The next few days passed with agonizing slowness—I got over being upset with Justice for not letting me run away, and he was back to putting up with me. But none of it really mattered because I’d made my final decision. I was turning myself in. Today.
After handing my copy of the Westfields’ bribe check over to the chief, he broke the news that it would never stand up in a court of law because I obtained it illegally. After several lengthy discussions, reality sank in; there was no other evidence. The chief had searched police reports, looking for anything that might link Logan to other assaults or a history of violence. He offered bribe money to known criminals for information and he even checked in with my sister several times to see if she’d heard any new rumors at school. Each time, he came up empty-handed.
Rachel was the only victim, or at least she was the only one willing to stand up against the Westfields. Pinning my hopes on the fact that her testimony would be enough evidence for the court to either drop charges or earn me a reduced sentence, I convinced the chief it was time to end my running. I wanted to avoid putting Rachel through a long, drawn-out jury trial, and the chief knew as well as I did that, considering the Westfields’ notoriety and resources, it would be next to impossible to get an unbiased jury in the state of Texas.
With my reassurance, he arranged my surrender and a pre-trial hearing where the goal was to negotiate a deal. But he warned me that even with Rachel’s testimony at a pre-trial, I still might serve time. Either way, I wanted to get on with my life—wherever it might be—and let the people I cared about get on with theirs.
Struggling to hold myself together on the walk to Justice’s house to say good-bye, I took one painful step at a time. When I got to his house, I stood there staring at the front door, trying not to think about the possibility of it being the last time. I pushed my hair out of my face, stepped up on the porch and with an unsteady hand, knocked on the door. After a minute or two with no answer, I let myself in. “Hey, I’m here,” I called out when I heard the shower running.
“You’re early,” he answered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Great, more time alone to think. An attempt to distract myself by looking at the family pictures that lined the hallway only made things worse. They reminded me of everything I could lose. And within a matter of hours, I would know exactly how much that was going to be.
Justice shouting my name startled me. “Can you get the phone? It might be my parents.”
I was so lost in thought I didn’t even hear it ring. Hesitantly, I stepped into his room, my hand clenching and unclenching as it hovered over the charger. It doesn’t matter who’s on the other end. I’m on my way to turn myself in, so I don’t have to hide anymore. On the fifth ring, I unclenched my fist and picked it up. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Braden?”
The deep voice sent chills through me, even though I couldn’t quite place it. “No…um…she’s not here.”
“Is this River?” he asked pleasantly. Too pleasantly.
My hand went numb, and I almost dropped the phone. It was Richard Westfield.
“I was calling to give your friend a message, but giving it to you is so much better. Listen to me closely, River Daniels…you’re as good as nailed.” His controlled tone was now seething with anger. “If you were smart, young lady, you’d plead guilty and take a lighter sentence so this thing doesn’t have to go further than a pre-trial hearing. You’ve put my family through enough. Nobody will buy a self-defense claim, anyway—you have no evidence, no witnesses. You have nothing.” The line went dead.
Even though he knew what kind of violence his son was capable of, he wouldn’t admit it—not to himself and not to the court. He couldn’t even consider the idea that others would view his son as a perpetrator. Not his son—the handsome, smart star quarterback of the mighty Winston Cougars. Not his son—who stood to be the sole heir of the Westfield oil fortune.
It was a real possibility that he was right. If the Banards didn’t show, I had nothing—nothing except the truth. The truth of what Logan did to me. The truth of how it ended. And maybe that would be enough to create some doubt—reasonable doubt.
I fumbled to put the phone back in its cradle when Justice appeared in the doorway. “Sales call?”
Keeping my eyes on the dresser mirror in front of me, I tried to steady my hands by re-tucking my crisp blue button-down shirt into my gray pencil skirt. “Yeah,” I lied. He didn’t need to know it was Richard Westfield making a courtesy call before the hearing. He’d worried enough.
“You look nice,” Justice said.
I looked over to see him standing in the doorway wearing only a white towel and a smile. “So do…” slipped out of my mouth. I couldn’t even finish my sentence before my head went dizzy and my ability to speak evaporated. Turning back to the mirror, I struggled to focus on my shirt button instead of the tan, shirtless torso standing two feet away.
