PROLOGUE
BECKETT
Age 13
Mama said courage came from facing our fears. I tried to believe her. I needed to be extra brave lately. Maybe tonight my courage would come. Maybe I just needed to face the storm a little longer. I sure hoped so.
I pulled the blanket around me tighter as I pressed my nose against the glass, trying to count the time between each strike of lightning. I tapped my fingers one at a time against my leg as I counted, just as Mrs. Henry taught me.
I didn’t get very far.
BOOM.
I let out a little squeak and jumped when the thunder rattled the windows. For the first time in my three weeks here, I was thankful to be alone in the room. Before the other foster boy left, he would laugh at me when the storms hit, even though I never laughed at him when he panicked in the dark.
Headlights bounced along the dirt road as the car made its way toward the house, dipping when the tire sank in a pothole near the driveway. I heard footsteps quietly race down the hall outside my door.
“They’re here, Harold!” Tracy Henry, my foster mom, whispered loudly to her husband.
The squirming in my belly began to shift into something else, something familiar though still just as unpleasant. The front door banged as the car rolled to a stop near the porch, and an older man stepped out. I knew who he was, even hidden under the hat. I recognized his black car and remembered how funny it smelled.
A small, round face appeared in the backseat window. I couldn’t make out any features, but I didn’t need to see the kid’s face to know how terrified they were. I had been the same way when I’d arrived. I silently urged the newcomer to look up. For some reason, I wanted to be the one who comforted them.
Thunder crashed in the distance the moment our eyes met, but this time, I felt a little bit braver.
***
Thick, humid air burned my lungs as I sucked in a deep breath, jolted from the dream. Sweat ran down my face and neck, soaking the old, lumpy pillow. I tried to sit up, but the sheets were tangled around my waist, amplifying my panic even more. I wanted to cry out, to scream, but couldn’t find my voice.
I finally managed to toss the sweat-soaked sheets aside and sat up, scrubbing a hand along the back of my neck. Those familiar steel-gray eyes, outlined by long dark lashes, continued to haunt me, as though he were right in front of me. They were once the only thing that could calm my heart, yet now they stole my sleep and made me restless. Now they left me raw. No matter how many miles I ran a day, I couldn’t distance myself from the pain his memory caused.
I knew if I focused hard enough, past the rapidthump thumpof my heart, I would almost be able to hear his sweet, tender voice whispering to me.
“In and out, Beck. It’ll be okay.”
Rain pelted against the window, and the room lit up as lightning flashed. I held my breath and clenched my hands in tight balls against the mattress in anticipation. When the booming thunder rattled the walls, every muscle in my body tightened.
I pretended it washimwhen I pressed my cool, clammy fingers against the scar on my left wrist in slow, soothing strokes. But it wasn’t the same. It was never the same. Nothing ever chased the fear away likehistouch did.
With a disheartened sigh, I surrendered to the fact that it was going to be another sleepless night. I stumbled to the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee with a decent splash of whiskey—my drink of choice for moments like these—then sank back into the couch, mindlessly clicking through the channels to drown out the rumble of the storm outside.
I asked myself for the millionth time, how could someone just vanish into thin air like Riley had? It infuriated me to no end that, in my six years as a private investigator, I couldn’t find one scrap of evidence as to where my best friend had gone. All his foster care paperwork was locked, and no matter where I looked, no matter what system I typed his name into… he was nowhere. I even kept my eyes on the obituaries throughout the years and thankfully hadn’t seen his name come up. The problem was, I hadn’t come up withanything.There wasn’t any record of him applying for a driver’s license or student loans and not a single trace of him filing for taxes in his name either. He just… disappeared.
My eyes caught the tattoo on my left wrist, a rough outline of two birds dancing in flight. Brushing my fingers over the scar along the belly of the smaller bird made me long for our connection, drowning me in the need to feelhistouch instead of my own once more.
No. I would not forget Riley Tanager. Not ever.
Maybe this time…
My fingers began to twitch with the need to type Riley’s name in the search bar of my internet browser. Maybe this time the results would be different.
Maybe this time…
