Prologue
Her first thought upon waking:Is it over? Am I safe?Her second:I can’t move my arms.
As she steadily slips back into consciousness, the room around her begins to take shape, and she identifies what she can—a window darkened by plastic blinds, a whiteboard decorated with illegible notes, an IV leading from the inside of her elbow to the machine beeping insistently next to her head.Hospital,she thinks, dredging up the word with some effort.I am in a hospital.Then she feels it all at once: the white-hot, all-consuming throb of her left shin, wrapped in layers of gauze so she can’t see the damage. She wonders if it looks as bad as it feels; that doesn’t seem possible.
It comes back to her in flashes.
Shouting. Struggle. The deafening blast of a gunshot. Searing pain.
And blood. So much blood.
Through a plexiglass window in the door, she can see a uniformed officer standing outside the room.See?she thinks.Safe. You are safe.
“Water,” she attempts to croak, but her voice fails her. She tries to wave her arms, to call out again, but it seems her whole body is paralyzed. Instead, she closes her eyes, settles back into her pillow, and concentrates on her breathing: in and out, in and out. She tells herself,It’s all over now.
But a voice deep inside her head whispers that’s not quite true.
Because it’s only over if they believe her.
Chapter One
Townsend
Twelve Weeks Earlier
Townsend Fuller watches as his friends unload cases of Lone Star from his buddy’s G-Wagon, feeling low-key pissed off.
Jackson, Brett, Warren—they’re the same guys he’s known since his St. Augustine Episcopal School days, whose families also have memberships at the Verano Country Club and boat slips at the Lake Austin Marina. Theirs is a friendship of proximity, not affinity, and while Townsend could once at least relate to these guys, that is no longer the case. They have no idea how it feels to be strapped to a ticking time bomb.
As if on cue, Townsend’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t read the notification. He knows who the message is from—who all the messages are from. He’s been ignoring them for weeks, but it hasn’t proved much of a deterrent. They come when he’s taking his phone out of his locker at the gym. As he walks into a meeting with potential investors. The second after he closes his eyes at night.
You can’t ignore me forever Townsend.
Fxck you.
You’ll regret this.
Before Brett can close the door of his Benz, Townsend tosses his phone into the back seat. He doesn’t need to feel her watching him all afternoon.
Townsend is too old for Party Island, but it’s Saturday, and it’s mid-May, so that’s where he’s going. On the south side of Town Lake, he can see them: the bronzed bodies and pastel paddleboards, bobbing in a festive mass near Lou Neff Point. He wonders how many of those partygoers are worried about sunscreen, or algae blooms, or about the body pulled from the water just last week.
“Hey, Fuller, you going to help or just going to fuck around?” Jackson says this affectionately, almost like an apology, and Townsend realizes this is his way of askingAre you okay?He hates their pity.
“Says the king of fucking around.” He smiles back, his way of sayingI’m good.Then he strips down to his swim shorts and grabs a case of beer.
Together, the boys head down to the boat-rental shack to meet up with Nicole, Brett’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. She’s brought along one of her faithful blond retainers. Both women are in jean cutoffs and bikini tops, and when they greet the guys, both have the same pervasive vocal fry. This habit of traveling in packs was cute when Nicole and her friends were freshmen and Townsend and his crew were seniors, but now those girls are all at least thirty, while Townsend is less than a month away from thirty-four.
“I’ll go get the shit,” he tells his friends.
At the counter, he pays for six kayak rentals, feeling a pang in his gut as he hands over his credit card. It’s like a small death, every time he remembers his funds are no longer unlimited.
After divvying up the beers and collecting their paddles, they get in their kayaks and head toward the action. For a moment, Townsend tunes out his friends and focuses on the familiar sight of the Austin skyline shimmering in the distance: the Texas State Capitol building, wherehe’d spent countless school field trips; the Austinite, where he’s lived for over a decade; the Frost Bank Tower, where he’d worked alongside his dad up until a month ago, when everything went to shit.
“So. Townsend.” The blond girl—Chrissy, apparently—floats alongside him, blocking his view. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since Nicole’s Christmas party. How have you been?”
“I’ve been ...” Townsend hesitates, searching for the right word.Exhausted. Strung out. Fucked up beyond all reason.“Fine. I’ve been fine, I guess.” He racks his brain for something he can ask her in return, but considering he couldn’t even remember her name before Nicole reminded him of it, he’s got no shot at recalling her job or interests.
Chrissy has wedged herself next to him, so close their kayaks touch.
