10
Eternal Love
Baya
The sky above the Hollow Brook cemetery is washed a creamy butter yellow. Bryson leads us over the polished granite stones as we tread carefully across people long since deceased in our warm wool coats, our winter boots.
It’s been two full weeks since the incident, and I’ve got all my strength back. Aubree is being held on suspicion of manslaughter. Her parent’s have already bailed her out, and rumor has it her father hired the best defense attorney that money can buy.
“Sorry”—Bryson apologizes as we skip over endless grave markers—“it’s been years. At first I tried to come all the time, but her mom asked me not to. She wanted me to remember the happy times, and all this place ever did was depress the hell out of me.”
I give his hand a firm squeeze because sometimes there are no words.
“Right here.” Bryson nods into a large black slab of granite that readsStephanie Nicole Jones, Loving daughter and sister. Gone too soon.
I hand him the bouquet of flowers we picked up on the way over—a fall arrangement with miniature pumpkins and fat orange leaves woven throughout a dozen yellow roses. Bryson said that yellow was a symbol of friendship—that they were never too serious, just best friends who tried to cross the line.
He lays the flowers over the stone before pulling a piece of paper from his pocket.
“I never thought you wrote this,” he whispers it to the soil as if she could hear.
“Can I ask what it is?” I kneel down next to him as the iced breeze licks my ankles.
“A copy of her supposed suicide note. Both her Mom and brother tried to tell me it wasn’t her handwriting, but I believed every damn word.”
“Aubree did it.” The handwriting analyst hired by the state already confirmed this. “Why bring a copy down here? I don’t get it.”
Bryson pulls out a lighter. “So I can do this.” He sets the tip on fire, and it dissolves within seconds under the supervision of the flames. “Rest in peace, Steph. I knew in my heart you would never do it—never say those things. I’m sorry, girl. You were a good friend. You’ll always have a piece of me. I hope you don’t mind I brought along someone special today. Baya stole my heart.” He glances up at me with his eyes glittering with moisture. “I’m in forever if she’ll have me that long.”
I lean in with hot tears rolling down my cheeks. “I’ll love you for all eternity, Bryson Edwards. Nothing will ever change that.”
Bryson smiles through his sadness just like he did that first day we met, but this time his smile expands, and I can see the downright joy in his eyes. He pulls me up, and we walk back to the truck. He wraps his arms around me and kisses the side of my cheek. I pause to soak in the beauty and the heartache of this afternoon.
“I’m proud of you,” I whisper. “You’re finally free of all that pain. You’re a good person—you deserve to be happy.”
“I love you, Baya.” I can feel his heart pound over my chest. He pulls back and looks at me with those smiling, silver eyes. “Now and forever.”
He crashes his lips against mine, and we indulge in a sweet kiss that seals our past, our present, and our future.
We’re about to carve a new path in life—one that is built for two.
A week drifts by, and I make my way across campus to my last class of the day. It’s already starting to get dark out, and it’s hardly three-thirty. A boil of storm clouds sift overhead, and if it gets any colder, Bryson said it might snow. My entire person tingles just thinking about him—about what a fun time we’re going to have this weekend. He invited Cole and me to spend Thanksgiving with his family.
“Baya!”
I spin around to find Laney and Roxy waving to me from outside the Hallowed Grounds café. It’s freezing out, but they’ve installed outdoor heaters that look as if they could melt all of Prescott Hall if they wanted. I head in that direction and grab a seat.
Roxy has her hair splayed out over her trench coat, and she looks like a porcelain doll, she’s literally that perfect. Laney pushes a cup of coffee at me, and I take a quick sip to heat my frozen bones.
“We’re celebrating!” She stretches to the sky with a victorious gleam in her eye.
“You got the part? You’re Whitney Briggs’ new Fantine!” I catch a breath as if I were about to star in Les Mis myself.
“Better. You’re looking at the new Madame Thenardier.” She touches her fingers to her chest and mock bows.
“Yeah”—Roxy pushes into her playfully—“the feisty keeper of the inn. You’ll really have to dig deep to channel your inner sarcastic bitch.”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Laney cuts her a look before reverting her attention back to me. “Speaking of news—we’ve got some foryou.” Laney tucks a sly smile in her cheek.
