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And what about Adrian?
I reached a fork in the path, hesitated, then continued left. It was hard to remember which loop closed out at three miles, and which one took me to the back edge of the nature preserve for over six.
As I regulated my breathing, my thoughts turned back to my third, most explosive lover. Adrian and I had been in each other’s lives all through our childhood. It wasn’t until we were the only ones left that we’d fallen into each other’s arms. I chalked it up as a friendship that had simply evolved. An arrangement born out of loneliness mixed with staggering amounts of lust. Whatever we’d had wasn’t exactly a relationship, but it didn’t feel like it wasn’t one either. We hung out an awful lot. We got food, got drinks. Laughed and saw movies together.
Every night always ended the same though; naked and dripping, with Adrian pumping away furiously between my legs. With my fingernails raking reckless claw-marks down his broad, tattooed back, as he screwed my brains out in places that were becoming increasingly more public.
The funny part was we never went back to my place, or his place either. We did everything in cars or seedy hotels, and once even on the seat of his motorcycle. Every time I saw him it was thrilling and wild, and our encounters had a dangerous edge to them. Partly because of the no-limits policy we’d put on our little arrangement. But also because the others in our group were clueless to the extent of our trysts.
I reached an old mossy bridge over a surging creek, then stopped to put my hands on my knees. Shit. I’ddefinitelymissed the three mile loop. I could turn around now, or keep punishing myself by sprinting out the remainder of the 10 kilometer trail.
“What the hell did you expect would happen when you came back here?” I suddenly asked myself.
Hearing the words out loud — even if they were my own — made the situation all the more real. I’d come to North Glade for my friend’s funeral, but I’d also come for something else. Something that was missing in California, for sure. Something I was maybe hoping to recapture.
Memories?
No. That wasn’t it.
Happiness?
Staring down at the water rushing beneath me, I blinked. Yes! I was definitely looking to get some of the old mojo of this place back. The town I’d fled in tragedy and failure still held long years of nostalgia, triumph, and happy memories for me. In other words, it wasn’tallbad.
Still, there wasn’t anything simple about my situation right now. I was worried about Warren and Luke butting heads tonight. Clashing the way they had at the end of that fateful summer. Up until that moment, all was right in my world. I was working a job I loved, and pursuing a path to that career at the community college. My parents were still alive. I still had a home and a family. A place that felt like mine.
But now…
A wiry, middle-aged man with streaks of grey hair passed by me, checking his pulse as he ran. We made eye contact and I nodded, while he raised his other arm in an obligatory runners’ hello.
My knees hurt. I was used to running on the beaches of Big Sur, where the sand was much lower impact. I made the command decision to turn around and head back to the hotel.
Forget all this boy-drama bullshit,the little voice in my head chastised me.Tonight is about Elizabeth.
Shit. Now Ididfeel guilty.
Sufficiently chastised, I reversed direction and sped down the trail. As I ran, I focused on clearing my head. On forcing all other thoughts of Warren, or Luke, or Adrian from the spinning whirlwind of my busy mind.
Not that it worked, or anything.
Sixteen
KAYLA
The text-message was simple and to the point. It came from Warren, about an hour before we had to be at the funeral home:
I’m at the bar downstairs.
Come down for a drink before we leave.
I smoothed my black dress in the mirror, making sure I looked the part of a presentable mourner. Funerals were something I knew all too well. The brass fixtures, the horrible wallpaper. The cheap paper cones they used in lieu of Dixie cups at the water cooler, and all the covered boxes of tissues scattered from table to mahogany table.
A drink before leaving was probably a good idea. Two drinks, even better.
I grabbed my clutch and my room key, then made the elevator in under a minute. The car dropped, the doors opened, and I hurried through the lobby wearing shoes I knew would hurt my feet all night.
I hate these fucking things.
It was bad enough that someone had to die to get you together with your old friends. But then you all had to dress up for each other, and wear uncomfortable shoes. It wasn’t like you were dressing up for the deceased, that’s for sure.
