Shaw remembered Joseph being happy on that trip, though. He could picture the two of them on the stretch of beach before him, throwing “snowballs” at each other made of wet sand. It’d taken days to get all the sand out of their hair. And while Shaw had swum in the surf, Joe had been set on collecting every hermit crab he could find. He’d wanted to start a colony. Their mom had reluctantly agreed to let him bring one home. Joe had snuck home three. Shaw could still remember his little brother’s tooth-missing grin when he’d pulled two shells from the pockets of his swim trunks when they’d gotten back to the hotel.
“Don’t tell,” Joe had whispered to Shaw. “I can’t just bring one home. That’s stupid. They need friends or they’ll be lonely.”
Lonely.
The word hit Shaw in the gut, and his hand flexed against the back of the bench. He didn’t realize it then, but it was so clear now. Joseph had been alone a lot. Always being dragged to Shaw’s events, left to occupy himself during long practices. Joseph had tried a few sports and even gymnastics, but he’d been gangly and had never grown out of the uncoordinated stage. Plus, he’d never been all that interested in sports and had preferred books and video games to keep himself busy—probably because he could do those by himself. Keeping friends had been a challenge. They’d moved a couple of times before settling in Long Acre, each time uprooting Joseph’s world but keeping Shaw’s relatively the same since he always had his friends at his gym.
Simple loneliness didn’t create what Joseph had become, but Shaw couldn’t pretend the seeds didn’t grow from there. What would his brother have been like if Shaw had been just a regular kid, equal to his brother in his parents’ eyes? What if he’d been more supportive of Joe instead of wrapped up in his own drive to get to the Olympics? The guilt was real and pervasive, but as he watched the family on the beach laugh and joke around with one another, so much more than that filled the corners of his heart. He felt the loss. The loss of what could’ve been.
Now they were all alone. Joseph was gone. His parents had separated. And he was here, back at the same beach, with no one to toss sand at. He would never have what that family in front of him had. No family trips. No marriage. No kids. There was no road to that. His experience in Austin had proved it. Maybe that was for the best. What did he know about marriage or kids? All he knew of them was how families looked when they fell apart, how they failed, how dangerous things could grow and fester right under the surface.
He glanced down at the laptop he’d set beside him. He’d written his statement to send to one of the reporters, explaining that he’d lied to Taryn and misled her, officially burning down what little normalcy he’d built in Austin. This was how it had to be.
But the selfish part of him refused to regret the time he’d spent there. He wouldn’t trade his time with Rivers and working at the gym, and he wouldn’t trade those two months with Taryn. He hated how things had turned out, but they’d given him a gift he could never repay. The anger that had pumped inside him for so damn long, the beast he’d fought so hard to keep tame, was quiet. He’d realized it when that reporter had pushed his way into his apartment. He’d been upset and angry, but he hadn’t lashed out. He’d stayed in control and handled the situation. He’d chosen the better path. He’d changed.
Maybe Joseph could’ve done that, too. Yes, he was damaged. Yes, Shaw should’ve handled so much with him differently. His parents shouldn’t have favored one child over the other, but in the end, Joseph had
made a choice. He hadn’t gone insane. He’d known what he was doing. He didn’t ask for help. He didn’t call someone. He very deliberately planned a massacre and executed it. Shaw wished that he could go back in time and intervene, not say what he’d said to his brother, but Joseph’s choice had been his own.
Joseph’s crime didn’t mean Shaw was destined to go down some dangerous path, too. It didn’t mean he was internally broken like he’d thought. Taryn had shown him that. She’d shown him that he was capable of happiness, of falling in love, of being a friend. He’d lean on those memories of her when he was out on the road. Once upon a time, he’d had the girl of his dreams and she’d found him worthy of her for a while. That would have to sustain him.
He’d find out-of-the-way places across the country and not bother anyone. He’d be alone. But at least he would go forward knowing he wasn’t a terrible person and that he had earned the right to grieve all he’d lost, too. Maybe after a while, he could even let go of some of the blame he’d carried around so long. Make peace with those mistakes.
But first, he had to protect the woman who’d given him that gift. He lifted the laptop and hit Send. The computer made the sound like mail going through a chute. No turning back now. It was official. The world would think he was just like Joseph.
But Taryn would be safe.
Shaw took one last look at the family on the beach, shut his laptop, and got to his feet. His RV was waiting. He’d pick up the last of his supplies, and then he’d say goodbye to Texas for the last time.
It was time to go.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Late that evening, Shaw trudged through the sand at the beachside RV resort, arms weighed down with grocery bags. People were scattered around in little groups, some cooking on outdoor grills, others drinking around a fire even though it was too warm for fires. In this part of Texas, you had to take a cool breeze as cold enough. Shaw nodded if people glanced his way but otherwise avoided looking at anyone and inviting conversation.
Music drifted from somewhere in the distance, the melodic chords of a guitar wrapping into the crashing waves. He recognized the song as one his parents used to claim as “their song” when they still loved each other—“Danny’s Song.” Something about having a son and not having money and being so in love with you, honey.
A wash of loneliness went through him, the strumming making him think of that first night he’d met Taryn. It’d been a completely different place and atmosphere, but the mood felt similar. He’d gone into the bar that night to drink in the dark and forget who he was for a few minutes. Then she’d appeared onstage and flipped all his plans upside down—a light beaming right in his face and daring him to blink and miss it.
Tonight, though, it was just him, and he couldn’t even have a drink because he planned to drive all night. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he groaned. The reporter he’d sent the confession to had emailed to say she needed verbal confirmation and wanted to call. Shaw had agreed, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he needed to get it over with. One more call and he’d be done with this mess.
He shifted the bags to one arm and pulled out his phone. “Hello.”
“Mr. Miller? This is Angelica Lopez,” said a young, eager voice.
“Yes. Hi,” he said without enthusiasm.
“I appreciate you taking my call,” she said, rushing on. “First, I wanted to thank you for reaching out to me. I’m really pleased you chose me to tell the story.”
He sniffed. He’d picked her because her approach had been the least annoying. Not a hard contest to win based on his phone messages. “Ms. Lopez, I’m sorry, but I only have a minute. What do you need from me to run the story?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said, some of the bounce in her voice flattening out. “I can’t run the story.”
He stopped walking. “What? Why?”
She cleared her throat. “Well, because Dr. Landry has made a statement, and it’s contradictory. She said she knew who you were and was a willing participant in your relationship.”