And selfishly -Roseadmitted it - she didn’t wantBrianausingDeclanto needle her.Shedidn’t wantBrianatainting something that felt, for once, like possibility instead of regret.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, making her jump.
She leaned forward and picked it up.Atext fromAcen.
You free?I’vegot news.Meetme at the dock?
Rose stared at the words, heart thudding.Shehesitated, chewing on her bottom lip.Thiswas dangerous territory.MeetingAcenat the dock pulled on a thread of the past she wasn’t sure she wanted to unravel.Buther curiosity, her fear of whatBrianamight’ve done now, outweighed her caution.
She slipped on her sandals, grabbed her keys, and locked the door behind her.
The driveacross town was short, but it gave her too much time to think.Thestreets ofPickwickBendwere quiet this late in the evening, porch lights glowing, dogs barking distantly as if to announce her passing.Sherolled down her window, the thick summer night pressing in.
The dock behind the high school hadn’t changed in years.Localsfished there during the day, kids snuck beers at night, and once upon a time it had been her spot withAcen.Thatthought alone made her chest tighten.
When she pulled into the gravel lot, she spotted him immediately.Acenleaned against one of the wooden posts, arms crossed, his frame backlit by the silvery wash of moonlight on the water.Hisstance was casual, but she knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders.
He turned as she approached, pushing off the post.“Sorryfor the short notice,” he said, voice low.
“What’s going on?”she asked, her sandals scuffing against the boards of the dock.
Without answering, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to her.Hisfingers brushed hers briefly - warm, solid.
She unfolded it, the paper crinkling in the quiet night.Hereyes scanned the typed words, and she froze.
AskRoseMcAllisterwhat really happened the summerAcenleft.Someof us haven’t forgotten who she used to be.
Her blood ran cold.Thenight sounds, the chirp of crickets, the gentle lap of water against the dock, faded into a hollow silence.
“Where did you get this?”she whispered.
“Someone dropped it off at the garage,”Acensaid, his jaw tight.“Addressedto me.”
Her grip on the letter tightened, the edges cutting into her fingers.“Youthink it’s fromBriana?”
“I don’t think,” he said softly.“Iknow.It’sjust her style to pull something like this.”
Rose exhaled shakily, her throat tight.Ofcourse it wasBriana.Thishad her fingerprints all over it.Shewas twisting the past, digging up pain that should’ve been buried long ago.
Her hands trembled slightly, and she hated thatAcencould see it.
“She’s not just trying to ruin this,” he said, watching her closely.“She’strying to rewrite the past.Andif we don’t face it head-on, she’s going to win.”
Rose looked out over the water.Theriver stretched wide and endless, reflecting the moon in broken shards, like glass cracked but still holding together.Thesight was beautiful and fragile all at once, and it mirrored exactly how she felt.
Her voice came out low.“She’sright about one thing.”
Acen tilted his head.“What’sthat?”
“There’s more to that summer thanI’veever told anyone.”Thewords slipped out before she could catch them, heavy with meaning, with memory.
Acen’s gaze didn’t waver.“Thentell me,” he said, steady, unwavering.“Allof it.”
Silence hung heavy between them, filled only by the creak of the dock and the distant croak of a frog along the bank.
Acen touched her arm.“IfBrianawants to drag the past into the light, let her.Butshe doesn’t get to define it.Youdo.Whateverit is she thinks she knows.”
Rose blinked against the sting in her eyes.Shewanted to believe him.Wantedto believe the past didn’t have to be a weapon inBriana’shands.
