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“I had to get a slog in because I knew you were bringing my weakness over!” She called out with a laugh as I walked up. I smiled at her excitement and her use of the word slog. It was her way of saying slow jog.

“I tweaked the topping a little. Let me know what you think once you have a chance to try it.” I peeked in the stroller and saw Ava, her eighteen-month-old, fast asleep. Her thick black lashes rested on her round cheeks.

“Sure thing! Everything you make is always good.”

We walked toward the front steps of her light gray, Craftsman-style home, and Talia took the cheesecake inside to the kitchen. I stood with the stroller outside and brushed my finger across Ava’s soft forehead as I tucked a stuffed animal frog beside her. Talia would say she had plenty of toys, but I always retorted that this sweet girl could never be spoiled too much. Ava was too young to know it now, but she had seriously lucked out in the parent department. Talia wasn’t sunshine, she was the sun, and her husband, Rob, was head over heels in love with her. Talia owned a therapy practice where she worked three days a week, spending the rest of her time with Ava. Rob was the local Assistant District Attorney. Their love was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, and I knew whatever they faced, they’d face it together. To say Ava had the best parents in the world was an understatement. She’d never have the childhood worries I had, and no matter what, I’d be there for her. Talia was already trying to teach her to say Auntie Sawyer, which came out as a jumble of too many A’s and S’s. It was adorable. I’d always be Ava’s cheerleader, and she had years of spoiling ahead.

When Talia returned, we settled on the porch steps that were lined with potted plants, and Talia did what Talia does best and read me like a book.

“Soo . . . you’re going to see that hot cowboy again? You look cute by the way.” She winked and nudged my shoulder with hers. Subtlety was not her strong suit. I rolled my eyes.

“I mean, if he’s there, but only to say thank you. You remember how I was saying something felt familiar about the area?”

“Yeah.” She said while taking another sip of water.

“Well . . . I can’t shake that feeling. It’s like I lived nearby or something. It’s strange but familiar.” I tilted my head back. “Ugh. It’s so frustrating sometimes piecing my childhood together, but you know how sometimes I’ll have bad reactions about places and not be able to explain why?”

She nodded, and I continued.

“There’s something about the town of Kennedy and that part of Rhodes County. Something big happened there, but I don’t remember what. I don’t necessarily have a bad or good vibe, but more like it’s something substantial. I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I’m hoping that something clicks today. Sometimes . . . I wonder if the things I find or remember are things I should be happy I forgot.” I rubbed the thumbnail of one hand against the palm of my other. Talia reached out and placed her soft hand on mine to still my fidgeting.

“Your childhood was a battlefield. It’s understandable you spent most of it in survival mode, Sawyer. Do you need me to go with you? I’m off today. I’ll go if you need me.” She was the best friend a girl could ever hope for.

“No, I’ll be okay. I’m going to drop off the cookies and drive around the area to see if anything comes to me.” I leaned my head on her shoulder, and she rested her cheek on my head.

“Forever friends,” she promised, and I echoed the same.

This was something we established our freshman year of college. I was the youngest in my class, having completed college classes while also attending high school. I was completely overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the college life experience. The people were loud, and I was almost always trying to avoid guys. For the first time in my life, I had structure and complete freedom at the same time. Talia found me lost on the first day of classes and quickly deemed that we were destined to be forever friends. She didn’t know until almost a year afterward how much those words meant to me. After a hard test one day, I had crumbled, and I couldn’t hide my broken childhood from her anymore. I explained my quirks as best as I understood them. My over-the-top organization, my reaction to people touching me, my discomfort in loud places, and the reasons I avoided all men—despite their attractiveness or my desire to have a family. Talia declared that my life story reminded her of a Lifetime movie where you wondered how many bad things could happen repeatedly to one person.

