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Hal grins up at her. “You know it.”
When she turns away, I shake my head at him. “I don’t want pie.”
“Eat the fucking pie.”
We have this argument just about every time. Hal’s of the mindset that pie cures everything, and more often than not, this is where we find ourselves after a meeting. “Pie or die,” he likes to remind me. Meaning it’s pie or booze.
“You’re still young enough to be able to work the weight off. Take advantage of that.” He pats his gut where it bulges over his pants. “One day, it won’t matter.”
Barking a short, quiet laugh, I say nothing to that.
Two plates of pie arrive, the apple scent wafting into my nose, and watering my mouth.
Tiff sets down a bowl of creamers, and says, “Just holler if you need me,” before shifting her attention to another table.
Grabbing a couple creamers, I rip them open, and pour them into my mug, swirling it with a spoon. Hal’s already digging into his pie.
“Three years, huh?” he says casually, stabbing his fork into the crust.
“Yup,” I murmur before blowing into my coffee and taking a small sip.
I’m not surprised he remembers. He’s my sponsor. It’s basically his job to remember when I’m bound to slip up. Especially seeing as he’s the only guy who knows why I get in such a funk this time of year.
Mel thinks it’s amusing how grumpy I get in the summer. Then again, I’ve never really enjoyed the heat, so it’s not like it’s that strange how miserable it makes me.
She has no idea that it’s so much more now, the summer heat a ghost I can’t shake, reminding me of white, sandy beaches and teal waters and golden sunsets. Sparkling chocolate eyes and pink cheeks and nails biting into my skin.
And when it rains…
Storms…
It’s like I’m thrown right back there, to the island. I can smell it—the electricity burning in the air, cloying with the salt and seaweed. Hear the rocky waves in the thunder rumbling through the mountainside. Feel…him.
It just about kills me every time.
Hal hums around a bite of apple pie. Swallowing, he says, “You gonna call your guy?” He means the private investigator.
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know. He checks every once in a while. Said he’d call me if anything ever came up.”
Hal nods. His gaze lifts to mine knowingly. “But he’s not dead.”
Working my jaw, I glance out the window. “Not on record.”
It’s been two years since Skyler disappeared seemingly without a trace.
He’s not on social media, and he’s got no friends that I know of who I could reach out to. All I’ve got to rely on now are obituaries listed online, and my PI’s assurance he’s not locked away somewhere, like his parents had threatened prior to Black Diamond.
Up until Skyler disappeared, I at least had the benefit of not regretting it. For his sake.
Now…
Now I don’t know what to think. How to feel. Other than I’m…fucking terrified something happened to him in these last couple years, and somehow it’s partially my fault.
If I just told him how I felt…
If I gave him hope…
“He probably just fell in love and ran off with the guy.”
