“No,” they say in unison.
Didn’t think so. I’m not sure I believe it either.
The old version of Gage shakes his head, his dimples deepening with a smug satisfaction he can’t quite hide. “You know what they say about a fool?”
“What?” The old me bristles visibly, my loyalty to Logan flaring despite the hurt. “I don’t like how you’re comparing Logan to a fool. He looks noble, like a king sitting over there. He has a glow about him that outshines the fire.”
Logan belts out a laugh—the version I dragged along with me this time. “Even when you hated me, you loved me.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I whisper.
“Give him enough rope—he’ll hang himself,” Gage declares, frowning at the old version of Logan as if he’d like to wrap the noose around Logan’s neck himself.
We watch as Michelle pulls Logan’s face down and kisses him full on the lips. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t push her away—just pulls back after a moment with nothing more than a blink of mild surprise.
I glance over at the old me, and the poor thing looks shattered. Honestly, I feel a little shattered right now just watching it all over again.
“He’s gone too far.” My younger self blinks back tears. Hot angry tears that burned the insides of my lids and seared themselves over my brain, and later that night made their way onto my pillow. I watch as the past me looks around for signs of Drake or Brielle, but doesn’t see them. I knew they were probably rolling around in a bedroom somewhere in this maze of a mansion, and I was right.
The old me turns back to Gage, my entire body slumping with defeat. “Take me home.”
Gage doesn’t hesitate to lead me away, and I feel more than a wave of compassion for that younger version of myself, so certain she understood everything, yet understood nothing at all. Not sure I understand it to this day.
“For the record,” Logan says quietly, pulling me in, “I hated every second of that. I was trying to shake her down about that stupid diary, but none of it was worth hurting you.”
“You didn’t know you were hurting me,” I remind him. “I never told you.”
“I figured it out. And Gage may have landed a punch or two later that night to drive the point home.”
“Gage Oliver has always had my back,” I say with a wink. “Unlike some people.”
That’s not true either, but it works in a make-my-handsome-hubby-jealous pinch.
Candace clears her throat. “As touching as this trip down Unresolved Sexual Tension Lane is, we need to decide if this moment works for our anchor.”
Logan shakes his head firmly. “This isn’t going to work as any anchor. It’s not exactly something I want to relive.” His arm tightens around my waist like a silent apology across time.
I give an aggressive nod in agreement. “And I hated how it made me feel. I think we should find something better. Something light. Somewhere we wouldn’t mind visiting once in a while if we needed to go back.”
“So be it.” Candace sighs so hard that an entire solar system of miniature stars streams from her nostrils. She holds out her hands to us again. “Think of a better time, Skyla. Hurry now, we don’t have all night.”
“We sort of do,” I point out, closing my eyes, letting an entire litany of memories wash over me, searching for a moment untainted by jealousy or faction wars ordeath. A pure moment to serve as our anchor in time, one we wouldn’t mind reliving again and again if need be. One that serves as a thread that built the fabric that became our family. To protect our family—more importantly, to protect our children.
The room begins to wobble beneath our feet as we prepare to light drive through Paragon past once again. The party scenedissolves around us, the music fading, the scent of poor teen choices receding like a bad nightmare.
Just before we fully evaporate, I catch a glimpse of Gage leading me toward the door, but there’s something strange about his expression, something I never noticed in the actual moment. A calculation in his eyes that doesn’t match the devoted exterior. He’s glancing toward Demetri, standing in the shadows that my younger self completely missed.
The implication hits me just as we’re pulled into the stream of time—that perhaps nothing about our past was exactly as I remembered it, and that maybe this anchor my mother wants us to create isn’t meant to preserve our history, but to reveal the lies hidden within it.
Or maybe that last image was a lie in and of itself.
I don’t see why not. So much of my life had been just that—a bald-faced lie.
5
Skyla
The darkness around us shimmers with costumed bodies moving like exotic fish in a human aquarium.
