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“But you got out, didn’t you? And that’s what counts. It’s what’s always counted. Ever since we were kids, you always got what you wanted. You got mom longer than I did. You got into school. Hell, you even got Dad’s approval.” She scrubs furiously at an invisible spot on the counter, then looks up at me. “Even after all this, he’s worried you’re in trouble, and still thinks you can do no wrong.”
I flinch at the unexpected verbal barb. “I get it. I get that you’re hurt.”
Fallon lets out a harsh breath. “I’m not hurt. I’m fucking pissed.”
I take a step forward.
If she wants to fight, I’ll let her get out her frustrations. I’ll take her anger, even if it hurts. Whatever it takes to get us there.
“Tell me a secret, Fallon.”
At the mention of our game, Fallon sets the rag down. Her shoulders soften. It’s been ages since we’ve played it, but even I don’t miss the flicker of nostalgia in her hazel eyes.
I wait with bated breath. Hoping.
Then her shoulders reset. Cold, rigid stones. “You don’t deserve my secrets,” she says, starting for the door. “Not anymore.”
Her words slap and I absorb the blow, resting a palm on the cool countertop. I’m no stranger to my little sister’s stormy moods, but me being on the receiving end is rare. I was her backup. Her protector. Not her target.
“What do you want from me? I’m not this town’s sweetheart anymore. I left. That’s your job now.”
“Must be nice to have the option to leave.”
“Oh, fuck off, Fallon. You can’t put the blame on me. You always had a choice to leave.”
“Had. I had a choice. Now, I have the store. I have Dad. There’s no other option for me except to stay. Somebody’s got to take care of him. Things’ll work out for you. They always do.”
“You should have called me.”
She snorts, a bitter dismissive sound. “And say what? You can barely take care of yourself.”
“You know,” I sigh, feeling resigned and sad. “I’m trying, Fallon.” I gesture at my stomach. “You probably think I can’t raise a kitten, but I’m trying here.” My voice shakes. “It’s not easy coming back home.”
“If it’s not easy, if you can’t hack it here, if you’re too good for it, why don’t you go back to your perfect bakery?”
It’s an atom bomb hit. Any calm I’ve held on to melts down.
“I don’t have a bakery,” I shout, and Fallon freezes. “Not anymore. It burned down, remember? It all burned down. I know I lied about my life the last two years. I lied about every fucking thing. I told you and Dad that I was okay, but I wasn’t. I was never okay. I was missing you and feeling like a fucking failure on a daily basis if that makes you feel any better.” A tear tracks its way down my cheek. “I failed, Fallon. And I don’t fail.”
Fallon takes a step forward, face twisted into something almost unrecognizable.
A wracking breath rocks my chest. “So, no. I am very far from being fucking perfect.”
“Dakota…”
As I shake my head, a glint from the street catches my eye. A reflection bounces off the window. A man strolls down Main Street, hands in his pockets.
Tall. Thin. Longish blond hair, a crisp, tailored shirt. That sly fox-like face.
Aiden.
A cold sweat breaks out over my body. Pain flares in my bad arm, running the length of my cast like muscle memory.
I will fuck with you, Dakota. I will fuck with your family. I will fuck with your life.
I hear him clear as day. A familiar, brutal echo reminding me I’m never free. Maybe I never will be.
Terror trails its thin fingers up my spine. My heart pounds furiously. It feels like everything is over. Like I can’t breathe. Like my chest is going to explode.
