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Hey, did my brother sexually assault you? Do you know of any of his other victims that would be willing to talk to me about their traumatic experience? What right do I even have to bring up something so terribly if these girls really are his victims?
Until I truly know, Jared will remain a victim in my mind. And if he really is an abuser, he doesn’t deserve an ounce of my pity.
After everything he and I went through, there’s no way he would treat someone the same way our father did. Unless…he became the man we hated. I would have known, would have seen the signs, wouldn’t I? His own sister should have noticed the red flags if he was what Savini claims he is. But Jared and I outgrew our closeness once we got old enough to sneak out of the house and escape the torment of our dad. We went our separate ways, fleeing the abuse however we could. And once we became adults, that distance manifested even more. FaceTime calls to catch up morphed into texts left on read.
So, when I heard the news that he had been killed, it hit me like a freight train. Grief, guilt, anger—it filled me all at once. Had I been there, maybe I could have saved him. If I insisted that we stayed in touch more, maybe I could have prevented him from going down a path of crime that resulted in his death. I could have done more. Ishouldhave done more.
I open the door to the diner, the bell chiming on my way in. The scent of freshly baked goods hits me immediately.
I’m greeted by a grey-haired older man from behind the register. “Welcome in. Sit wherever you’d like.” He goes back to work checking out the customer in front of him.
I slide into the first booth available and steady myself on the seat.
A waitress approaches—jet-black hair and a seriously wicked case of resting-bitch-face. The second she pulls out her notepad, she softens and transforms into the customer service version of herself. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee, black. Thank you.” Nothing like some caffeine to really get these nerves kicking in high gear.
She doesn’t bother writing my order down, or saying anything else. She just turns on her heel and marches back to the counter, where she grabs a mug and one of the few carafes of coffee.
The bell at the door rings again and catches her attention. She does a double take, and the second glance makes her face break out into a huge smile.
A man, covered in tattoos and looking like he belongs on a poster somewhere grabs her by the waist and kisses her.
She giggles and sneaks out of his grasp. “Magnus, I’m working.” She nods toward the booth in the corner. “You’re going to have to wait.”
“Whatever you say, princess.” Magnus complies and settles into the far end of the diner.
The girl comes over and sets the cup on my table. “Sorry about that, my boyfriend is rather impatient.” She fills the thing with coffee.
Before she can walk away, I open my mouth. “Could I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, shoot.” She glances behind her quickly. “The special is blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon.”
I follow her gaze and then do my own double-take. Written on the board in white chalk isThe Claire Special, with the food she just told me listed underneath.
“Who is that? Claire?”
The waitress nonchalantly says, “A girl that used to work here.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, her husband and the owner go way back. They’re pretty much family.”
“Oh.”
“So.” She widens her eyes expectantly. “Would you like to order?”
I shake my head. “No, sorry, I just…I was just wondering who she was.”
The bell chimes again.
Looking a bit annoyed, the waitress points her pen toward the door. “There she is if you want to ask her what her obsession with blueberry pancakes is.”
I turn to witness a beautiful woman stroll into the diner, her cheeks aglow from the beaming smile on her face. She walks straight up to the older man who had greeted me and wraps her arms around his neck. “Bram!” She squeezes him.
“You made it,” he says, hugging her back with just as much enthusiasm. “Where’s Johnny?”
Claire walks behind the counter and pours herself a cup of coffee, taking the cinnamon shaker and sprinkling a few dashes inside. “He had a work thing to do, but he’ll be here soon.”