He didn’t seem to notice me holding my breath or the way my body tensed up when he came into the room and stepped around me to pick up his watch off the dresser. So close that his warm breath brushed my neck. “The chief should be here to pick us up in about fifteen minutes.”
That snapped me out of it. “What do you mean us?”
Confusion clouded his face. “I’m going with you…for support.”
“Justice, I don’t want you there. If things don’t go well…” I walked to the window and stared out because I couldn’t face him. “If I have to go to jail…”
“That’s not gonna happen.” He came into my peripheral view. “Please,” he ran his fingers through his wet hair, “let me be there for you.”
“I just want the chief to take me, that’s all.” I strived to sound firm when I angled to face him. “Please, try to understand.”
His eyes searched mine and then he nodded one time. “All right, I will.” He swiped the clothes from the top of his dresser and quietly started out of the room.
My heart twisted. One step forward, two steps back. Why did I always end up hurting him?
When he reached the doorway, he stopped, holding onto the white frame molding for several seconds until his knuckles went white. Then he turned back to me and stalked across the room. Before I could register what was happening, he backed me against the wall and gently grasped my face in his hands. “If you’ll try to understand this,” he said, then pressed his lips to mine.
Shocked and speechless, my repressed emotions exploded at once, igniting a blaze that had sparked long ago. I parted my lips and my tongue met his, urgent and needy. It wasn’t the tender first kiss I’d always imagined, and it wasn’t like the night at his house when my kiss wasn’t returned. This kiss was like nothing I’d ever experienced; it was hungry and desperate and primal. It was hello and good-bye crashing together with hurricane force. It was raw and greedy and frustrated, and it made my insides quiver and my mind go red-hot blind with each ragged breath.
I pulled away for air and my lips curved against his as I spoke. “I think I get it.”
“Good. Because I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Justice reclaimed my mouth and his fingers tangled in the back of my hair.
“You have?” A tiny gasp caught in my throat as his lips skimmed my neck and teased my ear. When the inferno grew hotter I dug my fingers into the sinewy muscles of his bare shoulders, holding him, bracing myself in case I fell into oblivion.
“Uh-huh.” His warm breath sent blood pulsing to every part of my body.
Pushing off the wall, I leaned forward into him with enough force that the back of his knees hit the bed and he allowed himself to sit.
“But we don’t have to rush this.” His eyes searched mine as I edged to stand between his legs. “I don’t want to take a chance on anything ruining what we have together.”
A smirk tugged at my lips as I fumbled with the top button of my shirt. “I wasn’t planning on ruining anything.”
“But,” he released a long, steady breath and placed a gentle hand on top of mine, “we can’t go from zero to a hundred the first time we ever make out.” He said ‘can’t,’ but the way he dropped his hands to my waist and gathered me in his arms said something else.
“Why not?” I whispered in his ear, tempting him, hyper-aware that he was only wearing a towel.
“Because,” his head tipped, allowing me further access, “you need time—”
“Time? Time is the one thing I don’t have.” The reality of my own words hit me with unexpected force, and an urgency and boldness I’d never felt before swept over me. My fingers glided down the remaining buttons of my shirt, then I reached to the back of my skirt, unzipped it, and let it slip to the floor.
Justice swallowed hard as his eyes fell to my white lace bra, to my abdomen, to my matching panties, then back to my face. “I don’t think—”
“That’s right: don’t think.” I pushed him back on the bed and straddled him. “For once, let this moment between us not involve thinking.”
“River—”
“Please.” I crawled on top of his body and kissed him hard. “I just want to be with you.” I wasn’t even sure what I meant by that, only that I wanted to be close to him, closer than I’d ever been to anyone. I needed him and the clock was ticking.
He returned my kiss with as much urgency. “How much?”
“More than anything I’ve ever wanted,” my words came out in short, whispered bursts.
His fingertips skimmed the curve of my body from the side of my breast to my waist to my thigh, his touch leaving a trail of fire. “Anything?” he panted.
I nodded because I could no longer speak.
When Justice flipped me over so that he was on top, it was so fast and unexpected that my adrenaline spiked to a whole new level. “Good.” He smiled as he leaned up, his knees bent on either side of my thighs. “Then this feeling, this connection we’ve just shared, will give you something to hold onto. Something to fight for when you don’t feel like fighting anymore.”
