She took another sip of coffee and, of course, it turned bitter on her tongue. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s fine. It’s been seven years since I’ve seen him, even longer since we broke up. I can’t expect him to show back up in my life and think, yeah, let’s start over.” She shook her head. “And he’s probably right.”
Kennedy made a sound, a softhmm, from her chest. “Or maybe guys just get better at lying to themselves.”
She set plates on the island.
“How did you and Sully meet?” The question slipped out before Harley could stop it. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I was tracking a wolf pack.” Kennedy’s smile held shadows. “Ended up tracking poachers instead. They didn’t appreciate the attention.”
She paused, checking a pancake for doneness. “Sully rescued me, and ... for a while, we were happy. But then I was discovered—or I thought so—and I was so sure my past would get Sully killed that I ran. Let everyone think I was dead while I hid in an art colony in the bush.” Her laugh held wonder. “But love has a way of finding you. Sully never stopped believing I was alive.”
She flipped the pancake.
“God brought him back to me.” Kennedy’s voice softened with memory. “I was living in that tiny village, hiding from my past, convinced I had to handle everything alone. Then one day, he was there, like some kind of miracle.”
She plated the pancake, the sweet scent filling the kitchen.“God showed me I didn’t have to run anymore. Didn’t have to hide. That he was my protector ... and he’d sent Sully to help.” Her hands stilled on the counter. “Even when things got dark—when I lost the baby, when Sully nearly died trying to save me—God had something better planned. He always does, even when everything looks impossible.”
Harley met her eyes, wanting to pull in the words, let them settle.
Kennedy slid the plate toward her. “Your turn. How did you meet Jericho? Really meet, I mean. Not just the next-door-neighbors story.”
Harley traced the rim of her mug. “Well, I mean, we always knew each other. We were always competing. Who could climb higher, run faster, get better grades. But he was also ... there. You know? And then the chocolate milk incident happened.”
“The what?”
“I was eleven. Some kids were hassling me about my dad being sheriff. I was so mad, I threw my chocolate milk at them. A couple of the boys got really mean and that’s when Jericho stepped in, told them to back off.” She smiled at the memory. “I told him I could fight my own battles.”
“And?”
“And he laughed. Said anyone who’d waste good chocolate milk was probably out of their minds, and he needed to step in before I did something worse. Like throw my brownie at them.”
And right then she knew the ache in her chest had nothing to do with bruises. “After that, I don’t know ... he was always there. When Gabe started using, when things got bad at home. We had this signal. I’d turn on my lamp—this cute little daisy lamp I had from my mom—and he would see it and turn on his light. And I felt ... seen, I guess. Safe, maybe. And then later—much later—we started sneaking out and staring at the summersky on the dock. He’d hold my hand. Took him years, however, to screw up the courage to kiss me.”
Kennedy had plated a couple pancakes for herself. “What happened?”
She sighed. “He joined the military.”
Kennedy pulled hot syrup in a carafe from the microwave. “And? You could have waited. Or followed...”
She made a face. “I ... I guess I saw it as betrayal. I always thought he’d stick around, take over the Bowie resort. We’d live in that big house of his and ... I know. Silly. Because I also wanted to be a cop, like my dad. I’m not sure where my brain was. I just knew that when Jericho came home with his enlistment papers, I was ... I was hurt.”
She poured the syrup on her pancakes.
“Jericho told us this story about a fight between you and him—”
“Yeah. There was that. He was just trying to protect me, and I got scared. He was sitting there in the ER, his nose broken, and all I could think was how I could have gotten him killed. And then he basically said the same thing and it was a hot poker to my heart. I lashed out and left him there andby the time I got up the nerve to apologize, he’d left for boot camp in Anchorage.”
“And you didn’t see him again until—”
She picked up her fork. “His parents’—our parents’ funerals. And even then, he didn’t talk to me. Just showed up at the service. I saw him at the back of the room. But he left before it was over and then ... nothing. Not until two days ago.”
“Harsh.”
“Life. Different paths.” She shrugged. “If it was meant to be, it would have happened. At least that’s what my mom always said.”
“And now?”
“Now I know you can’t make people love you.” The wordstasted like ashes, however. “And you can’t make people make the choices you want.”
