Paul turned down the road that led to the inn, a ramshackle gem framed by old forest. His grip on the wheel was unyielding. He stared out the windshield, flexing his jaw, ignoring me. More than likely he was about to spout the perfect reprimand for this situation—one he’d probably been rehearsing since I’d left. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“Where did the bruises come from?”
Of course he saw them. “A problem that no longer exists.”
He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “What did Jeremy say?”
“He asked if I was Chelsea O’Kane. I told him I wasn’t.”
“That was stupid,” Paul snapped. “Now he’ll be focused on you and why you lied. You need to shake him off.”
I dropped my head back on the seat. Damn it, he was right. And I didn’t need that kind of attention right now—especially not from him. “I’ll find him. Tell him I want nothing to do with him and ask him to leave me alone. He will.”
Paul snorted. “Yeah. Sure he will.”
“He will,” I said, knowing it was true. Jeremy had picked Mary, after all.
There were new wrinkles around Paul’s eyes, signs of a life filled with laughter and worry earned while I’d been away, which made me feel a little emptier inside. Otherwise, he had the same brown hair and blue eyes that were, as always, tinged with something between a touch of mischief and anger at the world.
“What the hell did you get yourself into this time?” he asked.
I shook my head, staring out the window at the trees blurring together as we sped by, my mind still on Jeremy and the threat he posed. I hoped he dropped the idea of reconnecting and disappeared out of my life again. “You don’t need to know the details.”
“The hell I don’t,” he growled. “You’re blond, Chels. Blond. Obviously, shit got real.”
Wincing, I touched my hair self-consciously. I looked ridiculous in this color and we both knew it. “The less you know, the better. Just trust me on this.”
“But—” He sighed. “Whatever.”
I swallowed and glanced in the rearview to make sure we didn’t have a tail.
“You have to admit it’s pretty shitty that you disappeared from my life, only to show up when you need me to get you a new ID, so you can…what? Run again?” he snapped.
“I don’t just need a new ID,” I said softly. “I need Chelsea O’Kane to be legally pronounced dead. And after that, I’m not going anywhere.”
He braked, the tires squealing softly at the sudden movement, and slowly turned to me. “Dead?”
I nodded once, knowing I was asking for a lot, but it was the only way I stood a chance at coming out of this mess alive. “Can you do that?”
He stepped on the gas, pulling into the inn’s circular gravel driveway without answering, but I didn’t make the mistake of assuming his silence was a good thing. I knew better than that. The second he put the truck into park, he turned to me, scowling. “I understood why you ran. You wanted to get away from this life, from Dad’s legacy. You wanted to be clean. Normal. Legit. Right?”
That had been the plan, yeah. But apparently, I wasn’t the type of girl who got clean. Gripping my knees, I nodded, still not speaking.
Paul needed to say his piece, and I intended to let him.
“So you ran, and you never called or told me where you were. I didn’t even know if you were still alive.”
I stared at the faded gray clapboard and peeling blue shutters on the front of the house. The gardens were choked with weeds, but renovating the inside was my first priority. “I’m sorry. I was living in Miami, working as a lawyer, when things went…” I trailed off and made the kaboom motion with my hands.
“A lawyer, huh?” He stared at me, his gaze filled with pain and accusation. “You can’t get any more legit than a lawyer. Can’t remove yourself from this family any further than that, right, Chels? The only thing worse would’ve been becoming a cop.”
“I’d never—” I stared down at my legs. That’s exactly what I’d been thinking when I chose my major. I’d been so desperate to be a better person. That had been all Jeremy’s fault. Him and his do-good attitude that never faltered. “I mean, right.”
“And now you’re here, asking for a favor.…” The crisp wind, carrying the taste of salt water, buffeted the overhanging branches, casting shadows on his face. Paul continued, “Asking for my help.”
I nodded, grabbing hold of my knees.
While I’d done what needed to be done, I was older now, and I never should have cut ties with my brother, no matter what he did for a living. No matter how similar he was to our father.
Coming home to Maine meant safety, but it also meant a chance to start over, to rebuild my relationship with my brother. I needed him and this inn.
“Tell me, Chels. Was it worth it? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. Is that what you want to hear? I thought I could be someone who made a difference in the world, who changed things for the better, but all I did was make things worse. So that’s why I came home to the inn, to you. To start over. Again.”
Paul rubbed his forehead, letting out a sardonic laugh. “How far up shit creek are you? You going to end up in jail like Dad?”
“This isn’t some penny-ante con man scam.” I pressed my lips together and shrugged. “If I get caught? Well, let’s put it this way. You’ll never find the pieces.”
Stiffening, he dropped his hand. “Jesus.”
“Can you do it or not?”
He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “It’s not going to be easy. Declaring someone dead takes a shitload of paperwork.” He let out a long breath, drawing it out. “But I have some connections in Bangor who can pull it off, as well as the name change.”
I collapsed against the headrest. “Thank you.”
“After you’re ‘dead,’ what then? You got a plan?”
“I do what I should have done all along.” I gestured at the inn, eyeing the mildewing posts on the wrap-around porch. “Fix this place up. Open for business. Make Aunt May proud. Stay.”
He cocked a brow. “And when people ask why your last name is different?”
“Divorce.” I twisted my lips. “Or maybe I’m widowed. Whichever draws less curiosity.”
“Divorced, I think,” he said hesitantly. “You’re really staying?”
“Yes. I’m done running. Whatever happens, happens. This is where I make my stand.”
“All right.” He nodded, placed his hands on the wheel, gripping it tightly. “How do you want to die?”