There was no way I was telling Tyson—and thus my entire family—any of that.
Instead, I sliced him with a glare.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. Too soon. Too soon.”
I slapped a beer into his hand violently enough to make my point but not enough to potentially damage his moneymakers. With a quick flick of my wrist, I twisted the cap off and then clicked the neck of my bottle with his. “Look, I’m not up for dinner tonight. I officially dismiss you from babysitting duties. Go on a date with your boyfriend and call it a night.”
He opened his beer and haphazardly tossed his cap onto the counter, earning himself another glower. “Sorry. Cass would have my balls.”
“You really think she’d take them from Jared like that?”
“Hilarious,” he deadpanned. “Insult me all you want, but you are stuck with me tonight. Full disclaimer, this is my first night off in two weeks, so if we are staying in, I’m making no promise about staying awake.”
“You asleep and not talking to me? Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I took a long pull of beer.
There was no use in fighting with him. My family might as well have been surgically implanted into my ass after the plane crash. It was a wonder they hadn’t started a carpool rotation to drive me to and from work every day.
“Cut me some slack. We’re worried about you. First, with the settlement on Monday and now, the anniversary of…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
And just like that, it felt like a bucket of arctic water had hit me in the face. A lump formed in my throat as I looked down at my watch to check the date. With the distraction of seeing Remi again, I hadn’t really considered why I’d felt the urge to go to McMurphy’s that day.
I supposed, deep down, that was the answer.
Six months before the plane crash…
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I whispered, looking around the bar to see if anyone was watching us. I didn’t care, but Sally would cower if anyone so much as glanced in her direction.
Thankfully, happy hour at McMurphy’s was always slow. Their regulars didn’t start pouring in until eleven, so short of a few people in the dining area, we had the place to ourselves. It was one of the selling points I’d used when convincing her to finally get out of the house for a night—something I was starting to seriously regret.
Things had been going surprisingly well for the last week. I couldn’t pinpoint the why, but she seemed…happier. More at peace. The constant anxiety had ebbed into something almost resembling contentment. It was damn near euphoric watching her smile again. That was not even to mention all the times she’d kissed me or crawled into my lap, not bothering with much more than unzipping my pants before claiming what was hers.
For a whole week, we’d felt real again.
But maybe that was my biggest mistake. The tears already streaming down her cheeks were our reality now.
She leaned away from me, turning on her stool so my hand fell off her thigh. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Bowen. And don’t you dare lie to me. Not now. Not about this.”
I cracked my neck, chewing on all the words I shouldn’t say, but they refused to be swallowed. “I have never lied to you.” I stabbed my finger to the other end of the bar. “Not once since we met right there three months ago.”
“Then say it,” she ordered.
It was the same fight we’d been having for weeks. Truthfully, it was the only fight we’d ever had, and it didn’t even matter how I answered her question.
If I told her I believed her, she’d be mad I wasn’t helping her search for a nameless, faceless woman who, as far as the police could tell, wasn’t even missing.
If I told her I didn’t believe her, with the hopes of squashing the entire conversation and getting my girlfriend back for a few hours, she’d spend every minute reliving the heartbreaking details of the terrifying ordeal that had changed both of our lives—but especially hers.
At the end of the day, this fight wasn’t about whether I believed her or not. Of course, I did. Wholly and completely. The same way I loved her. This was all about me desperately trying to find the words to prevent her from once again spiraling down a never-ending hole of guilt and trauma.
I had said every combination of words in my vocabulary at least ten times, but nothing had helped. I couldn’t make her understand that it wasn’t her fault or responsibility. She’d survived hell and lived to tell the tale. That was something to be proud of—immensely so.
But she couldn’t let it go.
Not while a woman was still out there.
