Written with You (The Regret Duet #2) - Aly Martinez Page 0,7

be found. I had to go back. I had to try.

I had to…

The light to my bedroom suddenly flashed on.

Bolting upright, I threw my arm up to block the light. It was only the sound of her voice that kept me from having a heart attack.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me!” Beth roared. There was a crash across my room as the vase I’d filled with shells I’d found on the beach shattered against the wall. “I’ve been calling you for fucking weeks and you’ve been hiding out here? Not answering your goddamn phone.”

Oh-kay. So, Beth was pissed.

Pissed enough to hop onto a plane to Puerto Rico to give me hell. Surprise visits weren’t unusual when you lived in paradise, but the screaming was new.

“Relax. It was two calls. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.”

“What is wrong with you!” Her voice cracked as her rage gave way to a sob.

Beth didn’t cry.

Beth was an emotional rock who had carried me through the darkest nights when the demons came calling.

The sound of her anguish was like being struck by lightning.

Something had happened.

Something terrible had happened.

And there was only one person left the world could take from me.

Dropping my arm as my eyes adjusted to sudden illumination, I shot to my feet. “What’s wrong?”

She stumbled backward, the color draining from her face as her mouth gaped. “Wha—”

“What’s wrong?” I repeated more slowly, striding toward her. “Beth!” I yelled, attempting to snap her out of her stupor. “What the hell is going on?”

And then, all at once, she exploded off the wall, nearly knocking me off my feet as she threw her arms around my neck. “Willow!” she cried. “Oh, God, Willow. You’re alive.”

I was alive.

I was very, very much alive.

But if she thought I was dead…

“I don’t understand?”

She leaned away, palming each side of my face. “I buried you. But you’re alive. Oh, Willow.” She drew me in for another hard hug. “Oh, God, you’re alive.”

I pushed her away, my gut sinking to the floor, knowing without knowing. “You buried me?”

I’d never seen such an incredible combination of hysterics and elation as she continued to wail and rejoice. Well, except for that day after the mall shooting when I roused to consciousness for the first time after surgery and saw Hadley sitting at the foot of my bed. I’d assumed she was dead.

I’d assumed wrong.

Beth had assumed I was dead.

She’d assumed wrong.

Which meant…

“Hadley?”

Tears hit my eyes as my knees gave out, sending us both crashing to the floor.

She was gone. They were all gone.

Present day…

I was pacing the polish off the wood floors in my living room as the conversation I’d had with Trent played on a loop in my head.

I’d wanted to tell Caven that I was Willow as soon as he’d led me up to his bedroom. The confession was all but burning on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t make the words come out—not at the risk of losing her.

I’m Willow, I’d thought over and over, hoping that he could read the truth in my eyes, all the while praying he didn’t.

You saved my life at the mall. I’d implored him to hear my silent confession.

But I was such a coward. That was all it would ever be—silence.

There had to be a way to stop this wrecking ball before it destroyed us all.

Trent hadn’t said any more about my identity after Caven and I had come outside. I’d waited, expecting him to spill it all at any second. I was ready to lie and deny it with every fiber of my being.

But that hadn’t been necessary. Trent had simply sat back, propped his feet up, and sipped a beer as he’d watched his niece fawn all over me.

I’d put on a brave smile as I ate cake with Rosalee sitting on my lap, but as I’d left Caven’s house, I’d hugged that little girl extra tight, terrified that it might be the last time I felt her arms wrapped around my neck. Then, on the way home, I’d called Beth in a frenzied panic, giving her the rundown of the latest mountain we were forced to climb. I hadn’t been home ten minutes before she came bursting through my front door.

My whole body shook as we made eye contact. There was no denying that I was on the verge of a panic attack—and not the kind a script from my doctor could head off. There was