She admitted one night that she had never contemplated how adults that grew up in foster care, or kids from difficult backgrounds, might have lingering effects, or how simply becoming an adult didn’t miraculously fix years of trauma. It was then that she had changed her major to become a therapist specializing in childhood trauma. Her parents were furious that she left the path to law school, but she was determined to make a difference in another way. Talia knew that my focus in social work was my way of preventing the childhood I had from happening to more children. A childhood where adults turned a blind eye to the atrocities that happened to me. Where they willingly stood by while I endured unthinkable things. The foster parents always said the right things, and I had appeared fed and was clothed, so they would check the right boxes and let things be. I hit some extremely dark places in my teenage years, but the kindness of a small handful of individuals throughout my childhood provided the light I needed to keep moving forward, one step at a time. I knew the statistics I faced, and I had refused to fall victim to the traumas of my childhood. I would graduate from high school. I would complete college. I would not repeat the patterns of abuse and cruelty I had endured. Everything was going to stop with me. Talia took the time to befriend my misunderstood college self, and I was forever grateful when she became my friend.

We caught up for a few more minutes before I kissed sweet Ava’s forehead while Talia sent me off with a laugh about seeing a hot cowboy.

Chapter

Seven

Sawyer

After dropping off the oatmeal butterscotch cookies at the Rhodes County sheriff’s office, I pulled in and parked at Soren’s house. I had noticed the tire swing hanging from a nearby tree on Thursday. It twirled in the breeze, a signal of a happy childhood. I had always thought tire swings looked like fun, but it wasn’t one of those things you could find at a city park. That familiar sensation washed over me again. I knew I had never lived anywhere as cozy as Soren’s house and especially not here. This place was nearly heaven on earth from the wraparound porch and large white barn to the rolling hills surrounding it. The porch swing was painted the perfect shade of sunshine yellow. There were even fluffy white clouds above. It was perfect. I clutched the container of cookies in my hands and walked toward the swing. It was a beacon, and I was a ship lost at sea. I shifted the container in my arms, along with Soren’s freshly washed hoodie and reached to touch the rubber tire. I gave it a small push. It swayed, and I backed out of the way to watch it, mesmerized by the motion. If I had a suitable tree in my tiny duplex yard, I would watch a YouTube video on how to build a tire swing. It seemed incredibly fun, and before I knew it, I pushed the tire again, completely lost in this delayed childhood fascination.

“You always make a habit of trespassing on other people’s property?” a loud voice called out behind me and I jerked in surprise. I spun around taking an involuntary step back as the tire knocked into my shoulder, and I dropped the container of cookies and hoodie on the ground.

I saw Soren walking from the barn as he slapped a pair of leather gloves against one of his thick thighs, dust flying from the action. He somehow appeared more handsome than I remembered. He wore a long-sleeve chambray shirt tucked into jeans that hugged his solid, muscular body, and a ball cap. I hurriedly reached to scoop up the hoodie and the cookie container (that thankfully had stayed closed) before he reached me. He stopped in front of me with that same intensity that felt borderline too much, and he was wearing that intimidating expression on his face again. I held out the large Tupperware container of cookies as a peace offering. He looked me over and I was unsure about my choice of returning at all. Was this weird? I knew sometimes social cues were lost on me because my brain was constantly assessing my surroundings. Maybe the cookies were too much. Why didn’t Talia tell me the cookies were too much? I shouldn’t have come.

“Uhh . . . I brought a ‘thank you’ for your help, and here’s your hoodie back.” My hand shook with nerves.

He didn’t reach for the cookies, but his eyes roved my face as if searching for something. He was intense again. Not the playful man I left on Thursday. It was as though we were starting from scratch all over again. I shouldn’t have come. I was a fool for taking the effort to appear extra nice. After a moment his hand brushed mine as he took the container from me. The hoodie was folded over my arm and I reached to extend that also. He flicked a glance at it as though it would give him germs.

“Keep it.” He nodded toward the hoodie.

I swallowed, unsure of what to say. Of course he didn’t want the hoodie back after I had worn it, but it was freshly washed so why wouldn’t he? I enjoyed the idea of keeping it too much to protest.

“Okay. Well, umm, you can keep the container. I wanted to bring those to say thank you.” I gave a small forced smile because the awkwardness was suffocating. I turned to go, making my way to my Jeep when I heard his gravelly voice.

“Sawyer.” I turned.

“Thanks for the cookies.”