My throat knotted. Physically, I wanted him so bad it hurt. Mentally, he was everything I needed. “Justice—”
He bent forward, placing his palms flat on the bed beside my head with his face hovering inches from mine. “Whether that means today or tomorrow or…later.” His eyes were deep pools of light. “I want you to hold on to this moment—hold on to us.”
I reached for him, panic crawling up my throat. “What if it is later, much later? What if it’s nev—”
“Shhhh, Darlin’, don’t cry.” He pulled me up to meet him with my chest against his, then slow and gentle he took my face in his hands and kissed both my cheeks where tears I wasn’t even aware of had trailed. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I will wait for you.”
“Chief’s here,” he called down the hallway.
I fastened the last button on my shirt, straightened my locket, and checked myself in the mirror one last time. You have to be strong, I told the girl in the mirror. You have to be strong for Justice.
I slipped on my gray sandals, straightened my shoulders, and walked toward the front door where Justice and the chief stood talking in low voices.
The chief glanced at me, the lines around his eyes etched with worry. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said and closed the door behind him.
Justice, now fully clothed in jeans and a gray t-shirt, turned to me. “I wish you’d let me go with you.”
Every part of me ached for the same thing, but instead, I smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of my skirt. “It’ll just make it harder if…” I cleared my throat and started over. “If I have to go to jail, I don’t want your last memory to be of them taking me away.”
“Trust me.” One side of his mouth curved when he slid his hands to my hips and pulled me close. “That’s not the memory that’s gonna be stuck in my mind.”
My shoulders relaxed a fraction; it felt good to take some of the edge out of this terrifying moment. Justice was good at distracting me, and I needed to do the same for him.
“Speaking of which,” I grinned, “I guess this means I won the bet. Since you, um…obliterated our boundary agreement and all.”
“Haven’t you heard?” He chuckled. “Every good game has time-outs. That was mine.”
“Oh, so we each get one time-out?” I glanced down at his hands still resting on my hipbones. “Meaning you’ve had a reaaalllly long time out? You think that’s fair?”
“All’s fair in love and war,” he bent to whisper in my ear, sending a wave of tingles down my neck.
“Love and war?” I looked up at him beneath my lashes as I placed my hands around his waist then let them fall lower. “Is that what this is?”
He swallowed hard. “You bet,” he answered, then put his hands in the air and took a step back. “But I’m not callin’ it quits, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
“I’m not interested in quitting, either,” I smiled as I laced my fingers around his neck, “but I am interested in using my time-out for a kiss. Right now.”
“Tempting as that is,” he said as he pried my fingers away from his neck and brought them to my sides, “I want you to save it…for after.”
My heart twisted when I stared up at him and saw my own mixture of emotions swirling in his deep green eyes. As hard as we’d both tried to lighten this potential good-bye, the plain, hard truth of it was that there was nothing light about this moment.
“So I’ll have something to hold on to?” I let my forehead fall against his chest because I couldn’t stand to see the pain and worry in his eyes any longer.
“Yeah,” he said as he smoothed his hand over my hair, my cheek pressed against his chest.
The horn honked once, startling me, and I tore myself out of Justice’s arms. I hurried to the chief’s cruiser feeling like I’d left half of my heart on the porch. Before ducking into the car, I looked back, taking in one last look at everything I was leaving behind.
Justice clenched his jaw, then put on a smile and called out, “I’ll meet ya back at the cabin when this is all over.” Then he put his hand on his heart and patted it twice.
I slid into the chief’s cruiser, and when I was safely out of sight, I put my hand on my own heart. No matter what happened or where I ended up, I knew I would be in Justice’s heart. And he would be in mine.
On our drive to the courthouse, my mind raced with possible scenarios—all bad. With a death grip on the car door handle, I said, “What if the Banards don’t show? What if they do and it doesn’t matter? What if—”
“I talked to them last night. They’ll show, and everything will turn out okay. Don’t worry.” His tone had just the right mixture of confidence and compassion.
My hand relaxed and my knuckles resumed their normal color, but only for a second. “What if—”
“River, the plan is in place. I hand you over at the Winston courthouse where they’ll process—”
“What?” Bile threatened to rise up in my throat. “We’re going to Winston? But Logan’s family practically owns the police department there. I just assumed…I thought it could all be taken care of at the county jail…”
“I agreed to turn you over at the Mason County Courthouse, and I’m sorry, but it happens to be in Winston. Besides, the Westfields have agreed to use all their influence to get your pre-trial hearing pushed up to the next day or two. They don’t want to drag this out, either.”
