Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Salem - One Year Later
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I disagree.
A picture is worthless.
Flimsy paper, easily crumpled and tossed aside. Burned to ash, ripped to shreds. Weak. Delicate. Of all the ways to capture a memory, most choose thin material behind fragile glass.
Myself included.
As I pull the first print from the tray, I watch the image sharpen, details blooming in the dim red glow of my darkroom. It’s a face I know all too well—sharp gray eyes, a ghost of a smile, freckled cheeks. A moment stolen in time.
But it’s not real.
The person in the photo doesn’t exist anymore, not like this.
My fingers tremble as I hang the photo to dry. Chemicals sting my skin, but I welcome the bite. It’s grounding. More realistic than the glossy lies dangling from the line.
Because that’s all I capture: Lies.
Pictures don’t hold truth. They don’t encompass the way a voice cracks on a certain name, the weight of a hand slipping from yours, the way “goodbye” can linger in the air long after the person vanishes. A picture can’t hold a heartbeat.
It can’t hold the people inside.
I stare at the row of drying prints, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears as my mother’s face stares back from dozens of different angles. The images are beautiful, haunting even. Perfect.
And they mean absolutely nothing.
My phone buzzes on the shelf, interrupting the music. I wipe my hands on stained jeans and swipe to answer the call, already knowing who’s on the other line. “I’m almost done.”
A scoff reaches my ears. “You’ve been in there for hours. Shit’s all loaded up, we gotta hit the road.”
“Five more minutes.” I remove the next photo, hardly registering the burn. By this point, I’m surprised I even have fingerprints left.
“If you aren’t out here in five seconds, I’m coming in there and ruining all your film. Swear to fuck.”
The line goes dead, and my music resumes. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let out a slow exhale through my nose.
Three months. Ten different cities. A chance to get out of Utah and all the haunting memories as dead as the pictures hanging on my dry line.
Maybe the person who comes back will have a different face. A different name. A different life.
Someone knocks at the door, interrupting my thoughts. “Three, two, one. Now you’re done.”
A second voice joins in with a chuckle. “You should have been a poet, carino. That was beautiful.”
“I’m fucking Shakespeare.”
“Nasty, fool! He’s old as shit.”
“Shut the fuck up. And he’s not old, he’s dead.”
“That makes it worse.”
Rolling my eyes, I get to my feet and groan, knees popping as I stretch my back.
Not sure how long I’ve been hunched over in here, but I revel in the ache as I yank a flannel off a hanger and throw it over my sports bra, leaving it unbuttoned.
Developing film always makes me sore, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I snatch my camera on the way out, making sure my blackout curtain is in place. When I fling open the door, my two best friends are waiting for me on the other side.
Taylor and Christian stand with their arms crossed, both wearing matching scowls in their Twins of Terror t-shirts.
“Took you long enough,” Tay grumbles, purple highlights peeking through his black hair when he runs a hand through it. “Are you even packed?”
“Uh… yes?” I side-step to block the empty suitcase sitting on my messy bed and raise my camera. “Pre-tour selfies. Smile, boys!”
Christian grins wide, dark brown hair falling around his shoulders as he flexes his muscles, but Tay ruins the photo by walking in front of the lens. “We don’t have time for this shit.”
He starts opening my dresser drawers, throwing whatever he can find into my suitcase without looking. I raise an eyebrow at Christian in question. “What crawled up his ass and died?”
“Not his boyfriend,” Christian smirks. “That’s why he’s sulking.”
Taylor flips him off before moving into my bathroom after nearly emptying my underwear drawer. “It’s a twenty-five-hour drive from here to Nashville. One whole day before I get to see Huck again and yes, I plan on being everyone’s problem until that happens.”
Objects crash to the floor, and he returns with his arms full of the most useless shit he could find.
“Really?” I scoff. “My Q-tip jar? And what do you plan on doing with the soap dish?”
He tosses it all onto my bed before throwing his inked arms wide. “I don’t fucking know what you want to bring, Salem. Why don’t you help?”
Christian sighs dramatically, hazel eyes squinting at his best friend. “You need to chill. We’re making good time.”
“We are not,” Tay snaps, going for round two in my medicine cabinet. “It’s almost noon, so we’ll have to drive the RV in shifts through the night. At least there’s six of us so that we can rotate, but—”
My spine snaps straight. “Six of us, who? I thought it was just us and Arya?”
He freezes like a deer in headlights, guilt flashing across his turquoise eyes.
Christian lunges forward to smack him on the shoulder. “You said you told her, fool.”
“Tell me what?” I glance between them, a heavy feeling settling in my stomach.
