Whispered behind their hands.
Because of me.
The longer I sat in the school parking lot, the more a slow, simmering anger built in my chest, aimed squarely at myself.
Claire hadn’t deserved the half-stories and small-town gossip that clung to her like brambles. I’d put that weight on her shoulders years ago, too young and too selfish to understand what I’d been given. And now she was paying the price again,because I’d walked back into town, because people remembered, because people talked.
She shouldn’t have had to stand there that morning pretending my presence didn’t pinch at old wounds. Pretending the hallway full of staring parents didn’t bother her. Pretending that I didn’t bother her.
And I had no right, none, to feel anything about her anymore. I’d thrown that right away on the day I refused to think about. Even the right to look at her felt like something I’d forfeited.
But God help me, Claire had always been the one thing I was bad at letting go of.
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, but that only made it worse. I remembered her scent when she leaned forward to comfort Lily, warm, subtle, familiar. It filled my chest like a breath I couldn’t quite release.
I remembered the way she carried herself now. Confident and composed. A woman. She had curves she didn’t try to hide anymore, certainty where there used to be doubt, and those green eyes that still found mine in a crowd even when neither of us wanted them to.
For one reckless heartbeat, old memories dragged me under.
Two teenagers discovering each other in the dark.
The taste of summer nights on her lips.
The softness of her laugh against my neck.
I jerked upright and scrubbed a hand over my face.
Enough.
I didn’t get to remember her like that.
I didn’t get to want her like that.
My truck coughed when I started the engine, a rough, uneven rattle, and I was grateful for the distraction. Something simple. Something that wasn’t Claire.
By the time I pulled into Hartley’s Auto, I’d mostly pulled myself together.
???
Ben Hartley stepped out from the open garage bay, wiping his hands on a grease-darkened rag. The air smelled like oil, metal, and hot rubber. Sunlight slanted through the open doors, catching dust motes and glinting off shelves crowded with tools that had been used and reused for decades.
Ben took one look at me and grinned.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, that sharp-edged humor still intact. “Truck giving you trouble, Walker, or are you just homesick for my charming personality?”
I stood beside my aging pickup, hands shoved into my jacket pockets, shoulders tight. The truck sat there dented but stubbornly alive. I couldn’t help the small smile that slipped out.
“Truck,” I muttered. “Definitely the truck.”
Ben barked out a laugh and popped the hood. The metal creaked as it lifted, heat rolling out. He leaned in, hands moving automatically as he checked belts and wires. As he worked, his eyes flicked toward me now and then, his expression shifting from teasing to something more curious.
“So,” he said casually, like he was asking about the weather, “you moving back for good?”
I stiffened.
“I’m here for Lily.”
Ben straightened slightly, resting his forearms on the truck. “That wasn’t the question.”
