Page 25 of Never Forget

The sound must be the construction crew coming to work on the guest house.

One long weekend out here alone, and the sudden sounds of heavy equipment firing up in the distance feel strangely intrusive. The trailer had settled into such complete silence over the last few days that I’d started measuring time by sunrises and how many chapters I’d read before falling asleep.

With a groan, I roll out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen. I put a pod in the coffeemaker and flip it on, then walk over to the windows while it brews.

Outside, the construction crew is hard at work on the far side of the property. Trucks move slowly along the gravel drive. A forklift raises a section of the guesthouse frame. Somewhere in the distance, a man yells instructions over the sound of the machinery. I think I hear laughter.

I wrap both hands around my coffee mug as soon as it’s full and watch the construction work from the living room window. The guesthouse is taking shape faster than I expected, considering the size of the building. The basement, which will house the studio, is almost fully enclosed, and most of the framing is up. I wonder how long it will be before we’ll be able to actually record here.

The thought settles happily in my chest. This place, the vision I had, feels impossible sometimes. A few years ago, it was just an idea. Then, about a year ago, it became an actual possibility when I found and purchased the land. Now it’s real. Or at least, it’s well on its way to becoming real. Watching and seeing the physical manifestation of my imagination is pretty fucking cool.

Movement near the main access road catches my attention, but it’s just another truck. Probably another contractor or a supervisor, or a member of the crew arriving late. I barely spare a second glance while sipping my coffee and return to watching the construction like it’s my own personal version of one of those home remodeling shows.

The truck disappears behind a stand of trees, then reappears a moment later. Heading directly towards the trailer.

That gets my attention. Why would anyone be driving over here? Nobody should be coming over here. The construction crews know this area is off-limits until the last phase of building begins. Any questions or issues they have are forwarded through the lawyer’s office, so no one knows who this property belongs to.

Frowning, I set my mug down and consider if I should answer the door. Do they know someone’s home?

The truck slows. The driver’s side door opens. And a very large, very familiar body unfolds itself from the cab.

My brain refuses to process what it’s seeing.

No. Nope.

Absolutely not.

This isn’t happening.

He starts walking towards the trailer, casual as you please. Carrying a duffel bag, like he’s here to stay. Like someone fucking invited him.

By the time he reaches the doorstep, I’m standing in the open doorway glaring at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Scott flashes a smile. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“No.” I point at him. Then the duffel bag. Then him again. “What is this shit. What. The fuck. Are you doing. Here?”

“The bosses sent me. They want to make sure everyone has protection after the whole bomb scare.”

“Protection,” I repeat blankly.

“Yeah. Protection.”

“I don’t need a shadow here.” I narrow my eyes. “Does Jesse have a bodyguard camping outside his bedroom?”

“Jesse’s bedroom is in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by miles of open water, and he has his own personal NFL tank to protect him.”

“Will and Ari?”

“They’re also pretty remote, but Eric is staying nearby in case there’s trouble.”

I stare at him. He stares back.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Scott shifts the duffel bag higher onto his shoulder. “Sure it does.”