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  I swallow a few times before forcing myself to look away. “No River, I can’t talk to you when we’re like this. I know we will both say things we don’t mean. We need time to figure our anger out before we sit down and have a conversation.”

  He tries to yank me flush to his body. His voice shakes with fury. “I don’t need time to figure anything out. I get it. You left me a note. You ran here the first chance you got to see him! Was it a happy reunion or were things just getting started?”

  I have never heard this kind of furious tone from him before, and, without any control, I pull back and slap him. “I told you I’m not having this conversation right now. Listen to yourself!”

  Stomping over to my door, I get in, turn the key, and start to shake uncontrollably. I watch him through the window as he stands there in shock with his hand on his face. I want to get out of the car and say I’m sorry. I want to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. I want him to hold me forever, but I am stuck in the moment, suspended between right and wrong, what should be and shouldn’t be. I know he’s questioning things, questioning Ben’s reappearance, and how it will affect us.

  We just need to calm down. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. Ben is a stranger to me; he did things I never imagined my Ben would do. And River kept something huge from me. It’s not even what he kept secret that bothers me; it’s the simple fact that he kept anything from me in the first place.

  When “Amazing Grace” suddenly plays on my phone, I look down startled that my phone is lying on the console, plugged into the charger, but not surprised. River must have put it in here when he got to Grace’s. I shut my eyes and exhale a deep breath. I am wishing this day could start over as I listen to the same ringtone that started me on the path to where I am right now. I look toward the house and Grace stands there, her phone in hand. I silence my phone, turn it off, and drive away.

  I turn the radio on hoping to drown out my thoughts with music. When I hear Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” I blast it. I’ve never been one for confrontation and what just happened felt more like a war. I can’t face the truth right now—the truth that the two men I trusted most in my life, lied to me. Not knowing where to go, I drive toward the rising sun.

  Chapter 6

  Remember When

  Ben’s Journal

  Yesterday didn’t go exactly as I had planned. I can’t believe how much I let that prick get under my skin. I have this feeling that I know him and I can’t seem to shake it. Sleep proved impossible so I headed to the beach, still thinking about what he said and what it meant. Just as I was about to walk over the old bridge, Dahlia pulled into the driveway. When I saw her I thought she was coming back to me—that she had missed me as much as I had missed her. I waited for her to get out of the car and come running to me, but instead she approached cautiously. I saw the trepidation in her eyes and I hoped she wasn’t scared. I wanted to take her in my arms and assure her it was me, tell her I was back for her, but I didn’t. She felt too distant, too far removed.

  Even though I was stoked she was still wearing my bracelet, seeing someone else’s ring on her finger enraged me. My whole flight back home, all I could think about was putting my ring back on her finger, marrying her, and finally having a family together. I figured she must have taken my ring off when I heard from Caleb that she was with some jackass. My suspicions were confirmed when I asked Mom if she knew anything about my ring and she told me she had tucked it away. Fuck! That hurt. Dahl didn’t even keep it.

  I could see she was afraid to let me touch her; maybe afraid of what she might feel. So maybe there’s a chance for us. I think we just need more time to get things back to how they used to be between us. I thought when I finally got to talk to her for real, not just in the journal I was keeping for her, she’d listen and be reasonable, but she went off on me instead. Her rage intensified with every fucking wrong word I said and she didn’t give me a chance to explain.

  She might have left me on the beach, begging her to not walk out of my life, but I don’t care. Yeah, she walked away from me, but in the end, despite the shitty conversation, I’m glad she came to see me—and she came alone. Although as soon as I told her the prick knew about her attack, she not only mentally checked out, she left.

  I’ll keep trying. I’ve needed her since the day I left. I wished I’d have told her that. I actually wish I had taken her with me. Maybe that was what she needed to hear. I did run after her but stopped when I reached the end of the bridge. He was there looking all kinds of smug and arrogant. Who the fuck wears jeans and boots to the beach?

