Seeing her bruised and battered enraged me, but her reaction to seeing me—that just wrecked me. I knew she’d be shocked, even pissed, but fuck, I didn’t expect apathy. She approached me like a zombie and the jackass she brought with her wouldn’t shut the hell up. But then the sign came. The sign that she cared for me.

She touched me. Her hand tenderly brushed my cheek. A simple reminder that we had loved each other our whole lives, that we had known each other since we were five years old, that we were always there for each other. I didn’t need the physical reminder to recall those feelings . . . but maybe she did.

It had been so long since I felt her soft skin against mine. Sure, I’d written to her in the journal, the one I kept just for her when I thought I’d never see her again—I’d written to her about how much I missed her and tried to explain the choice I’d made. But then she was standing in front of me and I couldn’t believe it. I had dreamed of her touch so many times but never thought I’d feel it again. A simple reflex action—to reach out and touch someone—and she did it, almost intuitively. I thought that meant she had missed me, but now I’m not so sure what it meant.

Nothing up to that point had gone as I thought it would. But there she was wearing her Grammy’s pearls, and all of the times she had worn them before flashed in front of my eyes. It was more than I could take. It broke me. I tried to pull her to me, to hold her but she resisted. I saw the look of confusion on her face, that same look I’ve seen before. If I could just hold her, she’d be mine, but that pretty boy stood up and I knew I didn’t have much time. I spewed out what I could, as fast as I could, but it wasn’t enough.

She stared at me and I knew at least she finally saw me. Relieved, I tried to tune out all the chaos surrounding us but she suddenly went apeshit on me. When he tried to take her from me, I pulled her back; I wasn’t done talking to her. How dare he threaten me, she’s my girl.

She collapsed, but he got to her first. When the dick picked her up, he looked at my mother and said, “This is bullshit. We’re done,” and headed for the door. I’d had enough. I had to stop myself from pounding the shit out of him. I told him to put her down and get the fuck out. That fucking asshole was not taking her.

Mom ran after them and I tried to but Serena held me back. I couldn’t let her just leave so I shrugged off my sister and went to get my girl. When I saw him putting her in his car, I yelled at him to bring my Dahl back. When the prick told me, “She’s mine. You don’t deserve her, you never did,” I let him know how it really was—that he was just a substitute, not my replacement. And I wanted to beat the shit out of him, I really did, when he said, “Then I’ve been your substitute for way longer than you’ve been dead.” But Caleb appeared out of nowhere and stopped me. He tried to calm him down. I still can’t believe Caleb even talks to that fucker. I was literally blown away to learn that he had worked for him! I only found this out because he actually fired Caleb once he heard that Josh Hart, Dahl’s attacker had been caught.

* * *

I couldn’t free myself from Caleb to go after him, so I yelled my last plea. But I couldn’t tell whether Dahlia heard anything I shouted to her. So much for a happy reunion. What the fuck?

I had to watch as he acted like the hero for her. But she was my girl, is my girl, not his. That should have been me trying to get her to stop crying and wiping away her tears. They drove away and his last words—I’ve been your substitute for way longer than you’ve been dead—echoed in my mind. Fuck! I don’t want to even think about it, but what did he mean?

Chapter 5

Torn


I’m tangled in River’s arms and legs as I wake up and try to slide out from under him. He instinctively reaches for me without waking, as he usually does regardless of which side I sleep on. I remain still until he settles back into sleep. One look at him and everything comes rushing back. What happened yesterday wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. Ben. He’s alive. He really was at Grace’s . . .

Yesterday I didn’t want to believe it. Today I know I have to. But what was he talking about?—he did what for me? With so many questions, I can’t even think straight. I really can’t even understand how any of this is possible.

It’s just after four in the morning as I quietly make my way to the bathroom, then out to the living room. I slip on the same clothes I wore yesterday, grab a sweater, turn off the alarm, and leave him a note.

River,

I’m sorry, but I have to talk to him. I need to understand how he’s here and what he was talking about. Don’t worry about me.

