” Someone spoke my name.

I wanted to look at them. I wanted to answer, but it was pointless. Unconsciousness took me again.

My eyes flickered open a second time to the blinding glare of hospital lights. I blinked slowly, my head throbbing, my body heavier than it had ever felt.

“Kaylor,” someone said gently from my side. “Can you hear me?”

I gave the barest nod.

“You’re in the hospital. You’re safe now,” they informed.

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw and dry, the words catching before they could form. Then, the memories rushed back in jagged flashes—the alley, my dad’s laugh, my mom’s hand reaching out, the gunfire.

“Where…where are they?” I croaked.

Oh, God, please let them be okay. Please let this be a nightmare. Please. Please. Please.

The nurse hesitated, her expression softening with quiet sympathy.

I didn’t need to hear the words. The ache in my chest was answer enough. I turned to the window, tears slipping silently down my cheeks, and stared at the gray sky, wishing the storm had never stopped.

“I’m sorry. Your parents didn’t make it.”

The fuzziness in my head had lessened, but it hardly mattered as a sickening sadness overtook me.

I lay still in the hospital bed, the quiet hum of monitors filling the room. Staring at the ceiling, pieces of the last day with my parents fragmented in my mind. The play. The music. The costumes. Leaving the theater. The alley. The masks. And finally—the gunfire.

Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Every sound felt distant as if the world had shifted to a place just beyond my reach.

I clenched my fists against the crisp, sterile hospital sheets, my fingers brushing the bandages wrapped tightly around my shoulder. The pain was dull and throbbing, but the emptiness in my chest was far worse.

A soft knock broke the silence. A woman in a police uniform entered, her expression gentle but professional.

“Kaylor, I’m Detective Reyes,” she said, pulling a chair to the side of the bed. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and I’m so sorry for your loss. But I need to ask you some questions when you’re ready. Anything you can remember might help us find the men who did this.”

I turned my head slightly, my voice barely a whisper. “Why? They’re gone… It won’t bring them back.” I was feeling fairly defeated and testy. The emptiness inside me made it difficult to care about anything.

Detective Reyes hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing on her. “No, it won’t. But it might stop them from hurting anyone else. And you deserve answers, Kaylor. You deserve justice.”

The word justice felt hollow, like a shell of something I might have once believed in but couldn’t grasp anymore. I closed my eyes, and the image of Dad falling and Mom’s outstretched hand burned behind my eyelids.

“I didn’t… I didn’t see their faces,” I finally said, my voice cracking. “They wore masks. Black, with…something on them.”

“Something? Like a design?” Reyes leaned forward, her tone calm but persistent.

“I’m not sure… It was dark… I don’t know,” I murmured, tears slipping down my temples. “It was so fast. They didn’t say anything. They just—” My voice broke, silent sobs shaking my body. I didn’t want to relive the moment. I wanted to banish it forever.

The detective placed a reassuring hand on the edge of the bed. “You’ve done more than enough. If you remember anything else, anything at all, let us know. We’ll do everything we can to find them.” She placed a small business card on the table beside my bed.

When Reyes left, the room grew impossibly quiet again. I returned to staring out the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass. I hated how the world kept moving, indifferent to my shattered life.

I had so many unanswered questions—ones I would have to face soon enough. But as long as I remained in the hospital, I could ignore them. The pain in my shoulder and the pain in my heart were another matter. Neither would let me forget.

The staff brought food, but the tray remained untouched. I had no appetite. Not even for the cup of warm broth.

A soft knock startled me out of the numb trance I’d fallen into. This time, when the door creaked open, a familiar face appeared—Carson, my best friend.

My red eyes welled with fresh tears as he rushed to my side, his dark, sandy hair flopping over his forehead.

“Shit, Kay,” he whispered, enveloping me in a careful hug, mindful of the bandages. “I’m so fucking sorry. I would have been here sooner, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

I buried my face into the warm spot under his neck, breathing in his familiar woodsy and citrus scent—the cologne I’d bought him for Christmas three years ago. He still wore it every day despite having a collection in his room.

Being in Carson’s arms grounded me, but it didn’t fill the gaping hole in my chest. No one could.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

His chest vibrated under my face as he answered. “Two days.”

“Two days,” I echoed, my eyes widening. How could it have been so long when it felt like the incident had happened mere hours ago?

“They had to sedate you when you first arrived. You wouldn’t stop screaming, and then the surgery…”

Panic climbed up my chest, a clammy cold spreading over my skin. “They’re gone,” I muttered flatly into the front of his hoodie, my voice hollow as my tears soaked the gray fabric.