Day or two? Meaning spending at least one night in jail—minimum. An uneasiness I couldn’t calm settled in my gut.
A few minutes after we got into Winston’s city limits, the chief’s phone buzzed and he picked it up to read the text message. After he didn’t speak for a minute, I turned to him. The color draining from his face made my heart begin to hammer against my rib cage. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The chief shook his head in what seemed like slow motion as he set his phone in the seat between us. “They’re not coming.” He said it like it was fact, but the stricken look on his face didn’t convince me he believed it. “The Banards aren’t coming.”
The air I needed to expand my lungs wouldn’t come. Words were jumbled in my mind, but I couldn’t pick out any to make a coherent sentence.
“Richard Westfield must have gotten to them; they’re scared.” He clenched his jaw. “We’ve already negotiated your surrender. The police are waiting.” His eyes flickered around like a caged tiger looking for a way out. “There’s no other choice…I have to turn you in.”
I sucked in a deep breath and tried to resolve myself to the fate I had feared all along. But I knew in my heart that even if I had another choice, I wouldn’t take it. One way or another, today was the end of my running.
Almost as if he was thinking out loud, the chief said, “We still have the copy of the check—the hush money to prove the Banards were paid to keep quiet and get out of town.”
A glimmer of hope surged in me, but then I remembered what he’d told me before. “But you said it was stolen evidence—that it won’t hold up…” The check wouldn’t hold up because I didn’t wait for the chief’s help, because I trespassed and broke into the safe and stole it. It wouldn’t hold up because I screwed it all up. I did this to myself. Again.
Stopping at the last red light before we reached the courthouse, the chief said, “We still have a chan—” When he didn’t finish his sentence, I looked up to see why.
No. No. No. A kaleidoscope of blue and red lights danced in front of my eyes as I stared at the clusters of police cars on both sides of the parking lot entrance. There were television news vans and reporters holding microphones. Camera flashes blinded me as the chief maneuvered his way through them into a parking space. Like vultures, they waited on either side of the entrance, ready to pick apart their prey.
Yeah, a chance in hell.
As several uniformed officers spilled out of the courthouse doors, the chief wiped his uniform sleeve across his forehead. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I swear. The Westfields insisted they wanted to keep things quiet. They didn’t want a circus.”
The Westfields lied. They didn’t want a circus; they wanted a public lynching.
The chief fought to keep an even tone in his voice. “I will find a way. It’s not over yet.”
It was over for me. I could feel it in every bone of my body.
Two hulking officers approached my door. One opened it and the other pulled my arm to get me out. “River Daniels, you have the right to remain silent…”
Silent. Numbing silence—that’s the only thing I could hear besides the rhythmic swoosh of blood rushing in my ears.
When the chief got out of his car and rushed around to my side, his words were distorted as he spoke to the officers. “This wasn’t what we agreed to!” He flung his arms toward the commotion surrounding us.
The smug look on the taller officer’s face made me quiver. “I believe you’re in the wrong town,” he glanced at the chief’s badge, “Chief.”
Struggling to keep his voice level, he tried again: “This wasn’t what I agreed to.”
With a haughty smirk, the looming officer instructed me to put my hands behind my back.
The chief’s face reddened and his fists balled as he stepped closer to the officer.
“No!” I started to raise my arm to the chief. A sharp pain shot through my shoulder as one of the officers intercepted my arm and jerked it behind me.
Fury shone in the chief’s eyes, but he took a cautious step back, knowing that if he were arrested, he wouldn’t be any good to either of us. Through clenched teeth, the chief said to me, “I will get you out. I promise.”
My skin crawled when the handcuffs slipped around my wrists like cold snakes. The quick metallic snap of the cuffs was the venomous bite that took me under.
I could barely make out the chief’s last words to me as the officers pushed my head down to get in the backseat of their cruiser. “I promise,” he said. Staring out through the thick glass partition that separated the criminals from the officers, I watched as the chief crossed in front of their car. With his eyes on me, he mouthed the same two words: “I promise.”
But I knew promises were meant to be broken. And getting me out of hell was a promise nobody had the power to keep.