I love you. I love you more!

I leave the house feeling lost and unsure. But I know this is something I have to do. The drive to Laguna Beach is long and quiet. I have the radio turned on, and even though I’m not really listening to what’s playing, every song brings a memory. When I exit the freeway and pass through town, the traffic is almost nonexistent. I drive down the narrow streets lined with delivery trucks, boutiques, bars and restaurants, and my mind wanders to the life I had here.

This entire town is filled with memories of Ben. The beach where we spent endless summer days, the corner coffee shop where we would sit and read the paper together, and downtown where we hung out and people-watched. I have to open my window to catch my breath as the memories of my happy life before his death flood my mind. But when I pass the cemetery where I laid him to rest, those memories turn dark—the shooting, the funeral, the lowering of his casket, and how completely lost I felt. How alone I was.

Then I remember it wasn’t until the day I walked down that hallway in Vegas, looked through the glass wall of the meeting room, and saw River that the veil was lifted. It was River’s unwavering love that showed me how to live again. He made me whole and I can’t help but think about how much I love everything about him.

Images of Ben, images of River, memories of both men—it all fills my head. Ben’s back—what happens next? I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that my intense connection with River is undeniable. The love I have for him is like nothing I’ve ever felt before; but Ben was my first love and that kind of love never leaves you—does it?

All of these thoughts tumble through my mind and I suddenly feel sick. I have to pull over as my stomach clenches with apprehension. I park illegally, turn off the car, open the door, and hang my head between my knees. When the wave of nausea finally passes I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Oh God, what am I doing going to see him?

I grab my purse and fumble inside for my phone. I can’t do this. I need to call River. I want to go home. He needs to come get me. I don’t think I can drive. I shouldn’t have come. I dump my purse out on the passenger seat in search of my fucking phone, but it’s not there. Shit! River has it.

I sit back and take a few calming breaths. After finally pulling myself together, I decide it has to be now. There’s no sense in putting this off, and I know never isn’t an option. I’m almost there, so I might as well see this through. With wavering resolve, I start the ignition and head toward the beach to find out from Ben what happened.

I drive the rest of the way in silence, afraid to turn the radio on, for fear of hearing familiar songs that might awaken even more memories. As I turn into Grace’s driveway, I once again start doubting this course of action and wonder if I should be doing this now. I mean . . . what am I even looking for? But I know the answer to that—I need some answers. Answers to two questions—why did Ben leave; and what brought him back?

Putting the car in park, I lean my head back. I sit there for a moment staring at the house, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to him. From the outside, the house still looks like the same tranquil place it has always been, a home—Grace’s, Ben’s, mine. But I’m uncertain of what lies in wait on the inside—what if tranquility is not what I’m about to walk into? I draw deep steady breaths and turn off the engine, preparing myself to see him, all the while wondering if we would even still be together if he never “died.” I want to believe that in the end, River and I would still have found our way back to each other.

Glancing toward the moonlit path, there stands Ben on the old weathered planks staring at my car, at me. My breath catches at the sight of him. I stay where I am, frozen in place for the longest time. I didn’t expect to see him outside. He looks mostly the same: ruggedly handsome chiseled face, tall figure, khaki cargo shorts, messy blond hair peeking through the hood of his sweatshirt. He looks thinner than he was, not as tan as he used to be, but he’s still Ben, still all surfer. He’s not a figment of my imagination and, for a moment, time stops and I’m transported back to the days when he’d stand there like that waiting for me to follow. I can’t believe it’s really him . . . my friend, my rock, he’s not really dead. What I’m afraid of I’m not even sure. But the longer I sit here, the longer he stares and I finally open the door.

As I walk toward the bridge, my feelings are so undefined. I’m not sure how to handle this conversation. But my uncertainty quickly fades when the slightly cocky grin I know so well appears on his face, and the apprehension I felt earlier wells within me. I’m no longer questioning if I should be here because I know I should—I need to know what happened to him.