Page 17 of When the Smoke Clears
“I don’t think so,” she counters. “You two should talk.”
“We just did. You witnessed the train wreck.”
“That wasn’t a conversation,” she laughs. “That was verbal combat. You were both trying to protect yourselves. Now that you’ve acknowledged each other’s existence, you can actually talk like adults.”
“No, thanks. The past belongs in the past.” I force a grin. “And for the record, ’Verbal Combat’ would be a great punk band name.”
Eden giggles. “You’re still the same, Isla.”
Then her expression sobers. “Do you think it’ll be that easy? Ignoring the past?”
“I do.” The lie twists in my gut like a scalpel. “I’m only here for a short time. Then I’ll disappear again.”
“Why does it have to be that way?” she asks softly.
“It just does.”
Her shoulders slump. “Where will you go after this?”
“I’ll head to my mom’s place. I need to figure out what to do with her things.”
“Can I help?”
“Don’t you have an equally adorable boyfriend to get home to?”
She snorts. “Please. No one in this town interests me. And my brothers scare everyone away.”
I laugh. The Wild brothers hovering over her dating life is too easy to picture. Being the youngest of five must be exhausting. Then again, being alone is no picnic either.
I check the time. “I should go.”
“Will you come back before you leave?” she asks hopefully.
“I…don’t know. Maybe.”
Her pout is devastating. I suspect very few people tell Eden Wild no.
A reluctant smile breaks free. “I’ll try.”
“Perfect.” She stands. “Need a ride?”
“No, I’m good.”
After a tight hug, I walk toward the inn. Sweat prickles along my brow at the thought of visiting my childhood home.
A warm breeze carries the musky sweetness of blooming trees, pulling memories from places I fought to bury. Luke is everywhere and nowhere. The ghost in my bones, the whisper in the wind.
I’m not ready for that house. But I can’t sit alone in that hotel room either. So I wander Main Street.
Wind chimes tinkle in the breeze, drawing me into a small home décor shop. Ten minutes later, I emerge with a new set, tucked safely into a paper bag.
The sun dips west. If I’m going to my mom’s house, I’d rather not arrive at dusk.
It’s only a short walk back to the inn. I head toward the crosswalk at the four-way stop. The street is empty, so I step onto the asphalt.
Halfway across, disaster strikes. The paper bag handle snaps. The box of wind chimes crashes to the ground. Muttering a curse, I crouch to grab it. But as I stand, sunlight flares off a windshield. A car swerves—too fast, too uncontrolled—and my feet cement to the asphalt.
I have less than a second to react. My heart slams against my ribs. I squeeze my eyes shut, and suddenly something hits me from the side, flipping me mid-fall. I land hard on a firm yet shock-absorbing surface, not the unforgiving pavement I braced for.
