Page 5 of Everything We Give

Where are you?

Do you need me to come get you?

And before I can think not to, I send the text I’d originally drafted.

Are you hurt?

She doesn’t reply and my damn nerves go haywire. I stare hard at my phone, willing a text from her when it dawns on me.

Idiot.

I launch the Find My Phone app, pushing aside the first thought that pops into my head—stalker—and quickly pinpoint that she’s at her friend Nadia Jacobs’s flat. Has she been there the entire time? Hopefully, I think on a relieved breath.

I call Nadia and she immediately answers.

“Ian.” She sounds relieved to hear from me.

“Put Aimee on. I need to talk with her.”

“Hold on.”

I hear a muffled noise as though Nadia’s walking into another room. I expect Aimee to get on the phone, but it’s Nadia who speaks. “Aimee—”

“Where is she? Why didn’t you give her the phone?”

“She said she’s leaving shortly. She’ll meet you at home. But, Ian, I’m really worried about her. I haven’t seen her like this in a long time.”

“Like what? I haven’t seen or heard from her since this morning. I’m in the dark here, Nadia. Other than one text, she’s been ignoring my messages and calls. What’s going on? Is she hurt?”

“Physically, no. But James said something to her that’s really upset her. She won’t tell me what, though.”

“Whosaid something to her?” My voice is as cold as the chill that’s settled in my chest at the mention of his name.

“You didn’t know? James. He’s back.”

CHAPTER 2

IAN

James is back. Again.

Can’t the guy stay away?

I scowl.

“Did she go see him?” She did in June when James briefly returned to California.

“Yes,” Nadia says, and I’m devastated. I sink onto the edge of the couch in the living room.

Aimee’s reunion with her ex had been one I’d dreaded since returning from Mexico more than five years ago when we found James alive but living in a dissociative fugue state. She’d explained to me why she went to see him earlier this summer. She had to say good-bye. I thought that good-bye was for good.

Apparently not.

I’d been in Spain. It was one week before the Rapa started. It was a trip I’d wanted to take since Erik first told me about the festival several years ago. Upon landing, I called Aimee from the baggage claim to let her know I’d arrived. Her voice sounded strained. She blamed it on being tired, as she did again and again with each phone call during my fourteen-day trip. She sounded unenthusiastic and mildly depressed. It worried me. Our conversations felt off, forced. But I know her well. She was hiding something.

It wasn’t until I returned home and tucked an overjoyous Caty into bed that Aimee sat me down at the kitchen table. The bottle of vodka and two shot glasses should have warned me this wouldn’t be an easy conversation.

“What’s going on?” I asked warily.

---