Turning my head, instinct shifts the rest of me, putting Miranda fully behind me, my arm braced across her chest to hold her there. A low snarl builds in my throat before I can stop it.
The figure resolves out of the tree shadow at the end of the drive.
He’s tall, in a dark coat, walking up the gravel like he has every right to be there.
The recognition hits me.
“Derek,” I whisper.
That single word is all I can find. There he is, crossing my drive, in my territory, alive after four years of silence, and my hand on Miranda’s wrist tightens without me meaning to.
My brother’s best friend has come back.
The last man who saw Gabriel alive.
Chapter Eighteen
Grayson
My heart is pounding, complicated emotions filling me.
What is he doing here?
How did he get—?
“Grayson, what’s wrong?” Miranda’s voice is low at my back. Her fingers brush my elbow and pull away just as quickly. “Who is that?”
“He’s my brother’s—” My voice hitches, and I take a breath to steady myself. “He’s my brother’s best friend.”
Derek looks like he’s aged a decade in the years he’s been gone. He steps forward, then his gaze cuts to Miranda. He breathes her in, and his eyes widen with alarm. Before he can say anything, I cut him off.
“You need to go inside.”
She bristles. I can feel it without looking, that small stiffening she does whenever someone tells her what to do.
My voice turns hard. “Miranda, I’m asking you to go inside. Now.”
“Fine,” she mutters. “But if you need help, just scream.”
Scream? Does she think I’m a little girl?
I watch her leave. Derek’s eyes track her until she’s inside, and he stays silent until the door clicks shut. “You’re not going to greet me?”
I try to work through the noise in my chest. Coach told me he was coming back. I should have been prepared. “What are you doing here?”
My voice comes out hoarse.
Derek was never far from my brother. Where one was, the other could be found close by. I have to force my body to stay still and not turn around. Because a part of me wants to believe that if I do, if I just look over my shoulder, my brother will be standing somewhere in the distance with that broad smile of his.
But I know he won’t be.
I can’t look.
My eyes are burning with unshed tears as Derek moves toward me.
He closes the last of the distance and pulls me in. His hand grips the back of my neck. It’s an older brother’s hold, one I haven’t felt since the day we walked away from the headstone. My arms come up slowly. I’m not ready for it. I don’t return it for a beat. Then I do.
I give him one short thump on his back.
