Chapter 1 #2
Quick. The kind of look people share when they're deciding how much to say.
I was trained to notice what people try to hide.
"We got some help." Mom's voice goes light in a way that's supposed to sound casual. "A grant came through. Community pitched in. You know how people are around here."
No. I don't.
People in Ashford Falls are proud. Stubborn. They'd rather drown than take a hand. I learned that from my father, who once worked three jobs rather than accept charity from the church.
"What kind of grant?"
Another glance. Dad shifts in his chair, wincing at the movement.
"Does it matter?" Mom's brightness sounds brittle now, like glass about to crack. "Point is, we're fine. Better than fine. You don't need to worry about us, Liberty."
But worrying is exactly what I'm doing.
Something is wrong here. I can feel it the same way I could feel an ambush coming, that prickling certainty that the world was about to tilt sideways.
Before I can push, the front door bangs open.
A blonde tornado sweeps into the living room. "Libby!"
Gracie slams into me so hard she nearly knocks me off the couch.
She's laughing and crying at the same time, arms wrapped around me like she's trying to physically prevent me from leaving again.
"You're here, you're here, oh my God—"
"Missed you too, Gracie."
She pulls back, hands on my shoulders, and looks at me with those pale blue eyes that haven't changed since we were eleven and she was the first person who ever made me feel like I wasn't alone in this town.
Gracelynn Ashford. Still beautiful. Still kind. Still the closest thing to a sister I've ever had.
Which makes her brother that much harder to understand.
Don't think about him.
"You look amazing." She swipes at her tears with the back of her hand. "I mean, tired. And you've definitely lost weight. But there's this—"
"Gracie."
"What? I'm complimenting you!" Her grin breaks through the tears, and for a second we're twelve again. Sneaking out to the quarry. Stealing her mom's wine coolers at sixteen. Promising we'd be best friends until we died.
Some promises, you keep.
"Tell me everything." She grabs my hands. "How was the flight? How long are you staying? Say forever. Please say forever."
"I don't know yet." The weight of it presses down on my chest. "I need a job. An apartment. Need to figure out what civilian life looks like."
"Okay, first of all, you're not staying in some apartment." She says it like the word is an insult. "You're staying with me."
"Gracie—"
"The guest house. On the estate." She steamrolls right over me. "It's empty. Two bedrooms, full kitchen, totally private. You won't have to see anyone if you don't want to."
The words hit me like ice water.
The guest house.
On the estate.
On his property.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" Her brow furrows, genuinely confused. "It's perfect. Close to your parents. Close to me. No rent while you figure things out."
The downside stands six-two with pale blue eyes and a smile that never reaches them.
The downside is why I joined the Army in the first place.
"I should find my own place."
"The guest house is your own place." She squeezes my hands, and her face does the thing it's been doing since we were eleven. The pleading. The hope. The absolute certainty that I'll say yes because I always say yes.
"Libby. I haven't seen you in two years. I've barely seen you in eight. I need my best friend back. Please."
My chest aches.
I want to tell her.
Want to explain why the thought of sleeping on Ashford land makes my skin crawl, why her brother's name feels like a hand closing around my throat.
But how do you tell your best friend that her brother is the reason you fled?
"What about your brother?"
The words come out too sharp. Gracie blinks.
"Elias? What about him?"
What about him.
Like he's not why I put eight thousand miles between myself and this town.
Like he didn't spend my entire senior year watching me from doorways, from windows, from the shadows at the edges of every room.
Like I didn't enlist one week after graduation because staying meant finding out what happened when a man like Elias Ashford stopped waiting.
"We weren't close."
"You were kids." She waves a hand, dismissing it. "And he was going through a lot back then. Mom had died, he was taking over everything—he's different now."
Different.
I remember his hand on my wrist the night before I left for basic.
His thumb pressing into my pulse point. The way his voice dropped low and certain. "You'll come back. They always come back."
"He's hardly ever home anyway." Gracie's still talking, still trying to convince me. "Always working. You'll probably never even see him."
I want to believe her.
But my instincts are screaming, the same instincts that kept me alive when everything else was trying to kill me.
Don't go to the house.
But Gracie's looking at me with hope in her eyes.
And my apartment application in Charlottesville fell through for reasons no one could explain.
And the job interviews I lined up keep getting rescheduled at the last minute.
Like something is working against me.
Paranoid. You're being paranoid.
"A few weeks." I hear myself say it. "Until I find something permanent."