“I was seven.”
“You were thirteen.”
“And going through a phase of being brutally honest, clearly.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, wildflower. Honesty has to account for something.”
She pauses on the steps. “Wildflower… boy, I haven’t heard that in a long time.”
The day we moved in next door, I gave her the nickname. Because Bronte was always making flower chains out of wild daisies. She was also the sunniest person I’d ever met. She had the kind of smile that was infectious, and she’s always laughing. Bronte always looks at the sunny side of life and is always ready to put a positive spin on something.
That was before a 9mm bullet stole her best friend from her.
“Come on, let me get that coffee, and you can tell me what the fuck has brought you back to Flintlock.”
She offers me a half-smile.
Yeah, she’s hiding something all right.
Inside, I hand her my phone. “You got a key to get into your grandma’s house?”
“I left it back in Nashville.” She gives me a soft, nervous laugh. “You know me, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. But she’ll have one hidden key somewhere.”
I study her for a moment. There’s only one reason she’d forget to bring her key and to charge her phone before she made the five-hour drive from Nashville to Flintlock—she left town in a big hurry.
In the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator is the spare key her grandma left me in case of emergencies. When I hand it to her, I notice her red-rimmed eyes and pale skin. Not unusual for someone who’s driven through the night, but I have the feeling there is something else causing her to act so nervous.
She breaks eye contact and gives me a reserved smile. “Thanks.”
I fold my arms across my chest as I watch her dial her grandmama’s number.
Something is wrong.
And it’s probably something she should tell me.
BRONTE
While I call my grandma on his phone, Jack fixes us coffee.
“I’m not due back for another month, but if you need me too, I can get on a Greyhound and be home in a few days,” my grandma says on the other end of the line.
“No, there’s no need, Grandma.”
“You sure, sweetheart?”
I bite back my disappointment. “Of course. You stay in Missouri and give Aunt Mareldene my love. I’ll probably stay a couple of days and then head back to Nashville.”
“I’m so disappointed to have missed you, sweet girl.” She pauses, then adds, “Is everything okay, Bronte? You’re not in any trouble, are you?”
Oh God, Grandma, if only you knew.
“No trouble, Grandma.” I try to keep the inflection out of my voice. Even force myself to smile. “Just hankering for some good old home cooking, is all.”
Thankfully, Grandma doesn’t detect the anxiety in my voice. She says goodbye gaily and makes me promise to come back for the holidays.
Hanging up, I feel Jack looking at me.
“You going to hang around for a couple of days?” he asks, handing me a cup of black coffee.
Accepting it, I take a mouthful. It’s strong and delicious and exactly what I need. “I was thinking about it.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I know a few people who’ll want to see you, kid.” He’s talking about Bam, Loki, and Hope. I was in the Dillinger home so much growing up they’re like siblings to me. “Come on, let’s sit out on the porch, and you can tell me about life in the big city.”
Jack isn’t going to get the truth.
He’s going to get the sanitized version.
Because if he knows what has been going on, he will take it on board and as president of a motorcycle club, he has enough to deal with. Besides, he warned me about leaving Flintlock when I did. Said I was hurting and that I should stick around family so I could heal.
Of course, I didn’t listen.
I told him he was wrong, that I was tough. Turns out, I’m not as tough as I thought, so I’m not telling him shit right now.
“I heard you’re back in college,” he says, opening the sliding door.
With quick steps, I follow him out to the little porch overlooking the street and the large green lawn leading down to the creek.
“Yeah, about six months back.”
“What made you go back?”
Sitting down, I hungrily sip at my coffee. “It was time, I guess. I wanted to get my shit together. Needed some direction.”
I watch as he raises his cup to his lips. He always had beautiful hands. I used to fantasize about those hands. In fact, when I was thirteen, I fell in love with those hands. Because that was when I fell in love with Jack Dillinger. But back then, so did most of the girls in my grade. Not to mention all the soccer moms and the entire female staff at Flintlock High.