  But Dahl, she was pissed. She stormed right up to him and, fuck, did she go off. From the looks of it there are cracks in their relationship. Things he doesn’t know or understand about her like I do. He didn’t tell her what he knew. I know better. She’s pissed as fuck at him and getting her to forgive him isn’t going to be easy. That’s exactly what I need—for them to be apart. Time for her to remember us and forget them.

  If she breaks up with him like she did with me that one time, I’ll have plenty of time to get her back. Fuck, she may never get back together with him. She broke up with me for what she thought was only the start of something with someone else, and I let her believe that. I had to. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I knew if she had found out we’d be over forever. She would never forgive me; fuck, I still can’t forgive myself. I made one slip in judgment, but I would never do that to her again. Not even if it’s served right in front of me. The one time ate away at me.

  Each time I thought about it I hated myself for being weak, but in all honesty I enjoyed every minute while it happened. For some reason that copper-haired girl got my blood pumping. I didn’t want to know anything about her. I didn’t even know her last name. In fact, every time she came on to me, I ran away. How fucking pathetic. Why couldn’t I just tell her to back off? For some reason I couldn’t. And I didn’t the night I was shitfaced and she cornered me at the after-party. She did her usual come-on and I did my usual and hightailed it away from her but she followed. Trevor hadn’t come back to school yet and the room was empty so I headed there. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. When I looked in the mirror—there she was taking her clothes off. Yeah, her body was amazing and the way she offered it to me was fucking hot, but there was more. It was something in her eyes that drew me in. I felt like she got me. I couldn’t stop myself, but I know I should never have fucked her. It could have destroyed my relationship with Dahl. Almost did.

  We stayed locked up in Trevor’s empty suite and I didn’t just screw her once—but over and over again, all night long. She was kinky as fuck and we kept at it until dawn. I knew it was wrong.

  Why am I even still thinking about her? Maybe it was her eyes? Maybe it was the way she blew me? Maybe it was the mind-blowing sex? I have no fucking idea . . .

  But later when that girl e-mailed me asking to meet, I was determined to stay away. Fuck, I thought maybe she was going to tell Dahl or tell me she had VD. Eventually I agreed when she said it was really important. In the end I never met her because Dahl came home early. That was the last I heard from her so I figured she was just trying to get my attention and finally gave up—until she started calling again months later. By then Dahl had seen the e-mail and I knew better than to even talk to her. I wasn’t taking any chances.

  I still, to this day, can’t believe I strayed from my girl. I’d like to blame it on being young and immature because, really, of all the things that I was—I wasn’t a cheater. Or at least I wasn’t until that one night. Hell, I was used to being pursued. I shouldn’t have let her break me. Women have chased me my whole life—some relentlessly, but I never cared, not once before her and not once after her. Shit, back then I lived in a frat house and there was never a shortage of girls offering to have a good time. I always refused. I loved my girl and wasn’t taking the chance of losing her.

  Chapter 7

  Your Call
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  It’s still early in the morning when I find myself at the beach. I park a few miles from the house I used to share with Ben and remove my Converse so I can feel the grainy sand that usually comforts me, but once again it doesn’t. As I walk along the shore, the tide rolls in and splashes of cold water prickle my skin. So many thoughts are running through my head. First and foremost: What the hell just happened?

  I’m drawn to the water and wade in further and further until I am almost knee-deep. The salty air blows on my face and I take deep calming breaths wishing away the pain and turmoil I can’t seem to handle. As tears trickle down my cheeks, the salty scent of the sea air seeps into my nose. I stop and sit down in the cold water, now barely below my chin. Then I dive under and never want to surface. Life seems so tranquil down here.

  When I come back up I make my way to the sand and just lay there. The beach is very quiet. Birds chirp peacefully as they soar overhead. I close my eyes willing myself to stop crying. I can’t even figure out who I’m crying for—Ben, River, myself?

