And the lock I’d put on it was indestructible. It had to be. Callie’s life had depended on it.
After I left Bootleg Springs, everything that had been Callie had gone into the box. Not just my home life—all of it. Who I’d been. The people I’d known. The places I’d loved. My old friends. Gibson.
And Bootleg Springs. My favorite place in the world. It hadn’t just been a summer home to me. It had been home.
But I’d had to put it all away. Lock it up tight.
Seeing Gibson’s video when I was thousands of miles away in L.A. had made the box rattle, just enough that I was reminded of its existence. But moments later, it had stilled. The lock had held. I was safe from its contents.
But being near him, breathing the same air, hearing his gravelly voice, had broken the lock and popped the lid open a crack—enough that the contents whispered their dark secrets. Memories beat at my subconscious, trying to break free.
They still threatened to come out. All those demons I’d worked so hard to hold back.
Closing my eyes, I visualized the box. It sat in an otherwise empty room. Its form had always been the same—an old-fashioned cedar chest with an enormous metal lock hanging from the latch. The lock was on the floor, open. The lid was ajar, as if something unseen was in the way, preventing it from falling closed.
In my mind, I crouched low and picked up the lock. Pressed the lid down to close it and locked it up tight.
Letting out a slow breath, I opened my eyes. Better.
Except… Gibson Bodine wasn’t in the box anymore.
He’d been one of the hardest casualties to bear when I’d left. Fear had kept me from contacting him. I’d fled for good reason, and my fears for my safety had been very real. They still were. The fewer people who knew where I’d gone—that I was even alive—the better.
But god, it had hurt.
I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed, old memories flitting through my mind. Afternoons spent by a little fire, deep in the woods so no one would find us. Gibson sitting on a log, strumming his guitar. Those icy blue eyes. Stubble on his square jaw. Me singing along, finding harmony to his melody.
I’d lived for those afternoons. Just the two of us, isolated from the world. We’d talked about our favorite bands. About album covers and song lyrics. He’d taught me to play guitar and I’d filled journals with half-written songs.
When I’d left, I’d had to let that all go. Gibson and all of Bootleg Springs. I’d put it in the box and locked it. I wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t.
But now that he was out, I didn’t think I could put him back in.
Another deep breath and another sip of whiskey. I’d lied to him tonight. Lied right to his face.
But he’d known me—said my old name. That had been such a shock. I looked different than I had thirteen years ago. The altercation that had prompted me to run away had left me with a broken nose and a scar on my cheek. I’d had surgery to repair my nose, but it was more sloped now. And I hadn’t received medical attention right away, so there hadn’t been much they could do about my cheek.
Between that, my dyed hair, and aging from sixteen to twenty-nine, I’d thought I looked different enough that I wouldn’t be recognized so easily.
Apparently I was wrong.
That meant I needed to leave. Get myself out of West Virginia as quickly as I could. Even after all these years, I wasn’t safe here. Not as Callie Kendall.
The postcards I’d sent to Jonah Bodine had been the one thing I’d allowed myself—the last connection to my old life. He’d done so much for me. As the years went by and I healed, I’d wanted him to know that I wasn’t just okay. That with the loving help of my new family, I’d put the pieces of a shattered girl back together. I’d wanted him to be proud. To know that the risk he’d taken for me—a girl he hadn’t even known—had been worth it.
Jonah Bodine was dead. The man who saved my life—my hero—was gone. And there were no more ties to the town I’d once loved.
Until I’d heard Gibson Bodine’s voice.
Damn it.
I looked up his video on my phone and played it for about the millionth time. Whoever had recorded it had been sitting