Page 117 of Eight Years Gone

Everything good in his life had started at 1022 Sheraton Way, then ended the night he’d left to pick up Logan.

But it was time to leave the past where it belonged. It was time for Grace and him to heal.

When Grace had said she wanted to come to Wakeview, he’d known she’d been searching for closure. As he stared at the clothes Grace had worn a lifetime ago, he realized he’d been searching for the same.

His gaze wandered from the bed where they’d made love for the final time to the white desk where he’d spent so many nights studying.

Dumb’s disappointing, Jagger.

Grinning, he picked up the box and started toward Logan’s room just down the hall.

His smile faded as he stopped in the doorway, studying the navy-blue walls in a space that was nearly empty.

His best friend had cleared out most of his stuff when Steve had kicked him out, then changed the locks.

Logan had left behind the things he no longer deemed important—the stuff that didn’t matter to an angry addict who’d been pissed off at the world in general.

Jagger walked farther inside, studying the pictures from happier times: one of him, Logan, and Grace, grinning with their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they stood outside Aunt Maggie’s place the summer before their senior year.

He moved on to the next: Logan and himself with some of their football buddies, hanging out in the pool after a game of water basketball.

Then he saw the shot Grace had framed—where he and Logan stood in navy-blue and white football gear, looking all serious and badass for the Sports Illustrated feature when they achieved three perfect seasons.

The It Team: What It Takes To Be The Best In High School Football.

“You have to surround yourself with people who make you better—good people you can trust. That’s my best friend, Jagger Tennyson—my ride or die. I know I can count on him on and off the field.”

Jagger clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he read Logan’s quote at the bottom right of the picture.

He and Logan had been ride or die up to the end—up until the fucking drugs had destroyed them all.

“I miss you, man,” he muttered as he gathered all three frames, adding them to the box.

Ready to move on, he didn’t look back as he left behind what remained of Logan’s life, heading down the hall toward the rear staircase to find Grace.

He passed his old room, stopping dead in his tracks, then reversed his direction. “Holy shit.”

Everything was exactly as he’d left it: the pile of clothes on the edge of the bed, still waiting to be folded and packed; a pair of sneakers carelessly toed off in the corner.

He walked in, looking at the desk he’d rarely used, his bed made with the dark-green comforter he and Grace had occasionally slept under, and the mostly empty shelves where Grace had already grabbed everything he considered important.

“Jagger?” Grace called from somewhere close.

“In here.”

She stopped in the doorway, scanning the space while she held a box. Her white T-shirt was smeared with dirt. “He kept your room the same.”

“I know. I figured he would have burned it or exorcised it or something—whatever he had to do to get rid of any traces of me.”

She moved to stand next to him. “Maybe he knew he’d been wrong.”

Or maybe Steve hadn’t been able to spend another second in the mansion after he knew he’d lost his daughter too. “It’s hard to say.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against him. “I need to believe that he knew, Jagger.”

He hoped that was true. It didn’t change much, but it was a nice thought. He glanced at the box she carried, realizing she had dirt on her forehead too. “What have you been up to?”

“I was in the attic.”

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