  I must have drifted off because suddenly I can hear small children playing nearby and feel the hot sun beating down on me. I get up and wipe as much sand off me as I can and then make my way back to the car. Looking behind me, I see the footprints I left vanishing as people jog by without a care in the world, and I wish I had that same carefree feeling, the feeling I had just last week.

  I grab my sneakers and sweater at the beach entrance—the only dry things I have. I take my keys out of my Converse and shove them in my jeans pocket. I pull my sweater around me with shaky hands, try to shake the sand from my hair and hurry to the car, my head swimming with the unknown. I break into a sprint to get there, my bare feet crushing against the stones beneath me, but I don’t even care. I’m almost gasping when I reach for my keys. Leaning my head against the steering wheel, I try to figure out what to do, where to go. Glancing over at my phone, I just want to hear his voice, so I turn it on and check my messages.

  There are four—Grace, Serena, Aerie, and an unknown caller, but none from River. I’m not surprised. I’m mad as hell at him for not telling me what he knew, for making me doubt his trust, but he was just as mad at me for going to see Ben. I’ve never seen him like that. I’ve never seen me like that. I listen to the messages—Grace telling me to turn around and talk this out, Serena asking if I’m all right and telling me she’s here for me if I need to talk, Aerie yelling into the phone to call her now, and the unknown caller, Ben, begging me to come back. Ben—the voice I hadn’t heard in so long until yesterday, the voice of the man I loved unconditionally, the voice of the man whom I had always trusted.

  My eyes are stinging and my thoughts are even more of a jumbled mess than they were before I got to the beach. I stare blankly at the traffic as it rushes by on the now-busy Pacific Coast Highway. My heart thumps out of my chest as I turn the engine on and jerk into the lane of traffic almost haphazardly. I skid to a quick stop at the first traffic light. I am driving way too fast, but my head is swimming with memories. Cars are honking for me to move as the light turns green. I accelerate as fast as I can and head to the only place that comes to mind right now.

  When I pull up in front of the yellow house with the white picket fence, the FOR SALE sign still occupies the front yard. The place is neglected, in need of some tender loving care, but still, right now, it is my refuge.

  Needing dry clothes, I call the only person I can. She answers immediately and forsakes the niceties. “Where the hell are you and what’s going on?” she yells into the phone. In a much calmer tone she quickly adds, “Are you okay, Dahlia?”

  She obviously already knows Ben is back, and I take one deep breath and contemplate what to say. “Aerie, I need some help. I’m at my house here in Laguna. Can you please bring me some dry clothes?”

  I’m surprised when all she says is, “Sure, I can. I can be there in less than twenty minutes. Will you be okay until I get there? Grace called me this morning and told me everything. Dahlia, she told me Ben’s alive.”

  “Aerie, let’s talk when you get here, okay?”

  “Okay Dahlia, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.”

  I hang up the phone without another word and toss it into the console, open my door, and walk up the path to the house. A house I lived in with Ben, a house I mourned him in, and a house where I was close to giving up when life was breathed back into me by River. Now everything seems distorted, confused. When you trust someone and they break that trust—what does it mean? That’s what I have to figure out, that’s why I’m here—so I can think.

  As I unlock the front door I hear the wind chimes that used to welcome me home and enter the almost-empty house. I see the few pieces of furniture left—our oversize sofa where it always has been, the coffee table, and the two chairs. The rug is gone, the lamps were broken during the break-in that destroyed nearly everything, and anything left was moved into Grace’s attic or to River’s house.

  Shivering, I pull my knees up on one of the chairs and just sit there, trying not to think about Ben, but that’s all I can focus on. Remembering my life with him.

  Before I know it, I hear pounding on the front door and Aerie is yelling, “Dahlia, are you okay? Why is the door locked?”

  I hop off the chair, not even remembering locking the door. As I walk I glance at the old key-shaped holder Caleb rehung after the break-in and Ben’s keys are still hanging there. For some reason they make me feel uneasy. As soon as I unlock the door, Aerie swings it open, hurrying past the threshold with coffees and a bag in one hand. She looks almost as disheveled as me, in sweatpants, a T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail, and yoga shoes. I’m surprised because she never goes out looking so un-put together.

