Page 89 of Hunter or Hunted

I’d worried that this would be hard for Gwen. Now, I couldn’t remember why.

She and Mallory came outside giggling like old friends. Edwards’ demeanor invited lighthearted fun from anyone he interacted with, but Simone—who I would’ve described the same way yesterday—was the one tripping over her words. Gwen broke that ice away, asking Edwards how he knew so-and-so, relating the topic back to Simone’s hobbies and interests.

Kids ran up to Gwen and asked her to help them tie their shoes or fasten their too-big gloves in place. Like they’d known her forever. Like she was already a part of this community.

Honestly, she got along with all these people I’d called friends better than I did. If you asked her about her social skills, she’d say she was horrible with people. This party proved the contrary.

Did she really believe she was bad with people? Or had her years in hell simply paused the communication skills she excelled in?

When she left the fold-up camping chair beside me to grab us drinks by the back door, she kicked up a conversation with Alexis, who I only knew in passing. She’d been on the cheerleading squad with Sarah in high school. Now she had a son around Gabby’s age, so we saw each other at Chris and Mallory’s parties.

But Gwen was already laughing with her about something I couldn’t hear over the music and crackling of the fire. Like they’d been friends for years. Like she belonged here.

If we’d met anywhere but the ranch, would Gwen have even noticed me? It didn’t matter, really. In a moment like this, I just had to ask how I got so lucky.

When she came back, smiling with a beer in one hand and a wine cooler in another, she scrunched up her eyes and wiggled her nose at me. “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

Laughing, I took the drink and pushed a snow-sprinkled curl from her face. “You just amaze me.”

She snorted. “Because I got you a drink?”

“Because you fit right in.”

I glanced around the bustling crowd. Simone and Edwards on the other side of the fire, Mallory in Chris’s lap on the patio, a dozen or two familiar faces laughing and embracing each other and swaying around the snow-dusted brick pavers.

“You walk around here like you own the place,” I said.

“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.” She rolled onto her tiptoes and gave me a quick kiss. “But I’m in a good mood, so I’ll assume the latter.”

“Definitely a compliment,” I said. “You fit right in.”

“Everybody’s really nice.” She shrugged, shoulder brushing mine as she surveyed the crowd. “And I guess I was wrong, by the way. You do have friends.”

“Nah, you were right,” I said. “I have a lot of people I’m friendly with, but Edwards is the only one I’d consider a friend. When I was at college, I made a lot of friends. We still talk online sometimes. But around here, I’m always gonna be Seabass. Sarah’s little brother.”

Her blue eyes softened. She tossed an arm around my shoulders and fiddled with a wave of hair at the nape of my neck. “Well, you’re always gonna be Sebastian to me. The hot vet and tortured artist.”

I laughed and tucked an arm around her waist. “I’m glad everybody likes you, though. Maybe now, they’ll start calling me Gwen’s boyfriend.”

She swatted me in the chest, shadows from the fire dancing on her cheeks. “Stop it. They also call you Lizzie’s uncle.”

“Fair point.” My posture stayed soft, and a smile played at the corners of my lips.

I hadn’t said that for pity. Just for context. I didn’t mind being the ghost of the golden girl. I loved my sister. Her shadow had been a nice one to grow up in.

It just made it hard to form connections around here. I would always be attached to the Everett name in this town.

“Mallory’s really nice,” Gwen said. “She asked me to teach Gabby piano.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “Are you gonna⁠—”

The song changed, and Gwen gasped. It took a moment for my ears to adjust. By the time they did, Gwen was singing, swaying side to side, and glancing past me for Simone. They locked eyes, grinning, and synchronized. A heartbeat or two longer, and almost everyone in the crowd was singing along to our generation’s Sweet Caroline or Don’t Stop Believing.

Mr. Brightside by The Killers.

The chorus had barely started, and everyone sitting was on their feet. Singing, and jumping, and swaying, and laughing. Normally, I’d be on the outskirts, but Gwen had my hand, and she wasn’t letting go.

Edwards and I stood in similar shoes, guided by our girlfriends toward the patio. Mallory dragged Chris out. The kids were close behind. A moment ago, they were hanging out by the fire, and now they were jumping and singing and dancing between us all.