wall, not sharing my past with anyone, unsure whom I could trust. From the beginning, I sensed Wes was…different. Which is probably why I actually want him to know this part of me. Want him to see who I really am. Want him to understand where I come from, why I am the way I am.
“I was seven when she was killed.”
“How?”
“Wrong place. Wrong time.” I meet his gaze. “Do you remember hearing about a church shooting in Virginia twenty years ago? It was a pretty big deal since it was right after Columbine.”
He nods, the motion almost imperceptible.
“That was my father’s church.”
“Londyn…” His voice is laden with sympathy and something else. Heartache. But how could that be? He didn’t know me then. Didn’t know my mother. Still, the pain in his expression is real. There’s no mistaking it. He’s not just acting this way because he thinks it’s what I need, as he so often did all those years ago. Wes’ reaction is honest. Maybe I can trust him with more than what I’ve allowed him to see.
I face forward again, staring into the distance. They say people who have witnessed a traumatic event can often recall the tiniest details, even decades later. Just like I can still remember what I was wearing. Still remember the math problem I was working on. Still remember what song they were rehearsing when gunshots rang out.
“She led the choir and was holding a rehearsal. Sometimes I’d sit in a pew and listen. That night, I decided to sit in my father’s office and do homework while he worked on his sermon for the week.” I swallow hard. “There were screams. Shouts. Gunshots. I distinctly remember my father jumping to his feet, torn between protecting me and helping his choir. In the end, he grabbed me, rushed me out the back entrance, and hid me in the car, all the while listening to the gunshots taking more and more lives. In the end, twelve people died. Another six were gravely injured but survived. I was young when it happened, but not too young to realize my father might have been able to save some of those people, maybe even my mother, if he hadn’t rushed me to safety.”
“You can’t think that way,” Wes urges, his gaze intense. “I’m not a parent, but there’s no doubt I’d do the same thing if it were Imogene. No question.”
“It’s always messed with my head a bit. It’s why I always strove to do everything to make my father proud, do whatever he asked, make him think he didn’t make a mistake in saving my life instead of someone else’s. So when I say I’ve struggled with guilt these past several years since I left the church, left him, that’s what I’m dealing with.”
“Why did you leave the church?” he asks. “What happened to make you walk away? It sounds like you were close with your father at one time.”
“I was. I…” I chew on my lower lip.
He covers my hand with his. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, I won’t think any less of you.”
He says that now, but he doesn’t know the truth. My father saved my life. But me? I took a life.
“Let’s talk about something else.” I pull my hand from his. “The last thing I want to talk about on this thing is death, considering mine feels pretty fucking eminent,” I joke, lightening the tension.
“Do you not like to fly then?” he asks after a beat, not pressing me for more information about my past.
“Actually, I love it. But planes go through rigorous safety checks. This thing…” I wave my hands around, sucking in a breath when I see we’re circling in the late afternoon sky, the sun setting on the horizon turning the sky a beautiful pink hue. I swallow hard as we near the top, panic setting in.
Wes reaches over, clutching my hand in his. I rip my eyes toward his as a comforting smile tugs on his full lips.
“Just think about something else, Lo.”
“L-like what?” I ask, my stomach seeming to do backflips. I’m not sure if it’s from the motion of the Ferris wheel or the feeling of Wes’ skin against mine. Perhaps a bit of both.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
I push out a shaky laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re about to go all Julie Andrews on me and break into song.”
“Julie Andrews?” He scrunches his brow. “I don’t follow.”
“Yeah. That scene from The Sound of Music. When all the