The Boys Who Loved Me - Krista Wolf Page 0,14

first impulse. But the way she looked at me was just too genuine. There was friendship without judgment. Concern, without curiosity.

“Maybe,” I said finally. “Not now. But maybe.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her. God, she was so beautiful! In the bar the lighting was dim, and in the alley she’s spent most of the time facing away from me. But now, actually seeing her face to face? It was almost too much. Too soon. Too—

“Have you seen the others?”

I’d been avoiding the topic. For as long as I could, anyway.

“The others?”

Her mouth twisted into what I considered her pretty, pouty face. During the all-too brief time we were doing our thing, it was a face I’d seen a lot.

“Warren?” she pressed. “Luke?”

I paused a little longer than I should’ve. Eventually I shook my head. “No.”

God, I hated lying to her. I had to, though. At least a little while more.

“They’re still here,” she said. “In town. Can you believe that? They ran off to different colleges, and somehow they still came back.”

Kayla and I had always been real with each other — it was the one constant that remained unchanged throughout our friendship. I never told her something just because she wanted to hear it. Not when she was the cheerleader dating the football player, not when she was rebounding through her summer fling with Luke.

And definitely not when we were fucking each other half to death, in the months after we’d been left in town all alone.

Those were some of the best times I’d ever had, even if they were temporary. I knew our little ‘no strings attached’ arrangement was nothing more than the result of two lonely people seeking comfort in something familiar. Especially since the rest of the people in our lives had recently gone away.

Our coffees arrived, along with some sort of crepe-looking thing covered in fruit. The more I looked down at the table, the more I no longer wanted anything.

“I—I have to go.”

I rose, fished out some money, and dumped it on the table. Kayla looked utterly crestfallen.

“What?”

“C’mon,” I said, suddenly unable to look at her. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”

Eleven

KAYLA

The forest was a blur as we raced downhill, the tires of Luke’s truck devouring the road before us. It had been a long time since I’d been to Jamison Lake. It was as exciting as always, seeing the gleam of the water peek its way through the spaces between the trees.

Though it was still early, you could tell it was going to be a gorgeous day. The morning had dawned sunny and bright and unseasonably warm. Luke mentioned it was almost like Elizabeth was smiling down on us on the day of her funeral. Or as he put it, the bitch had elbowed the clouds away and “kicked the rain’s ass.”

I had the window most of the way down, the wind playing with my hair as the radio played something by Tom Petty. I set one foot on the dash and admired my painted toenails. I’d gotten a pedicure the night before I left California.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Breakfast,” Luke replied, his own hair whipping around. He looked suddenly concerned. “You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

“You dragged me out of my hotel bed at six-fifteen,” I laughed. “No, I didn’t eat yet.”

It had been a strange night overall. The ‘reunion’ Adrian and I had was surprising yet not entirely unpredictable, especially considering our physical history. But his abrupt departure from the cafe — and how quickly he sped away after dropping me off — left me wondering if I said anything radically wrong.

Honestly, I didn’t remember him being that sensitive; Adrian had the thickest skin of any of us. Still, there was something distinctly uncomfortable about the way he answered my questions. And my questions hadn’t been all that prying.

“We’re almost at the surface of the lake,” I called out. “There’s not much else down here.”

“That’s right.”

“So where’s the restaurant?” I asked. “You said we were getting breakfast.”

“We are.”

He pulled onto the road that wound around the lake, revealing nothing but solitude and beautiful scenery. It reminded me of the summer we’d spent here. Of the things we’d done. Luke had been there for me, at a time when we were both sort of lost. As a result, this was our place. Always would be.

“Here we go.”

He turned the steering abruptly, swinging onto a gravel road. It sent my body sliding along the old truck’s bench seat, until we were