Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Three
As I start to regain consciousness, I have no idea where I am or what just happened to me. The only thing my brain’s computing is an absolute monster of a headache. From what I can tell, a trio of blurry shapes are crowded over my body. I start to lift my head, but all I see are stars. When my already-foggy vision tunnels into a woozy blackness with fresh zaps of light, I try to sit all the way up like that might help the situation.
Newsflash: it doesn’t.
“Take it easy now, Three,” says the medium-sized blur. I can’t quite place the voice, but I’m pretty sure I know the guy. “Let’s do this slow.” As he helps me into a seated position, something warm trickles along the nape of my neck. Smells like copper.
Must be blood.
Where am I?
“Ouch,” I grunt. Pain shoots through my skull, making me wince.
“You are alive!” squeaks a woman with a high-pitched voice. Let’s call her Little Blur. She’s a brunette I think, based on my fuzzy view. I shake my head to clear the fog, but that only makes the dizziness worse.
“People who are un-alive can’t sit up,” I mumble.
“Zombies sit up,” she blurts. “I mean … not to argue with you. But.”
I wince again. “I’m not a zombie.”
“Are you sure?” A snort comes out of the extra-large blur with the extra-deep voice. “By the end of last night’s poker game, you looked a lot like the undead.”
I shift my crossed eyes over to the bulky shape. Even with my vision blurred, I recognize that voice. Ford.
Right.
Now I remember where I am.
My cousin and I had been out for an early evening jog around the lake with Kenny Monroe.
The medium blur.
“I get up at the crack of dawn to teach high school kids all week,” I grumble. “Of course I’m tired by Friday night. Plus winning all your money is exhausting.” I make a half-hearted effort to stand, but Ford lays a hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“Stay down until we get you checked out,” he commands.
Running a hand around my scalp, I assess the surface damage myself. From what I can gather by feel alone, I’ve got a goose egg on my forehead big enough for its own zip code. There’s also a gash at the base of my skull I probably got on my way down.
That’s where the blood’s coming from.
The midsized blur—Kenny—bends down to examine my lumpy head.
“Hey, Ken,” I groan pressing my eyes shut again, fighting a thick wave of nausea. To keep from puking, I dip my head, chin to collarbone.
“Looks like you got nailed pretty good,” Kenny says. He’s a paramedic. Ends up on calls with Ford all the time. “You probably got a concussion.”
“I didn’t get anything.” I lift my chin. “Somebody gave it to me.” From off to the side, a voice yelps. This is the woman. The one who beaned me.
Little blur.
Before landing the blow to my head, she whirled around so quickly, I didn’t even get a look at her. I just went down. Now I swallow hard. Open one eye. Settle my gaze on the petite brunette. Then I almost hurl for real. Because I’m the guy who once convinced Sara Hathaway I wanted to end things between us. That my feelings were never as deep as hers.
Lies.
It was for her own good, though. At least that’s what I told myself ten years ago, and I still stand by the decision. But what on earth is she doing back in Abieville now?
In this exact house?
“You hit me,” I groan, gulping down a swell of acid in my throat. If Sara remembers the last time we were together, she probably thinks she had a pretty good reason to deck me.
“I did.” Her cheeks flush pink now, like the cotton candy we used to get at the 4th of July carnival. When she starts chewing her lip, I swear I can taste the sugar mixed with her cherry Chapstick.
Ford huffs out a breath, leans against the counter. “Good thing you’ve got such a thick skull. And a little blood never killed anyone.” My cousin’s one of only two people who knows what really went down with Sara and me. The other one’s my sister. I tell Nella everything, too.
Well. Almost everything.
“I could’ve killed you,” Sara blurts. “What were you thinking, breaking into a house without knocking?” There’s a thread of panic in her question, and she pushes a strand of long black hair behind her ear. Then she blinks at me. Lake-dark eyes. Enormous lashes. She’s even more beautiful than she was a decade ago. When I open my mouth to speak, no words come.
So Ford answers for me.
“Kenny, Three, and I were jogging along the lake,” he says. “We thought we smelled smoke. Then we heard the detectors go off. Three’s way faster than us, so he sprinted ahead.”
Sara’s eyes are all black pupils and smoke-gray irises. “You were trying to help?” She keeps her gaze locked on mine. “I’m so sorry.”
Her voice is soft now, and a twinge of sympathy for her pings behind my ribs. But I refuse to let my defenses down. Being around the Hathaways always made me feel less than. Unworthy and adrift. So Sara’s a slippery slope I can’t afford to get my heart anywhere near.
Not again.
“I thought some faulty wiring might’ve started a fire,” I mutter, finally forcing myself to speak. “Everyone in town knows this place is being renovated. I didn’t want the empty house to burn down, so I tried the back door. It was unlocked. I assumed the contractors left it that way, so I came in.” I cringe a little as my head throbs in two different places. “I had no idea anyone was staying here.” I furrow my brow, peering up at Sara. “Why are you staying here?”
