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Although this time I thought I would be the one running to her side and offering help, not the other way around.
But Kayla proved far more resilient. She rebuilt her life and came out strong. She didn’t need me rushing over to comfort her. Maybe that was part of growing up. When we were kids, I needed her at my side. I would have lost my mind without Kayla.
I pause beside the stone path. I worked so damn hard to siphon off those memories. I changed my name and wrote a new past to go with my adopted identity. The only place Terrance Montgomery still exists is on the court records that placed the Masters in prison. Sophia Galanos’s records were never found, if she bothered to keep evidence of her crimes. And I wiped out every other trace. I asked my former schools and doctors to destroy my records. I arrived on the MIT campus and introduced myself as Gavin Black. I had the identification—legal papers, SAT scores, and a driver’s license—to prove it.
But one glance at the damn picture of Terrance—of me—sitting on the bathroom floor and I can’t hide from the memories. I lived every day of my childhood feeling like I was a failure. Every fucking day. I believed the kids at school when they told me I was worthless. And I trusted my foster parents when they focused on my weaknesses.
I stare out at the trees as the echoes of the past invade and threaten to take up residence. Dammit, I’m not that kid anymore. But thinking about Liz Masters and I can hear the echo of my foster mother’s words.
Nobody wants to be your friend. You’re a loser. I can’t believe we keep you in the house.
They were just words. I remember the day at the trial when the defense attorney tried to tell the jury that calling someone a “loser” wasn’t a crime. I wanted to jump up and yell at him, at the jury, and everyone else, that hearing that word over and over hurt more than all the meals I missed while my foster family kept me locked in the bathroom. But Kayla reached over from the audience section in the courtroom, and she placed a hand on my shoulder.
I’m right here and I will always be your friend. I don’t care what they call you.
She whispered those words as the defense attorney belittled the abuse I’d suffered. She saved me from spiraling out of control. And she gave me the courage to reinvent my life. With a few changes, no one would label me a loser again.
“I can’t believe she would spill my secrets to anyone,” I mutter. Then I glance up at the house. There’s only one way to find out. Margaret’s right, I need to ask her.
I head up the blue stone path to the front door. A chorus of barks greets me as I step inside. “Kayla?” I call.
“In the kitchen.”
I walk past the living room, down the narrow hallway leading to the rear kitchen. I step into the room filled with modern appliances and two-hundred-year-old beams. Compared to my penthouse in the city, the ceilings feel low. But open floor plans and spacious rooms weren’t exactly a thing in the 1800s.
She’s seated at the rectangular wooden table that my decorator found. Ginger’s curled up on her lap, and Rocky’s napping at her feet. The other three pups rest on their respective dog beds by the wood stove in the corner. Papers cover the long table surface. I walk over the side opposite her and pull out a chair.
“Making lists?” I scan the loose-leaf sheets. She turned her full attention to the barn project the moment we left New York City yesterday. It’s as if she’s clinging to the distraction after our encounter with her ex. She worked hard to push him out of her life. Now, he’s back. It probably didn’t help that I pressed for details about how her marriage failed.
Kayla deserves a better best friend, I think. It doesn’t help that I made love to her again last night.
“I want to be prepared when we meet with the contractors for the barn.” She looks up from her current list. “We are still having those meetings tomorrow, right?”
I nod. “I walked through the space just now. It needs a lot of work. I think the place is about to fall down. And it smells like hay.”
“I’m guessing the smell will go away when they start work. Even if it doesn’t, the dogs won’t mind. But I don’t want to set them up in cages. I’m thinking rooms with beds. Something that feels homey. I’d also like to include a library for volunteers to come and sit with the cats. Lots of armchairs and books.”
“Are you going to invite volunteers to spend the night and keep the animals company?”
She cocks her head. “It’s not a bad idea. I hope some of the local seniors will stop by for the reading room. Sleepovers might get too complicated.”
“You’re crazy.”
“When it comes to shelter dogs and cats? Without a doubt. But you knew that.”
“True.” I reach for one of the lists and scan through the proposed changes to the barn. “You might want to add new siding to the list.”
She takes the paper and starts writing.
“Kayla. I need to ask you something.”
Her pen pauses, still hovering over the paper as she looks up. “You want to go back to the city already?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Margaret agrees that staying up here is a good move. I have my team working on the glitches in the new product, but we’re not ready to launch. We can stay through the weekend.”
“Then it’s back to parties and fine dining until this all goes away?” she asks quietly.
“There are worse things,” I say. But that feels like a lie. If we keep “accidentally” running into her ex, I suspect that my life in New York City will top Kayla’s Worst Things In the World List.