  Grabbing the coffee tray from her hand I blurt, “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Me?” She eyes me up and down once before continuing. “What happened to me?” She drops the bag to the ground and seems unable to talk for a few seconds. “What happened to you? Where have you been? Why are you soaking wet and covered in sand?” Her questions continue but I tune them out, really wanting to sip the hot coffee and strip off these wet clothes. Realizing I don’t want to talk about any of it, I almost wish I didn’t call her. She takes the tray from my hand and sets it on the floor, then immediately pulls me to her and hugs me as hard as she can. We both stand there, me almost a head taller than her, and I can’t help but cry.

  She pulls back and looks at me. “I have been worried sick about you. Grace called me at six this morning assuming you were headed to my house. Then as the hours ticked by and you didn’t show up we all started to worry.” She wipes the tears from my face before wiping her own. When she brushes the sand from her clothes, I can’t help but laugh.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you dirty.”

  We both laugh and the Aerie I know is back, the take-charge Aerie. “Where have you . . . you know what, let’s get you changed first, you’re shivering, and we can talk after.”

  She starts leading me down the hall to my bathroom, like I don’t know where I’m going, and I follow her like I need to be led. Once we reach the bathroom she pulls out some sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the bag and lays them on the counter as she starts to unbutton the shirt I have on—River’s shirt.

  Gently placing my hands over hers, I tell her, “I can do it. I don’t need help.”

  Pushing my hands away she says, “Just let me do it, let me help you.” I move my hands and she continues to unbutton the wet shirt. A moment of comfortable silence passes. Then she says in a soft, concerned tone, “I’m sorry, Dahlia. I really am.” I know she isn’t apologizing for helping me get undressed.

  Suddenly it hits me, the last time she did this was when she came to see me the night Ben was killed. I remember now, she removed my black cocktail dress that night because I couldn’t. Then she tossed it on the corner chair, where it stayed for a long time. “Aerie, this isn’t like then,” I pause and motion to where the chair in my
bedroom used to sit. “I’m not going to fall apart like I did before. Sure I’m confused, but I know the situation is completely different.”

  Pulling my arms out of the shirt, I point to the two items on the counter and ask, “Is that all you brought? No underwear?”

  Staring at me a little too long she says, “Dahlia, I had no idea why I was bringing you clothes. I didn’t think to grab a bra or a pair of panties. Why are you soaking wet anyway?”

  “I needed to escape all the chaos so I decided to go for a swim. You know swimming always clears my mind.”

  “In your clothes, Dahlia? Really?”

  “Yes, in my clothes.”

  “You know that is not normal? Right?”

  I shrug.

  She shakes her head and takes the shirt from me that I just stripped off. I unhook my bra and throw it in the sink. She stares wide-eyed at the huge purple bruise that seems to have morphed from my side to the front and back of my torso.

  “I’m okay, Aerie—really I am. I’m not going to fall off the deep end.”

  I slip my arms into her USC sweatshirt and pull it over my head. She grabs the hem and pulls it down for me and I let her. Then she pulls my hair out of the hood.

  “I think we need to get those tangles out, I’m going to grab a brush out of my purse. I left it in the car. I’ll be right back. Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.” And then as she leaves the room I call after her, “Hey, you don’t have any toilet paper in your car, do you?”

  She laughs a little and says, “No, but I have Starbucks napkins. I’ll bring you some.” And with that she leaves me in the bathroom to change out of my now partially dried and stiffened jeans. Her sweatpants are way too short on me and soon I’m just staring at myself in the mirror. Memories of the girl who lost her fiancé are reflected back to me. I clutch the counter and close my eyes—I am not that same girl. I am much stronger. I will not fall back into a depressed state. What happened this morning cannot happen again—this I know. Jumping into the ocean to escape all the madness was simply a momentary lapse in judgment. Right?