“Evan didn’t know where I was. He wasn’t even speaking to me.”
“You didn’t make it easy…” Evan was standing in the doorway, Lauren, Darcy, and Teddy behind him. “We went back to the café where you and I had coffee. I remembered what you told me about that night, about Erica. Can we come in, Mrs. Chase?”
She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“I thought he was crazy,” Lauren said sheepishly. “I mean, I know how much you hate water, so…”
“But I never told you it was Harding Beach. How did you know?”
“Darcy told us.”
Brynna looked at Darcy as she shyly avoided Brynna’s gaze, instead studying the edge of the hospital blanket.
“She showed us the pictures,” Teddy said. “We made her.”
Darcy’s cheeks blazed a fierce pink.
“I knew why you hated the beach but I thought that…” Evan paused. “I thought that maybe you would be able to make peace with Erica and you’d want to do it there.”
“We all went,” Lauren volunteered. “We saw two people struggling in the surf when we got down there. You went under and Mr. Fallbrook—or whoever he really was—was yelling your name.”
“Lauren and Teddy took off at a sprint,” Evan said. “Just dove right in.”
“Lauren found you,” Teddy said. “She swam you back most of the way.”
Brynna felt tears misting her eyes. “Thank you, all of you.” She glanced at her parents. “Christopher?”
Her father shook his head. “They never found him. Assumed he’d been swept out with the riptide.” He turned toward Evan, Teddy, Darcy, and Lauren. “You know, we’re going to go downstairs and grab a couple of coffees. You mind keeping an eye on the patient?”
“Sure.”
Brynna’s father rounded the bed and held a hand out to her mother. She took it, blew Brynna a kiss, and they disappeared out of the room.
“I—I can’t believe, after everything, that you guys would come find me.”
Darcy sat at the edge of the bed while Evan and Lauren fought over the single chair. Teddy pulled Brynna’s hand into his.
“We’re your friends, Bryn. Real friends never really let go.”
Brynna thought of all the times she “saw” Erica. In her mind’s eye, she could see her smiling now. “No,” she said, “they never really do.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
No book is ever written alone. I’d like to thank the amazing team at Sourcebooks Fire for everything they do to make our books the best and cheer them along every step of the way. Thank you! Thanks to my wonderful agent Amberly Finarelli for seeing this puppy through its infancy and all the way out into the world. I owe a debt of gratitude to my Club One gang for keeping me going—Shirley, Penne, Marilyn, Nadine, Gary, and Dave. Thanks to my parents for not sending me directly to the nuthouse when I told them I was going to write books for a living (I was seven). Thank you to my Rogue girls with an extra special nod to Marina Adair who has actually seen me cry (probably over this book), and to all the wonderful “resources” who’ve turned into invaluable friends: Lee Lofland, Dr. Jonathan Hayes, Kasey Halcon, Chief L. Scott Silverii, PhD, and Dr. Cyrus Yocum.
And most importantly, to all you amazing fans out there who keep reading and writing—I love you guys! Thanks for letting the nerdy book girl into your world.
She thought it was an accident.
She was wrong.
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ONE
“Thank you for coming.”
The words rose and fell on the soft pile carpet, and Sawyer wondered whether she should brush the small ball of fuzz from Kevin’s earlobe. It stuck there, stark and white against the dark navy blue of his suit.
“I couldn’t have gotten through today without you,” Mrs. Anderson said, squeezing Sawyer’s ice-cold hand.
Sawyer knew she should say something comforting, something warm and thoughtful, but all she could focus on was that little bit of fuzz on Kevin’s left ear.
“They said it was immediate,” someone whispered. “They said he was drunk.”
Sawyer had heard those words tumble over and over in her mind every minute for the past forty-eight hours. It was immediate, Kevin was drunk, he didn’t stand a chance. She wasn’t crying—couldn’t anymore—as she stared down at Kevin. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, and his hands were gently crossed against his chest. Sawyer couldn’t help but think from somewhere dark, somewhere deep inside of her, that at least he couldn’t hurt her anymore.
“You must be devastated.”
Sawyer felt Mr. Hanson, her Spanish teacher, lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shrunk away, the smell of lilies suddenly overwhelmingly cloying. “I’ll be right back.”
She took the stairs two at a time, her black ballet flats falling soundlessly on the carpet. She paused on the top floor landing when she saw the girl at the end of the hall.