“I know, fuck. I know.” He stroked my hair gently, then climbed into the bed with me. “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

“I’m alone.” The truth of my situation hit me, stealing my breath. I had only one relative who lived close by, my aunt.

Carson squeezed me gently. “You’ll never be alone. Never.”

I didn’t share his faith. Pulling away slightly, I sucked in a shaky breath. “Why did I survive and they didn’t? Why?”

His eyes glistened as he shook his head. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all. But I’m glad you’re here, Kay.”

I said nothing, just held on to one of the only steady people left in my life.

Carson stayed with me, doing his best to distract me and keep the tears at bay, but grief had a way of creeping in, silent and ruthless. One minute, we’d be scrolling through TikTok or watching reruns of Gilmore Girls , and the next, my eyes would be wet, tears silently streaming down my cheeks.

During my last unexpected crying session, a staff member walked in with a tray of food. She quietly set it down and tiptoed out as Carson, for the dozenth time, consoled me as best he could. My appetite still hadn’t returned, so the food remained untouched despite his attempts to coax me into eating.

I was blowing my nose into a tissue when a head popped into the room.

“Kaylor?” someone called in a soft voice.

“Kenny?” I murmured, straightening up and pulling away from Carson to see my other best friend. The trio was together again.

“Holy shit. You were shot.” I could always count on Kenny to blurt out the first thing that popped into her head.

Carson rolled his eyes as our friend hurried across the room, tears welling in her warm brown eyes, the gold rim around the edges brightening.

Since Carson was on my uninjured side, Kenny went in to hug me but second-guessed her decision when she caught sight of my bandaged shoulder. She leaned in and kissed my cheek instead, her long honey-colored hair grazing my face.

Kenny, Carson, and I had basically grown up together. Our houses were in the same cul-de-sac, and we were known as the Shady Court Trio at Elmwood Academy. As with any high school, rumors circulated, most of them baseless. The current lie making the rounds was that we were in an MFF relationship. Absurd. But the gossip queens at the academy loved to talk.

“I came as soon as our plane touched the ground.” Kenny’s family had flown to Lake Tahoe for their annual ski trip over winter break.

Our fingers laced together. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Are you kidding me? My best friend is in the hospital. Not even downtown traffic could keep me away. My parents wanted to come in, but I told them to go home with the promise of calling them later.” Mindy and Gabe Grey had been more than neighbors to my parents—they’d been friends. I imagined they were grieving too, but Kenny knew me well enough to know I wasn’t ready for visitors.

“Thanks. I’m just not up for seeing anyone. Excluding current company, of course.”

Kenny and Carson shared a look over the bed, trying—and failing—to be inconspicuous. I caught it.

“Obviously,” Kenny said, squeezing my hand.

“She’s not eating,” Carson told Kenny, talking about me as if I weren’t sitting right there.

“Snitch,” I mumbled under my breath.

Kenny perched on the edge of the bed. “We could order in,” she suggested. “I’ve never stayed in a hospital before, but I can’t imagine the food is five-star quality.”

“What about The Shack? We could share a pizza?” Carson added, hoping to tempt me with my favorite food on the planet except…

A mangled sob escaped my throat.

Carson blinked at me, his brows drawing together in concern. “What did I say?”

I shook my head, fighting the raw emotion burning the back of my throat. Closing my eyes was a mistake. I saw a flash of the two masked men. I shuddered and quickly opened them, dispelling the nightmare. Inhaling greedily, I blew the air out in a slow, steady breath.

“It’s me. PTSD,” I murmured. “We were heading to The Shack when it happened.” I didn’t think I could ever eat there again.

“Shit,” Carson muttered, running a hand through his sandy waves, his dark-blue eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“Way to go, dumbass.” Kenny reached across the bed and whacked Carson on the arm.

He frowned at her.

“Sushi,” Kenny said, snapping her fingers. “You love California rolls and spicy tuna.”

I did, but the thought of eating raw fish made my stomach roll.

A knock at the door saved me from having to disappoint my friends, who were only trying to help. But I couldn’t eat. My stomach was twisted in knots so tight it hurt. God, it hurt so fucking bad.

A man in an expensive, neatly pressed suit sauntered into my room, followed by a woman with a sleek bun tucked at the nape of her neck.

“Kaylor Steele?” the man inquired, lifting a bushy silver brow. He had sharp yet somehow kind blue eyes. I got the impression that, if crossed, those friendly eyes could turn into ruthless chips of ice.

They both wore expressions of sympathy, making my back bristle.

“Yes,” I replied warily.

Setting his leather briefcase at the foot of the bed, the man offered a gentle smile as if I were made of glass, one wrong move away from shattering.

“Sorry for the interruption, but I need to speak with you. I’m Decker King, your parents’ attorney.”