Page 54 of Valley

The next half hour was spent in a tense, low-voiced conversation as I told Midnight what I knew—leaving out the parts about my cheating. I wasn’t ready to lose my best friend.

Not yet.

The guilt sat like a weight on my chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him everything. One day, I’d come clean, but not today.

When Midnight left with Hadleigh to talk to his brothers about the new information, like me, he was feeling a heavy load of guilt. If we’d only been more aware that night, if we hadn’t let ourselves get so drunk... maybe we could have saved Kezia.

But we were just kids, playing at being men.

I needed Madeline.

I needed her near to keep my head straight. But when I got back to the common room, she was gone. “Sean gave her a lift to her van,” Harker said, stepping up beside me. “She was in a hurry to get home; she knew her dad was worried.”

“Was she okay?” I asked, anxiety gnawing at me. Once all the adrenaline wears off, things will really sink in.

“Quiet, but she seemed fine considering what she’s been through,” Harker replied, his eyes searching mine. “If you really love her, you’ll find a way to work things out.”

A thought struck me—something I could do to show her how much she meant to me. Something that might make her understand just how deep my feelings ran and how much I needed her in my life. “Harker,” I asked, my voice steady with newfound resolve, “is Bethany still here?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Chapter Thirty-One

THE LAST FEWdays felt like a whirlwind of emotions, a stormI could barely keep under control. Accepting what happened was one thing, but convincing Dad not to call the police was another battle entirely. The hardest part was calming him down, making him see that calling the cops would only bring more pain—especially to Jarrod. The man responsible was dead; justice had been served, albeit in a way the law wouldn’t acknowledge. I wasn’t about to let Jarrod pay the price for something he didn’t deserve.

After hours of heated discussions, Dad finally relented, though not without a condition. “He and I are having a talk,” he’d said, his voice gruff with determination. “A long one.”

But there was one problem. Three days had passed, and I hadn’t seen Jarrod. Not since that night. He sent me a text after the kidnapping, asking for three days. “I need some time, and I’ll pick you up on the morning of the third day, and we’ll talk,” he’d written. I agreed, desperate to see him, to figure us out. I knew he loved me; I’d seen it in his eyes that horrible night.

Today was that day.

I paced the living room, nerves fraying with each step. Ellie played nearby; her giggles so different from the anxiety twisting in my gut. Dad watched me, his concern palpable. “Don’t forget to remind Jarrod we need to talk,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that made my chest tighten.

“I won’t,” I promised, grabbing my purse as I heard the rumble of his motorcycle outside. My heart skipped a beat as I rushed out the door.

Jarrod sat on his bike, his gaze fixed on me, his expression unreadable. The air between us crackled with unspoken words, the weight of the past days hanging heavy. “You ready?” he asked, his voice steady, though I could sense the underlying tension.

“Yeah.” I took the helmet he offered, and as I climbed on behind him, I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around his waist a little tighter than usual, silently begging for the connection we both needed. He lifted my hand, pressing a kiss to it, a silent promise before he revved the engine and we sped off.

As the familiar scenery blurred past, my mind raced. I knew where we were heading—Coopers Rock. A place that held memories, both sweet and bittersweet. My heart pounded as we turned onto the dirt path, the trees closing in around us like sentinels guarding our secrets.

He killed the engine and we coasted to a stop. The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. Jarrod got off the bike first, offering his hand to help me down. His touch waswarm, but there was an edge to it, something that made my stomach churn with fear. Was he going to end this?

End us?

“Come on,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding. “I want to show you something.”

The same words he’d used weeks ago, here, in this very spot. My heart ached with the memory as I followed him down the path to the overlook. The view was breathtaking as always, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was him.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his tone gentle. “Don’t open them until I tell you.”

I hesitated, my mind whirling with possibilities, but I did as he asked. The world went dark, and I focused on the sound of him moving around, the anticipation building until it was almost unbearable.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the sight before me. On a bed of flowers, resting on the rock, was a beautiful music box, and next to it, a property vest—the same one the club women wore. Tears welled in my eyes as I reached for the box, my fingers trembling.

“Jarrod,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the intricate design. The top of the box was painted with an antique music box, but what stole my breath was the couple dancing on it—their faces were ours. The detail was stunning, almost lifelike. The sides of the box were adorned with replicas of my tattoos, each one a representation of the people and things I loved most.

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