Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,21

mask is completely on yet. Or that oxygen is flowing.

But at the same time, I can see this kid’s damage, even if I can’t feel his pain. Maybe because he doesn’t dare feel it himself.

So I say, “Let’s go get a coffee and talk about it. Okay?”

Tyler lets out a low, shaking breath and nods. “Thank you, Mr. Cade.”

“Sam,” I tell him. “Call me Sam. What was your sister’s name?”

“Clara,” he says. “I don’t—I really don’t want to talk about her so much. Just . . . just about how you handle it. Especially when you can’t get it out of your head. You can’t, can you?”

“Sometimes,” I say. “Sometimes for hours. A couple of times for a whole day. But you’re right. It doesn’t go away.”

We walk to the small coffee area set aside for the hangar, get cups, sit. Tyler seems uncomfortable still. He finally takes his sunglasses off, and behind them he looks very young. Vulnerable. His eyes look tired, and like they’ve seen far too much. “I get angry,” he says. “About what happened to her. Is that normal?”

God, it’s so normal.

And I take a deep breath and start explaining to him why that’s bad.

I’m not sure how well I do. He’s listening. His reactions are small, but I see the significance of the slight flinch, the way he looks at his hands. He doesn’t break down, though I can almost feel how much he’d like to do that. The mask stays in place.

When he gets too close to my own wounds, I turn the conversation another direction. And when my watch buzzes a reminder, I’m surprised to find that a whole hour has gone by. The coffee in front of me is still full, and cold; Tyler’s consumed all of his. I dump mine and tell him that I really do have to go.

Tyler thanks me for my time, and doesn’t offer to shake hands this time. But just like before, he hesitates, and has one last question.

“Do you think your sister would be upset?” he asks me. “If she knew about . . .” He doesn’t finish the question; maybe he realizes it’s crossing a line. Because it is, and I know I ought to be angry about it. But somehow I’m not.

“If my sister knew I was happy with Gwen?” I guess. He nods. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’d like to think she’d want me to be happy, because I wish she was. But I don’t know.”

He nods. “Thank you, Sam. I—I’ve never talked about it before. Not like this, with someone who understands.” He rocks back and forth on his heels, and for a second I see the real suffering he’s been concealing. Then he takes his sunglasses from his pocket and puts them on, and just like that, he’s armored again. “I know that wasn’t easy. Thanks for talking to me.”

He doesn’t wait for me to reply. He just turns and goes.

It feels strange, having let that conversation happen. And oddly good too. Maybe . . . maybe I’m actually starting to heal that part of myself. It’s been long enough.

But I find myself wondering if I really just helped someone, or hurt him. Because I don’t know.

I just don’t know.

It’s just about quitting time and I’m headed back home, having passed my simulations and breathing easier and feeling almost, almost back to normal. I’m halfway there when my cell rings. I don’t recognize the number and nearly let it go, but I finally hit the hands-free and answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Sam Cade.”

“You’re talking to him.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m Emory Osgood from the Tennessean.” The woman on the other end sounds young and almost artificially subdued. I’m instantly on guard, but it doesn’t sound like one of those damn robocall spammers. “I’m calling to double-check the spelling of a name, if you don’t mind. Gwen Proctor. I normally wouldn’t call, but it’s spelled two different ways in the text I have.” Why the hell is she calling me? I consider asking, but I spell it out for her. Before I can ask what the story is that she’s writing, she hurries on. “Oh, thank you so much. It’s really important we get the announcement right, of course. And could you confirm the name of the funeral home?”

My mouth goes dry. I don’t think; I just pull my truck off the road and into a grocery store parking lot and the first empty spot I see. My hand is shaking