Page 4 of Five

“He’s not staying,” she says. “He’s got some business in Denver.”

“What?” My heart sinks again. “So he didn’t come here for me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Belle says. “Why else would he come to Fort Collins? He drove up here from the airport, right? He came to see you, Rory. We all know that.”

But that’s not true. We don’t know that. In fact, we know nothing of the sort. He’s here for business in Denver. He probably had some time to kill, so he stopped by to see his parents and siblings. He probably forgot about Ford and Ash taking the twins to Disney. And he certainly didn’t think I’d be here. I haven’t come home for a summer in two years. I’ve spent them up in the Hamptons with Tera. I only come home for Christmas now and Five never comes for Christmas.

I grab my pack and walk out the door.

“Hey!” Sparrow calls, running after me. “What the hell are you doing?”

“This was a mistake,” I say, getting back into my car. “A big, fat, stupid mistake. He never wanted me to be here, you guys!” Both Kate and Belle have followed us outside. “I’m going to the Hamptons.”

They call out every reason why I’m being stupid and immature. Why I should stick around and wait it out. Why I should give Five Aston a second chance.

Fuck that, in the words of my mother. Just fuck that.

I back out of the driveway, squealing the tires on my little Honda rental, and drive off before I have to listen to one more lie about how much Five Aston loves me.

Because if that man loved me, then he wouldn’t have slipped out of my life so easily six years ago. He would’ve called me. He would’ve sent me presents for my birthday or Christmas. He would’ve texted me goodnight and congratulated me on my fucking high-school graduation using that stupid secret Love Notes app he gave me for Christmas back when we were still kids.

And he didn’t. He did none of those things.

So that man is sadly mistaken if he thinks some half-ass trip to Colorado—when I’m not even here—is what it takes to get a second chance with Princess Shrike.

Chapter Two - Five

The Shrike farm is nothing like how I remember it growing up.

“Where are all the horses?” I ask Oliver as we come to a stop under the workshop carport.

“Oh,” Oliver says, waving his hand at the overgrown empty pastures. “Rory sold her horse when she left for college. Belle just sold hers a few weeks ago because she’s leaving for NYU. Jasmine quit riding a couple years ago and I never had a horse of my own. Cindy has a new pony now, and it’s out on the far pasture grazing with the cows until everyone gets home from Florida.”

“What about Snowflake?”

“Oh, she died a few years ago. But we buried her over under the old buckeye tree.” He points to an elaborately arranged pile of rocks acting as a marker. “Rory cried her eyes out and, well, you know my dad. Rory crying isn’t something he can deal with. So we had a huge funeral for her.”

Snowflake is dead. Has been for several years. And no one even bothered to tell me about it.

Do you blame them, Five? You walked away and never looked back.

The emptiness here is… sad.

When we were kids, this place was never empty. People were always staying here from out of town. Sasha and Jax would come with my niece and nephew. Merc and Sydney and all those cousins would appear every now and then out of the blue. Even James and Harper would bring their family at least once a year. Plus, we were always out here. My whole family was. The place was alive back then.

“It looks abandoned,” I say, opening my door and getting out of the car.

Oliver takes another look at his family farm and shrugs. “I like it like this. I don’t even remember the last time I had a moment alone, but I feel them coming now that all my sisters are growing up.” He glances back at me over the hood of my rental. “OK, so why’d you drag me out here?”

I gotta get something from the apartment over the workshop. But I don’t want Oliver to know about it. He can’t know about it. So I say, “There’s a hidey-hole in Spencer’s office. You know the one?”

Oliver smiles mischievously. “I know it. What do ya need?”

“A gun,” I say. “Something compact. Fit-in-the-pocket kind of compact. Can you get me one?”

“Can I?” Oliver huffs. “Of course. But he’ll know it’s gone. He counts them, ya know. Like… daily.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He does. But he’s not here. He’s in Florida. And I’ll put it back before I leave so he never has to know.”