She takes a beat. Works her jaw. “My parents bought this place after Mr. Peabody died. They’re the ones renovating it.”
Whoa.
My insides churn.
This is bad news. The worst .
The Hathaways only ever used this house as a summer getaway. Once they stopped coming, I assumed I’d never have to see them or Sara again. But now her parents are going to live on Abie Lake permanently? She’ll be visiting all the time. I’ll never be able to escape her.
This town is way too small.
“Huh.” Ford scratches his temple. “I’m kinda surprised the Abieville gossip mill didn’t know your folks were the ones moving here.” He snaps a glance at me. “Aunt Elaine and Betty Slater are usually on top of intel like this. Did you have any idea?”
I scowl at him. “Obviously not. ”
“Well, this is just an investment property,” Sara hurries to say. “And my dad’s always discreet when it comes to finances. He hired a third-party management company to handle the purchase and remodel, so our name probably isn’t on any of the paperwork.” She glances around the smoky kitchen, wrinkling her nose. “For the record, I tried putting out the fire, but the extinguisher malfunctioned.”
Ford bends down to pick up the abandoned fire extinguisher. “Did you try pulling the pin?”
She blinks at him. “The what?”
“The pin.” He shakes his head, and a crooked smirk creeps across his face. “It’s kinda hard to get a fire extinguisher to function with the pin still engaged.”
“Well. I. Uh.” Her throat starts to blotch. “I did not know that.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” he says. “You aren’t the first person that’s happened to in this town. Natalie Slater—our cousin Brady’s wife—she did the same thing a few summers back.”
“The day of Kasey and Beau’s wedding,” Kenny chimes in. “That was a whole thing.”
Sara’s brow lifts. “Brady’s married to Natalie now? And Kasey married Beau? Wow.”
“Yeah.” Instead of elaborating, Ford sets the extinguisher down where I’m still slumped on the floor. When he straightens, I follow his gaze to the smoldering oven.
“So how did the fire start, anyway?” I ask.
“I was baking brownies,” she says, a tiny shrug hitching her shoulders.
“These appear to be well done,” Ford snarks, peeking inside the oven. “Personally, I prefer my baked goods a little more on the gooey side.”
A small laugh slips out of Sara now, and I’m transported back to those long summer days we spent together. Boating on the lake. Swimming at the beach. Strolling down Main Street with ice cream cones. She’d stop to lick the drips off of her wrist, and all I’d want to do is taste her sweet lips.
Every single time.
“All jokes aside,” Kenny says, reaching down to me, “we need to get you off the floor, man.” He and Ford help me stagger into a chair. Then Kenny takes my pulse. Stares into my eyes. Moves his finger back and forth while I’m supposed to track it. “You gotta be checked out at the hospital,” he says. “I’ll call a rig. Take you to Northampton Medical.”
“No ambulance.” I grimace. “I can slap a Band-Aid on that cut and call it a day.”
“You lost consciousness,” Kenny says. “Plus you’re nauseated. Blurred vision. Could be serious.”
I wave his comments away. “I got at least one concussion playing football in high school.”
“All the more reason to get your head checked,” Ford points out.
“I don’t need the doctor to tell me I should take it easy for a day or two.”
“Sorry, but self-diagnosis is a no-go,” Kenny persists. “You could be more injured than you realize.”
“Fine,” I mutter under my breath. “But save the emergency vehicles for people really who need them. I can drive myself to the ER.”
“NO WAY!” Ford shakes his head, like he’s scolding me. “Driving after a head injury is totally unsafe. The fact that you’re even suggesting it proves you’re at least a little bit off.”
I blink up at him, chagrined.
What if Ford is right? My brain could be swelling right now, influencing my decision-making. And even on non-brain-injury days, I’m prone to bad choices.
Like falling for Sara Hathaway in the first place.
“Besides.” Ford shrugs. “We were running around the lake, so you don’t have a car here, remember? None of us does.”
“I do,” Sara says softly. “I drove a rental out from the city.” She leans over me, and a whisper of her perfume slams my brain even harder than that fire extinguisher. “This is all my fault,” she adds, her voice a little breathless. “I can take Three to the hospital.”
I cringe. “Absolutely not.”
Ford darts his gaze at me, a flash of amusement in his eyes, then he turns to Kenny. “Guess you better call the rig, then.”
“Don’t.” I clench my jaw, sending more pain spiraling through my cranium.
“We’re kinda out of other options,” Kenny insists.
“So what do you say, man?” Ford asks. His mouth slips sideways. “Life-saving vehicle, or Sara?”
Oof. What’s the bigger emergency?
I heave out a groan . “I pick Option C.”