Page 135 of Catch the Sun

“Of course.”

Of course I’d tell you if some bully pushed me off a cliff. Unfortunately for both of us, the truth is far more devastating.

Forcing a flat smile, I glance over his shoulder. “What’s McKay up to these days? I haven’t seen him around.” My tone is remarkably even. I don’t even blink.

“He’s been staying with one of his basketball buddies for the last few days. Said he needed to hunker down on a project they’re working on for biology.”

Convenient. “Gotcha.”

“He sends his regards.”

My chest strains as I hold in the laugh of contempt. My eyes burn, a prickle of angry-hot tears threatening. “That’s nice of him.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I wanted to give you space while you settled in,” he continues, ruffling his slick hair. “I didn’t want to smother you. I’m sure it feels like I have been.”

“You don’t smother me, Max. You…”

My words trail off.

I want to say that he grounds me, heals me, makes me feel like surviving that fall wasn’t just a lucky blip. But I can’t, because those feelings are at war with the paralyzing image of his twin brother’s face. Every time I look at Max, I see the haunting resemblance, and it taints the warmth he once provided. My silence hangs there, heavy, pregnant with the unspoken truth. The conflict in me rages on, torn between the solace he offers and the echoes of the past.

“You mean a lot to me,” I mutter, looking away. “I appreciate you visiting me every day. And for giving me all those flowers.”

I notice his hands are void of orange roses today. I understand. He can only afford so many flowers. He can only afford so many heartbreaks when those flowers wither away on my bedside table and we’re no closer to what we were.

“Ella…” he murmurs, stepping closer until the toes of his shoes are flush with the wooden porch step. One hand reaches out to cover mine as it curls tightly around the walker. “If I did something wrong…if I upset you somehow…you’d let me know?”

I watch his throat bob with turmoil as I unclench my fist. I twine my fingers with his, my balance teetering from his touch. Our hands lock together.

A perfect fit.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” I whisper. “Not a single thing. Not ever.”

Pain skates across his face, burrowing in every crease. His grip tightens on my hand as he nods, blinks, and lets go. “Text me any time, Sunny. I’ll be here.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before spinning around and walking away.

I stare at his retreating back and then watch as he fights with the lawnmower again. He yanks, jerks, snaps at the rope-start. Once, twice, twelve times, pulling harder with each attempt. He curses and growls as sweat pours down his face.

Then it starts.

A guttural purr slams into my ears.

Max glances over at me as the tension drains from him and he pushes it forward along the grass.

A tear slips out and I head back inside.

By nightfall I’m restless and antsy, the anxiety I’ve been harboring spillinginto my dreamworld as I doze in and out of sleep. I dream about Phoenix, my childhood horse. My beloved, long-lost friend. We’re riding through pastures of gold and green, the sun beating down on us as we gallop for miles. The air is warm. The clouds are marshmallow white. Everything is perfect as birds sing and a balmy wind has my hair taking flight.

And then McKay appears out of nowhere, blocking our path.

It all happens so fast.

With a flick of his wrist, he slashes my horse’s throat with a knife, grinning evilly as blood splatters across his face. He kills Phoenix right in front of me. I scream, tipping over as the stallion bleeds out with a terrified neigh and topples sideways.

McKay’s voice haunts me as I rocket toward the ground. “Stop running, Ella.”

I shoot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat.

My heart is in my throat.

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