After arriving at the jail, my numb haze became darker. I was barely coherent when they processed my paperwork, fingerprinted me, and snapped my convict portrait. There was a search and a blurred exchange of my clothes for an orange jumpsuit and flip-flops. The skitter and clank of a heavy jail door reminded me that the moment was real. The gray cinderblock walls closed in, and the sturdy metal bars were my only window to the world—the new world that was now mine.
This was my life.
I had no idea how much time had passed before keys jangled outside my cell and a heavy-set black lady wearing a uniform slid open the barred door. “Mm, mm,” she said, shaking her head, “you must have some good connections to be gettin’ your pre-trial today.”
Connections, right. The Westfields had connections, and they wanted this thing over with as fast as possible before the chief had a chance to dig up any more dirt on them.
“You’re one lucky girl.”
“Lucky?” I rubbed my bare arms where the stiff orange jumpsuit didn’t cover.
“Yep, you only had to spend one night. Some people spend weeks and months waitin’ for a pre-trial hearing.”
I couldn’t decide whether that would be better or worse considering the Westfields were waiting on the other side.
“Time to put your bracelets on,” she ordered. “Arms out in front of you, and stand still.”
My stomach muscles contracted, causing me to tuck my head into my shoulder and dry-heave several times before I was able to follow her command. The only reason nothing came up was because I hadn’t eaten anything—or if I did, I didn’t remember.
I concentrated on a row of names etched on the wall in order to avoid watching her put the handcuffs on me, then the shackles.
“Alright, let’s move out.” She gestured to the cell door. “Your chariot awaits.”
With each step, my shackle chains scraped against the concrete flooring, sending a mind-numbing echo bouncing off the confines of the walls—an echo that vibrated all the way to the hollow of my soul.
Two tan-uniformed male officers met our transport van at the garage entrance of the courthouse. After unloading me and five other nameless, faceless females into the building, they led us into a long corridor like cattle to the slaughterhouse. The building even reeked of death—a putrid combination of urine, body odor, and disinfectant.
“You ladies get comfortable,” said the shorter officer with a bad overbite as he held open the thick metal door to our holding cell. “Gonna be a long day.” The door slammed shut behind us with a loud and final clank.
Fluorescent lighting lit the small gray cinderblock room that contained only three things: a stainless steel bench, and a matching sink and toilet. I shuffled across the room, took a seat in the corner, and curled into myself. I didn’t talk or make eye contact with anyone until what seemed like hours later, when a tall officer with white hair and a mustache showed up. “Ms. Daniels, you can speak with your attorney now.”
He led me to a tiny, cell-like room that adjoined an identical space separated by a glass window partition. After I took a seat on the single round stool that was bolted to the floor, he left me alone.
My throat ached like I’d swallowed a handful of hot marbles, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t afford to lose it right now, not when I’d soon be facing Richard Westfield.
A petite, middle-aged brunette with glasses took a seat on the side opposite me. “My name is Mary Blankenship, and I’m your court-appointed attorney,” she said into a speaker-like circle encased in the window. “I just spoke with the prosecuting attorneys.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she assessed me, perhaps thinking I was young enough to be her daughter, and then she cleared her throat. “They took into consideration the fact that you’re seventeen, an honors student, and have no prior offenses. But there’s no evidence to corroborate your story, and your witness backed out…”
My heart thumped in my chest like a bass drum, so loud I was sure my eardrums would burst. I scrubbed at my face with my restrained hands, then propped my elbows on the lip of the counter above a narrow opening. The space was only large enough to pass papers back and forth between rooms, or maybe an ink pen—or if someone was lucky, to hold a hand.
When my attorney licked her lips and leaned in closer, I lay my head in my hands, waiting; it was too heavy to hold up any longer. “Reckless homicide is the lowest charge we could negotiate,” she clasped her hands together like she was praying, closed her eyes for a second, and took a deep breath, “with a sentence of five years.”
Five years! I let my forehead fall against the cool glass window, desperate for any relief from the two-ton weight that had smashed into it. My body erupted in uncontrollable shivers, and I braced my hands against the counter ledge so I wouldn’t fall off the narrow stool.
