Page 2 of The Version You Hide

Chapter 1

MACKENZIE

I’m falling. And not in the way that makes your heart flutter in your chest or clumsy butterflies roil in your stomach. It’s definitely not the kind of falling associated with that overwhelming euphoric sensation of dopamine flooding your brain cells.

Not that I would know what that feels like.

Nope. This is just plain old falling. Arms flailing. That sinking drop in the pit of your stomach as you attempt to fight the Earth’s undeniable gravitational pull. I’m caught in that moment when you know you’re about to meet your doom, aka faceplant. When everything plays out in slow motion for just that little bit, before catapulting back into real-time.

Somewhere, between all of it, I manage to cry out. “Holy shit!”

An arm reaches out across my waist, suspending me in mid-air, my long blonde hair draping mere inches above the bonfire I’ve almost tripped into. The sudden jolt causes the margarita in my hand to slosh forward into the open flames. I rare back as it flares up, the heat of it stifling, the flames licking dangerously close to my left eyebrow.

“Easy there,” I hear him say as I’m dragged backwards, his solid arms clamped around my midsection. He pulls me further, drawing me a safe distance away from the fire. Firm palms steady my shoulders, before his hands awkwardly drop to his sides. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, huffing out a breath, and smoothing out the uncomfortable cocktail dress that suffocates my frame. I’m not one for playing dress-up and this frock is definitely not me. It’s too sophisticated, too frilly. Give me a t-shirt and shorts any day of the week.

“You sure?” His head tilts to the side, concern painting his features.

And there it is. The indisputable glare of pity that I’m so often subjected to in this town.

“I’m fine,” I say in an unreasonably annoyed tone. “Relax. You don’t have to act like I’m some sort of damsel in distress.”

I hate that I sound like a bitch, but if one more person treats me like I’m a fragile porcelain doll, I might actually break.

I look up in time to see Dylan’s sideward smirk, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Sure,” he casually waves off my statement, then adds, “I mean, you almost dove headfirst into an inferno, but I’m sure you had it under control.”

A slight frown builds on my brow, but I can’t help the way the corners of my lips turn upward. I actually appreciate his sarcasm. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m so fragile after all.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and offer a sigh as I flop down onto the makeshift log seat nearby, sticking my now half-empty margarita glass into the sand beside me.

I let out a groan of relief as I begin peeling off the strappy high heels that adorn my pained and blistered feet – the culprits of my almost-fall into the flames mere moments ago.

These shoes have been killing me, but Kristen insisted I borrow them for Liv and EJ’s wedding. The only shoes I had brought with me to Cliff Haven were the ones I’d been wearing when Henley helped me escape from my abusive ex-boyfriend’s house in the middle of the night.

A pair of casual sandals, of which the soles were wearing thin, would simply just not cut it for such an elegant event, but these death traps Kristen has me wearing tonight are not exactly ideal for the uneven ground behind the tavern or the sandy shore where I now sit. Especially when I’m a little more than mildly tipsy, and I’ll admit, not accustomed to prancing around in such high-fashion footwear.

“Why aren’t you up there enjoying the party?” Dylan nods toward the outdoor dance floor where Kristen, Liv, Henley, and EJ sway merrily, and albeit a little drunkenly to an upbeat, punk-pop cover of a Taylor Swift song played by the live band.

I could tell him the truth. That being up there with my newfound half-sister and her friends had felt both heartening and unbearable. That even though I love my sister and her fiancé, the man that saved my life, being around them reminds me that we are worlds apart.

Instead, I choose to deflect his question. “Why aren’t you?”

“It’s more chill down here.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue suit pants. “I’m not much for crowds, I guess.”

“Same,” I agree.

Dylan and I are not all that well-acquainted, but as his eyes dart to the wedding party behind the tavern and then back down to me, I get a strange sense that we’re kindred spirits. That maybe in some way, through our mutual introversion, we understand each other.

Though I know he couldn’t possibly comprehend. That nobody really knows what goes on inside my head. I make damn sure of it. Letting people in is dangerous and not something I’m interested in doing any time soon. If ever.

Of course, Dylan knows of things that have happened in my life. Everybody in this town does. It’s kind of hard to escape prying eyes when your face has been plastered all over the evening news.

But none of them really know me. They couldn’t possibly.

“How are you?” he asks.

He moves toward me and takes a seat to my right, carefully positioning himself on the smoothest part of the log.

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