Chapter 39
AVERY
Day One
If you need me, I’ll be there.
Zane’s words echo in my mind as I kneel next to the silver Honda Accord.
He’s concealed himself in a stand of pine a ways up the hill from my location, looking down on me through a pair of high-powered binoculars, ready to spring into action if I need help.
The thought doesn’t give me much comfort.
If that happens, it means everything I’ve done to reach this point was for nothing.
If I need him, it means I’ve failed before I’ve even begun.
Ten minutes ago, he placed a quarter inch nail in front of the Accord’s driver’s side tire and I rolled over it, planting it deep within the rubber.
Then, I made my way down County Road 250 and parked a half mile from Reed’s ranch-style home, directly along the route he travels every evening on his five-mile run.
It usually takes him thirty-five minutes to reach this spot, but I’m here with fifteen minutes to spare just in case.
At exactly 5:20 p.m., I pull the nail from the tire with a pair of needle-nose pliers and wait for the tire to deflate. Then, I crouch next to the vehicle and pretend to struggle with the lug wrench until I hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of Reed’s shoes hitting gravel behind me.
I don’t need to look to know it’s him.
I crank on the wrench again, my hands shaking.
My heart stutters and climbs into my throat.
My entire body is about to slip into a violent tremble if I let it.
I bite my lip, pairing the action with a phrase.
Break it! It was one of the methods Zane and I’d practiced; a visualization tool to regulate my emotions when they got out of hand.
We’d spent entire days with him trying to trigger me and provoke a reaction.
Do you even miss Noah and Ethan? You don’t act like you do.
The wreck was your fault. You know that, right? You’re the reason they’re dead.
Do you regret how much you worked? How much you ignored them?
Think of your family, Bailey. Picture their faces. Visualize how much you let them down.
At first, Zane succeeded more often than he failed, turning me into a hot puddle of tears.
I’d stormed out of his office more than a few times with a Fuck off, I’m done, only to return the next morning, ready to do it all over again.
It took time, but eventually I learned how to ground myself, to focus on my senses like Zane instructed.
Find something to latch onto. The temperature of the room.
The way the couch molds to your body. The air filling your lungs.
Anything to pull you back to the present moment.
It mostly worked. And when it didn’t—when things escalated too fast—there was another option.
I’d force myself back to the present with a physical reminder.
A pinch of the arm or a sliver of cheek pulled between my teeth paired with an image of a brick wall slamming down and crushing all the anxiety flooding my mind.
Break it.
“Do you need a hand?”
I whirl around and press a palm to my chest. “Oh god, you scared me!”
“Sorry about that,” he says, breathing deeply as he plants his hands on his hips.
His hair is ruffled, his cheeks tinged pink.
There’s no arguing Reed Aldridge is handsome—I’ve seen it over and over again in his pictures.
His looks are a weapon he wields well. But the version standing in front of me, wearing the beginnings of a salt-and-pepper beard, looks older than the others.
His sins are finally catching up to him, burrowing into the lines of his face.
He looks nothing like his last iteration, Adrian Wallace, who seduced Evelyn Nash with a man-bun hair and tortoiseshell glasses.
This version, Grant Wilson, would barely even pass as Adrian’s brother. The change is startling.
“So,” I ask, trying to control the tremor in my voice.
“Are you going to help me, or are you just going to stand there and stare?” I smile as I say it, forcing my lips to form the warmest shape they can make.
I practically beam at him, thinking, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I will make you pay.
“Yes, of course, sorry.” He wipes his hands on his shorts. “Let me take a shot.”
I stand and hand him the lug wrench. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m not getting anywhere with this thing.”
He takes it with a grin. sweat dewing on his forehead. “It’s not easy. They really screw these bolts on tight. Do you have a jack?”
“I think so? I’m not sure. If I do, it’s in the trunk.”
“Mind popping it for me?”
“It’s open.”
“Oh,” he says, flustered. “So, it is.” He ambles over and makes a show of scrounging through the space even though I don’t have anything else in there and then returns with the jack and takes a knee.
A vision of ripping the lug wrench from his hand and bringing it down on his skull flashes through my head. The urge is so sudden and strong, I’m forced to grab my wrist.
“What happened?” he asks as he works.
“I’m not sure. Everything was fine and then the car started rattling.”
“It was probably a nail. There’s a lot of new construction going on. Lots of people building homes.”
“I can see why. It’s so gorgeous.” And it is.
It’s why Reed came back here—to find a place that once felt like home and try to reclaim an unspoiled piece of his past. A place where he thinks he can live out the rest of his days in peace.
That’s my guess, anyway, and one I hope is right, because I’m going to turn this little sanctuary of his into the biggest nightmare of all.
“It’s wonderful.” He takes the spare, which I’ve already pulled from the trunk, and bolts it in place, then lowers the car and stands, brushing his hands.
“There you go. All done. You’re good to go.
You’ll want to get that flat fixed soon though.
Take it to Gills downtown. They’ll treat you right.
And you’ll want to drive slow. These donuts aren’t built to last.”
I screw up my eyebrows even though I know exactly what he means. “Donut?”
“The spare. Sorry. That’s what they’re called. Here, let me get this stuff for you.” He scoops up the tire and the jack and returns them to the trunk.
“Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s nothing.” He shuts the lid, and then turns, looking proud of himself. “I don’t think I caught your name. Mine’s Grant, by the way.” He offers his hand.
I take it and my skin ripples when it touches his. “Avery.”
“So, are you new to the neighborhood? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“Yes. Just moved actually. But not here,” I say. “To Durango. I’ve got a place in town.”
His gaze sharpens. “So, what brings you out this way?”
You do. “Just doing a little sightseeing. I thought I’d take a drive. It’s such a pretty area.” I cast a mournful look at the spare. “I guess I should have stayed home, though. Figures this would happen. I have bad luck.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he says, gazing at me in a way I hope means he’s staring straight into his past.
We remain like that for an awkward moment before I say, “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve kept you long enough.”
Reed gives a slight shake of his head and blinks. “Right, yes. Of course. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I reach out and set my hand on his forearm. “Thank you. I seriously don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
“No problem. Happy to help.”
I let my hand linger a beat longer before stepping past him toward the car.
I have to play this right. I can’t come on too strong.
If I do, I risk rousing his suspicion. He needs to think he’s the one in control here.
Not me. If he doesn’t ask me out now, I’ll make sure to bump into him again soon, in a week or so.
It’s only a matter of time before it happens.
Time, I realize, I don’t need the moment he speaks.
“Avery.”
I turn back. He looks flustered, one hand cupping the back of his neck.
“Would you maybe want to grab a drink sometime? I’d be happy to show you around town.”
My lips curl into a smile again—one I don’t have to force.
“Sure. I’d love that.”