In five years, I’d be twenty-two. In five years, I’d have been a well-respected horse trainer and traveling out west to compete in the biggest reining horse shows in the United States. In five years, Jamie would be nearly finished with college and Kat and Billi Jo would be long gone from Dahlia, Texas. In five years, Justice would be out of college, starting a career, and looking for the girl of his dreams, not waiting for an ex-convict…
Something inside me cracked, and deep, gut-wrenching sobs exploded from the depths of my core. With each body-aching jolt my chest tightened, making it more and more difficult to breathe. Metal clattered as I swiped my shaking hands across my wet cheeks, scratching my face with the rough metal handcuffs that were going to be a part of my existence for the next half-decade.
After what seemed like several minutes, my attorney slid her hand to the opening beneath the speaker as an offering and whispered, “River, honey, you’re sure you want to plead guilty today?” She pushed her red frames up on her nose, staring at me with kind, sympathetic eyes the color of summer moss.
My own eyes burned like someone threw acid in them as I thought of Justice. I would never ask him to wait. “I need to end this today. I can’t put the people I care about through a long, drawn-out jury trial.” I’d never get a fair one, anyway—not with the Westfields on the opposing side.
When she didn’t argue, my stomach dropped—all the way to my shackles. Attorneys make a living arguing, and she didn’t even attempt it. She knew as well as I did that no matter what route I took, I was irreversibly and undeniably screwed.
Pop. Pop. Pop. The cameras flashed as the bailiff led me into the large courtroom. Squinting through the bright white lights, I scanned the staring faces: Logan’s family, his teammates, his coach and teachers, his best friend Red. But I couldn’t find the chief, or the Banards, or anybody that might be on my side. Nothing—not a single soul besides my court-appointed attorney. Only a packed room filled with photographers, reporters, and spectators who’d come to see the grand finale.
After I took my place on the right-hand side of the courtroom, I watched as one of the most powerful men this side of Texas made his entrance. Flanked by his big-time lawyers, he was confident and poised in his designer suit when he took his seat on the prosecution side. I didn’t need to see his face to know he wore a smug grin. His words of warning echoed in my head…“River Daniels, you’re as good as nailed.”
The creak of the substantial wooden doors of the courtroom closing signaled it was time for the trial to begin. And time for my life to end. This was the final step to the beginning of the end. Bone-crushing heaviness settled in my chest and extended to every limb of my body.
Struggling to wrap my brain around what was happening, I watched the lawyers approach the judge’s massive cherry-wood desk that sat on a platform like a stage. When they stepped away and the judge addressed me, I broke out into a cold sweat. His words jumbled into a fog as he read off a long list of my rights, the charges I faced, and confirmed my understanding of what I’d agreed to. My handcuffs rattled when I reached to dab at my forehead.
When an officer rushed in and delivered a piece of paper to the judge, I was vaguely aware of the shift in body language from the attorneys on both sides. After a few minutes, the officer walked back out and then returned with a timid, strawberry-haired girl.
A jagged breath caught in my throat and my entire body began to tremble. It was Rachel Banard. My eyes found the chief’s as he slid into a seat in the back row. When he gave me a nod, I exhaled. This girl’s testimony was the only thing that could alter my fate.
After several agonizing minutes speaking with the judge, Rachel was guided to the witness stand, where she was sworn in. A few minutes later, she started shakily, “I feel…like what happened was my fault.” She fidgeted with the top button of her baby duck yellow dress. “If I had reported what happened to me last summer…”
The judge waited for her to compose herself, then nodded for her to continue.
“Logan Westfield raped me,” she choked, and then looked toward me with wide, tear-filled eyes. The pounding in my ears was so loud I could barely make out her next words. “We’d been drinking. Logan drove to a secluded field…”
An icy chill swept over me, and the memory of my own nightmare that started exactly the same way came flooding in. I tried to push it away, but the power of Rachel’s words mixed with my own memories and pulled me down into the darkest moment of my life. Leaning forward to help clear the haze that invaded every cell of my brain, I struggled to listen to her words and shut out my own. But I couldn’t separate them. They were one and the same: the scenario, the actions, the emotions…
Someone gasping for breath lifted me out of my memory and back into the present. Startled, I realized it was not only Rachel who had gasped between her tears, but me. Looking into the eyes that mirrored my own pain, I knew I didn’t need to hear more details of her story—I already knew how it went. Only this time, it had a different ending. My story ended with the bullet that stopped Logan and put him in his coffin—hers nailed it shut.