Page 52 of 15 Summers Later

“What was that all about? Is she feeling sick again?”

“I’m not sure. I think she’s mostly annoyed with me,” he admitted.

Her face lit up with her half smile. “You sometimes do have that effect on women, Dr. Gentry.”

He had to laugh, despite his unease over the discussion with Ava. “What can I say? It’s a gift. Other men make women go weak at the knees. I seem to have the ability to make them want to punch something.”

She sent him a sidelong look. “I would guess you’re not all that bad in the weak-at-the-knees department.”

What did she mean by that? And why did that rosy blush suddenly climb her cheeks?

“Sierra wants to play cornhole before you leave. She sent me to see if you want to play.”

“Sure thing.”

He rose from the swing, making the chains bounce and rattle. He reached a hand out to help her up. She wrapped her fingers around his and when he pulled her to her feet, the motion of the swing carried her forward, almost into his arms.

She laughed, trying to regain her balance. The sound enchanted him and he wanted to freeze the moment here on this summer evening and soak it in.

She stepped away, that pink on her cheeks again, and Luke did his best to push away the inappropriate urge to pull her back, to tug her into the shrubs and kiss her.

He had to stop this or he was going to end up embarrassing both of them, possibly ruining their friendship irrevocably.

15

We plunge into the wilderness, guided only by the dim moonlight filtering through the thick canopy above. The forest floor is uneven, and each step is a silent dance to avoid twigs and fallen branches that threaten to betray our escape. Long nights stretch into an endless procession of uncertainty, the chill settling into our bones as we navigate the labyrinth of trees, desperate to put distance between us and the people who once held us captive.

—Ghost Lakeby Ava Howell Brooks

Ava

Ava wiped at the corner of her mouth and stared at herself in the large mirror in Tilly Gentry Walker’s powder room.

She looked haggard.

That was the only way she could describe it. She had deep circles under her eyes, which contrasted vividly with her sallow skin, and her mouth was pinched, tight.

Was it any wonder Cullen wanted nothing to do with her right now?

At least her stomach seemed to be settling.

She took a deep breath, Luke’s words bouncing around in her head like an out-of-control Ping-Pong ball.

Pregnant.

She couldn’t possibly be. She was vigilant about birth control, taking the little pill on a regimented schedule.

Okay. She might have missed a few pills the week before the book came out, she acknowledged. She had been so busy trying to finish the school year while simultaneously fighting the horrible fear that agreeing to publish her memoir had been a hideous mistake.

She surely couldn’t be pregnant after missing three or four pills, could she?

Ava closed her eyes to block out that wretched image of herself in the mirror. Was it possible? Her period was late, but she attributed that to all the stress over the book release, throwing their story out to the world and the instant publicity that had exploded around her.

And after her husband had read the book in its entirety, instead of the small samples she had showed him in the past year during her road to publication, everything had changed.

Panic fluttered on bat wings. If she really was pregnant, what was she going to do?

They had talked about having a child or two in some nebulous future. Of course they had. Any partners who didn’t have that discussion were setting themselves up for a potential disaster if one wanted children and the other didn’t.

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