It’s a miracle I pull this off day after day. Waking up, going through the motions, ignoring the pain. Always ignore the pain. Don’t know if it’s a weakness or a strength. Don’t particularly care. Because I wake up every morning hating myself and go to bed every night missing Cole. Those fleeting seconds right before I fall asleep, when I finally allow myself to remember how it felt to be his, they’re my punishment and my comfort.
Those memories kept me sane in prison.
Those memories are all I have.All I deserve.
COLE
After my gig, I just want to go home with Caspian and Noah. But getting to them means crossing the festival area, which is basically Snakes and Ladders: Baywood edition. One wrong square and you’re trapped in conversation until your social battery dies.
I take three steps and get stopped at Pell’s t-shirt booth by Earl, proudly showing off his new shirt that says:I Escaped Steve’s Suggestion Box.
“I snagged the last one,” he says, running a comb through his hair in one well-practiced move — pure Danny Zuko. “Hey, would you mind taking my picture for Maija?”
“Sure,” I say. “Although you’d be in better hands if you asked Henry.”
“He scares me,” Earl says, and I believe him. A lot of things scare our well-meaning but easily overwhelmed baker. He poses with both thumbs up, beaming to the camera.
“How’s Maija?” I ask, forgetting the first rule of Baywood: do not feed Earl with questions. Maija is a Finnish GP, in her forties like Earl, and she recognizes half the town because Earl mailed her a custom ‘memory lotto’ of our faces for Christmas.
“... so would you help me choose the right color? She’s a winter,” he finishes, and I realize I zoned out at some point.
I blink. “She’s a what?”
Reluctantly, I follow Earl into the t-shirt booth, the air thick with cotton and popcorn. Bright shirts stack up like candy. Earl holds up a burgundy tee to his chest, second-guessing himself. What if Maija’s secretly a spring, or worse, an autumn?
My mind drifts again. This time back to the magical summer I had with Xaden four years ago. We’ve kissed behind this very booth, his hands warm at my back, pulling me closer.You’re hotter than the sun, he’d groaned against my lips. The memory heats me from the inside out. My fingers brush my mouth before I can stop them.
Has he really come back? I don’t know which is worse: if he has or if he hasn’t.
I spot my parents near the coffee kiosk and make my escape, Earl informing me he’s definitely maybe going to buy the burgundy one.
“My favorite singer,” Mom smiles, looking almost proud. That warmth lasts exactly three seconds. “Although your sneakers give the impression you’re auditioning for a children’s talent show.”
I’m still thinking about a good comeback when Sheriff Hugh Willard appears. Just the man none of us wanted to see.
“Good evening!” he booms, slapping Dad’s shoulder. Dad looks like he bit into something rotten.
I’ve never liked Willard. Too self-assured. Too jovial. Too everything.
“Elaine, radiant as always,” he says to Mom, his smile so greasy it leaves a film in the air.
“Thank you,” Mom says curtly. No weather talk. No ‘how’s Sarah’. For her, that’s a straight-up burn.
Willard doesn’t flinch, just turns to Dad, shark smile in place. “Andy, you busy or can we have a little heart-to-heart?”
“Not now,” Dad says, wary.
“Of course. Tonight’s about music… and family.” He gives me a condescending smile. “Caught your set.” He says it like I owe him an apology.
Then he strolls off, slow and deliberate. Dad’s jaw is tight, fists clenched.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“Just some boring town business. Don’t worry about it.”
I don’t want to worry. But after the look on Dad’s face? I kind of have to.
XADEN
