I threw the helmet on the bed and grabbed my bag, shoving past him towards the bathroom. His arm brushed mine as I went by, solid and warm. I caught the rumble of his breath, low in his chest, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
Behind the closed door, I pressed my palms to the sink, trying to steady my breath.
I changed fast, pulling jeans over bare legs and yanking on a sweater as if covering up would stop me from feeling so vulnerable under his gaze. Still, when I opened the door, his gaze swept over me once, slow, deliberate, and for a second, I swore his jaw eased like he was relieved I wasn’t bare anymore.
“Better,” he muttered, pushing off the dresser. Then his eyes caught mine, lingering, unreadable. “Not that it’ll make me forget what I saw.”
Heat crawled up my neck, fury and something hotter swirling in my chest. I should’ve slapped him again. Instead, I grabbed the helmet and shoved past him.
“Let’s go,” I snapped.
Jay got on his bike, and I climbed onto the back. Not because I trusted him and not because I’d forgiven him, but because Caleb was dead, and Jay was still the only person who had pieces of the truth.
We didn’t speak as the wind slapped against us and the road unspooled beneath the tires. I kept my hands on his jacket, loose enough to say I’m still here but tight enough to stay on the bike. Every brush against his back made something flare low in my chest. The smell of his aftershave, something dark and spicy, made my pulse race.
We pulled off at the edge of a dry lakebed, and Jay killed the engine.
“This is where Caleb came when he didn’t want to be found.”
I climbed off, arms folded tight. The cold bit through my sleeves, and so did the bitterness in my voice. “Great, a wasteland. Exactly how I pictured this reunion.”
“I brought you to the truth,” he said, already walking.
He stopped near a cluster of dry brush and started digging. I watched in silence as he pried up a rusted ammo box, popped the lid with his knife, and pulled out the contents: a burner phone, a torn-up notebook, and a flash drive taped to an envelope.
I stepped closer, the breath catching in my throat, suddenly aware of how close his body was, how grounded and real he felt.
“You kept this?”
“Didn’t know it was his at first,” he said. “I got a note from him the night he died. Found this right after.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you,” he said. “Didn’t know if you still gave a damn.”
That hit hard. Too hard.
“You think I stopped caring just because I left?”
“I think people change,” he said, voice cold and bitter. “You did.”
“You’re one to talk,” I snapped. “You’re not the guy I used to know either. The Jay I remember didn’t hide behind a title and throw me out like a stranger.”
His eyes flashed, ice blue and dangerous. For a fraction of a second, the heat under my skin betrayed me. “The Lucy I remember didn’t slap people in motel parking lots like a goddamn child.”
I took a step towards him, anger flaring hot again, and immediately felt the magnetic pull to him, the way my body registered him before my brain would allow it. “Maybe because the Lucy you remember didn’t have to drag the truth out of someone she used to trust.”
“Maybe the Jay you remember didn’t have a brother’s blood on his hands,” he shouted.
The silence after that felt heavy. We both stood, breathing hard, the box between us. My throat burned, but I didn’t look away.
“I didn’t kill him, Lucy.”
“I never said you did.”
“But you sure as hell act like I failed him.”
I didn’t answer, because maybe I did feel that way or maybe I was the one feeling guilty because I had left. Maybe I wasn’t ready to admit it.