“I said I was going to tell her,” Taylor argues, chewing on his bottom lip. “And I am… right now.”
“You’re an asshole.” Christian shakes his head. “For what it’s worth, I told him to tell you a week ago.”
“Tell me what?” I nearly shout, placing my hands on my hips.
Before either of them can answer, the front door to my apartment swings open, groaning on its hinges.
“We leaving anytime soon?”
That voice is like a bucket of ice water down my back.
I don’t need to look to know who just walked in, but I rotate slowly in place anyway, like my brain needs a second to catch up with reality.
And there he is.
Devon stands in my doorway, leaning against the frame casually like he lives here with a cocky smirk on his pierced lips. Dark amber eyes sparkle amusedly when they land on me, but his smile is tight. Almost pained.
I don’t have the patience to unpack that right now, though, because all I feel is rage.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I shriek.
Taylor and Christian both flinch, the latter scrubbing his neck like he saw this coming.
Devon just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets with a nod in my direction. “Nice to see you too, Salem.”
I lunge before I can stop myself, shoving him into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, asshole!”
Taylor steps between us, hands up. “Okay, okay, let’s just—”
“You knew about this?” I snap, betrayal boiling my blood as I turn to Christian. “And you?”
Christian only shrugs. “I told him to tell you.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Spinning back to Taylor, I clench my hands at my sides. “How many more times are you going to throw my exes at me, huh?”
Devon chuckles. “Technically once more, but who’s counting?”
My head snaps in his direction, the urge to kick him in the nuts coming on strong. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The sound of my own heartbeat thunders in my ears. I don’t know what I want more—to scream, to cry, or to hit something. Maybe all of the above.
Dev laughs like he’s enjoying every second of this. “We’re picking up Logan on the way.”
My breath catches, the room tilting on its axis.
No. No, no, no.
First Devon. Now Logan?
“The hell you are,” I spit, reeling back.
Taylor at least has the decency to look guilty, but it’s not enough. Not even close. “We just figured—” he starts, but I cut him off with a sharp, humorless laugh.
“You figured? You figured you’d ambush me with every goddamn ghost from my past all in one day?”
Devon snorts. “Should we call you Scrooge?”
That’s it.
I pounce, but before I can drive my fist into Devon’s cocky fucking face, Christian jumps between us and grabs me.
“Hey, hey! Jesus, Salem, chill.”
“I will not chill!”
Devon doesn’t even flinch. The bastard just grins wider. “Love me a feisty redhead.”
My vision blurs at the edges, turning everything red. “I swear to God—”
Taylor slams the door in Devon’s face, shutting him out. “Salem, listen. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this.”
“You mean like a rational fucking person who doesn’t want to go on a road trip with her ex-boyfriend and her ex… whatever the fuck he is?”
“Technically, Logan’s your husband,” Devon calls through the closed door. “And everyone in that room with you is also your ex-whatever.”
I thrash again in Christian’s arms, sinking my teeth into his wrist until he releases me.
“Ouch, fucking goblin!” He shakes out his hand before pointing a finger at Tay. “You made this mess, cabrón. Now clean it. I’m going to sit with Arya in the RV.”
Once he leaves with Devon, Taylor and I square off, circling each other while I fight the urge to knock him out. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away.
For the first time in the ten years I’ve known him, I think I could actually hate Taylor’s guts. Every terrible decision I’ve ever made has come back to haunt me at precisely the same time, and this asshole expects me to just…roll with it?
“You crossed a fucking line,” I hiss, my voice shaking.
Taylor’s jaw tightens. “We need all the help we can get, Salem. Christian and I can’t do this on our own.”
A scoff leaves my throat as I cross my arms. “What the hell am I? Chopped liver?”
“You’re our marketing manager,” he says quietly, stepping closer to rest his hands on my shoulders.
“And our photographer. Arya is our cheerleader and hype girl. Now we’ll have Dev to help with loading and unloading, maintenance, whatever else we need.
If we can get Logan on board, we’ll have our business manager. ”
“If? He hasn’t agreed yet?”
Tay shifts uncomfortably, licking his lips. “That’s part of why we’re going to get him. Huckslee says no one’s heard from him since Matty and Xed got married.”
I knock his hands away with wide eyes. “Taylor, that was months ago.”
Honestly, I haven’t even talked to Logan since the morning after I got drunk and married him in Vegas. Where he fucking left me.
“I know.” Tay turns away, closing the lid of my suitcase before zipping it up. “He needs us, Sal. So, let’s get a move on. We’ve got a kidnapping to execute.”