The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(25)

“I feel awful about lying low for so long,” she said quietly. “I owe Heather and Caitlin both. Seeing Caitlin so stressed and on the verge of a breakdown is killing me. She did so much for us.” Her eyes went fierce. “It’s my turn to be the strong one. I just hope I can fake it.” She pasted on a smile. “Gotta fake it to make it, right?”

“Maze, you’re the strongest woman I know.”

She blinked, looking so surprised that he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“Believe it. Because I absolutely do.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I wish I could be as confident about that as you.”

“Then do what you just said. Fake it until you make it. Maybe then you’ll realize the truth about yourself.”

“Which is?”

“You’ve got all the power, you always did. Once you realize it, you’ll be able to do anything you want.”





Chapter 6


Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

—Take Frisbee off the list of reception activities.

Years ago, one of Maze’s favorite things to do at the lake had been to sit waterside by moonlight with a firepit warming her toes. So it felt surreal to find herself doing that very thing with the same people all these years later.

Surreal and . . . nice.

They’d made a fire on the beach and ate s’mores while listening to the tune of the water hitting the shoreline and crickets singing.

Correction: they all ate s’mores except for Walker, because his body was a temple. Trying to block the memories of how she’d once worshipped at the temple of Walker, she looked away from him and her gaze locked on Jace’s. He pulled her to her feet and then off to the side. “So I’m going to go to bed to give you guys some time alone.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She searched his gaze. “Unless you’re too tired to stay up?”

He gave her a small smile. “I’m too tired to stay up.”

She could hear the lie in his voice and started to say something, but he shook his head and bent to give her a sweet kiss on the lips and a look that said he’d be just upstairs if she needed him.

When she walked back to the fire, all eyes were on her. Heather’s. Caitlin’s.

Walker’s . . .

“What?” she said. “Never seen a couple kiss good night before? And who’s bogarting the marshmallows?”

“I remember the last time we did this,” Heather said. “Coyotes came down from the hill and were making hungry noises and howling. I cried.”

“You were nine,” Maze said. “You were scared.”

“I know. And you stood up, grabbed a few big sticks we hadn’t put in the fire yet, and started to head out to scare them off.” Heather smiled. “You were so badass, Maze. And protective. You always had our backs.”

“It was Walker who saved us, though.” He’d taken the sticks from her and gone after them himself.

“Because it takes a village,” Heather said. “And I love our village.”

“Me too,” Cat said.

Walker didn’t say anything and Cat elbowed him.

“Ow. And what?”

“You love our village too.”

“Of course I do,” he said easily.

Maze rolled her eyes. “If we’re going to get mushy, I’m out of here.”

“If you leave now,” Cat said, “no more s’mores for you. Ever.”

Not about to risk that, Maze stayed. They were quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Well, at least on everyone else’s part. Maze was never comfortable, not in silence or otherwise.

When they ran out of supplies, they scattered. Maze went inside and passed Jace having a Netflix marathon in the den.

So much for his being tired. But she sure as hell was, so she waved and kept going, up the stairs and into her room. She climbed over the makeshift bed on the floor where she and Jace were taking turns sleeping and crawled into the comfy bed.

She had no idea how much later it was when she jerked at the sound of someone trying to open the bedroom door. She was no longer in the cabin. She was in her mother’s old apartment, which she knew from the scent of old weed and bad booze.

She was dreaming.

Her relief was short-lived, because she couldn’t wake up. The light slanting in through the broken shutters was just enough to see the bedroom doorknob turning. The lock caught and so did the sob in her throat.

Back and forth the knob turned, but the lock held.

“Just dreaming,” she whispered to herself. It’d been years since the last nightmare and even more years since it had been reality and not a nightmare at all. Her mom had a weakness for men, all of them. But one in particular had been fond of preteen girls. She’d been a handy target.

He’d gotten into her bedroom twice, and the second time she’d been ready with a baseball bat. He’d never tried again.

But that first time . . . Sometimes she could still feel his hands on her. She’d screamed bloody murder and had finally managed to wake up her passed-out mom, who’d come stumbling down the hallway to see what the commotion had been about.

Asshole Boyfriend—Maze refused to ever use his name—had been smart enough to get out of her bedroom and play innocent.