“One of your ghosts?” Charlie asks.
“None other.”
The redheaded tourist leans around Earl. “If he’s a ghost, then he’s the hottest ghost I’ve ever seen!” Apparently, the shot of rye has already taken effect.
I lift an eyebrow at Luc.
He shakes his head and mutters, “Beer goggles.”
“Please,” I snort. “Women probably curtsy and throw confetti in your wake. Confess. In ten years, you’ve had more casual sex than you can shake a stick at.”
“Well, since I like doing it in my birthday suit, and since being in your birthday suit is about as casual as a body can get, then yeah. It’s all been pretty casual. What? You prefer formal sex? Like, ball gowns and tuxedos and stuff?”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Still fooling us into thinking you’re this shy, quiet guy so you can send us spinning when you let your inner smart-ass out to play, huh?”
“It’s one of my best qualities.” He winks.
And here we are, grinning at each other like fools.
Earl snags my attention when he lets loose with a loud, “Fwoosh!” He’s telling the ladies about the ghost maid at the hotel who’s been known to tuck guests into bed and flush their toilets in the middle of the night. It’s one of his favorite tales and is always sure to get a squeal of horror at some point. When I look back at Luc, his expression has grown serious.
“I’m sorry I never called or texted or sent another email after that first one,” he says.
Squeezing his fingers, I notice the tips are hard and callused. He still plays guitar.
Well, of course he does. Luc and music go hand in hand.
“I never understood why Cash ran off,” I tell him, my good humor banking. “And I’m not buying what he’s selling when it comes to the explanation about his dad. But I know why you had to go.” The awful image of Dean Sullivan’s head is burned into my retinas. Even after all these years, when I close my eyes, I see it, and icy fingers of shame slip up my spine, making me shudder. “I’m so sorry. I wish—”
“Hey.” He grabs my chin. “Stop that. There’s no call for you to apologize.”
“Isn’t there?” I search his eyes, looking for absolution. But even when I find it, I can’t make myself accept it.
Sometimes guilt can draw two people together. Most times it pushes them apart. Luc and I were pushed apart. What I did that night changed both of us. Forever.
It’s my biggest regret.
“No.” He shakes his head and glances around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. “There was nothing either of us coulda done differently.”
“We could’ve told the truth,” I counter.
He makes a rude sound. “George Sullivan never woulda believed us about what really happened.”
At the mention of the police superintendent’s name, goose bumps erupt up the lengths of my arms. With Luc and Cash halfway around the world, and me doing my best to keep to myself, Sullivan’s been fairly quiet over the last few years. But I can’t help wondering what he’ll do once he finds out Luc and Cash are back in town.
“Or even if he had believed us,” Luc continues, “he’d have twisted everything and delivered us up to the hangman just like that girl from St. Bernard Parish.”
He’s right. I know it now like I knew it back then. And yet every fiber of my being rejects keeping our secret. For ten long years, it’s been a blight at the core of my being, the thing that comes back to torture me in the quiet moments.
“Since we’re on the subject”—he lowers his voice—“whatever happened to Sullivan?”
As with any bad news, it’s best just to get it out there. “He’s still here,” I say. “Still superintendent.”
Luc’s jaw drops open. “No way.”
“Yes way. He keeps getting appointed.”
“No big secret howthat’shappening.” His upper lip curls in disgust.
