The wind catches my hair now and whips it around my face. I gather and grab the long brown strands and hold them.
Our gazes meet again. His soft brown eyes still flash with emotion that I can’t read. But I’ve found one answer I came looking for. I kissed Matt Kenner. How I know, I’m not exactly sure, but I’d bet anything it was him.
The urge to look at his mouth hits strong, but I didn’t come here for that. So I glance back to the street.
The next gust of wind brings his scent, male spicy soap. I turn to him. He’s looking at me.
Worry tightens his eyes. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He slips his hands into his pockets and then out. He’s nervous. Why?
“Okay.” I hurry to my car.
When I look back in my rearview mirror, he’s watching me drive off. Not smiling. Not frowning. Not blinking.
My wheels hum on the pavement, and riding shotgun with me is the question, does he know? Does Matt know I have Eric’s heart?
6
Matt watches her go. He’s almost dizzy before he realizes he’s not breathing. Does she know? Does Leah know she has Eric’s heart? Is that why she came?
Or did she come to give him shit for not calling her. I deserve shit.
Not calling Leah back had been a selfish act. Sure Eric had said not to, but Matt had already made up his mind when Eric came home that night.
No doubt Matt had hurt her.
He’d hurt a girl who was dying. How much of a selfish jerk could he be?
And he’d probably hurt her again now. Shutting the door so fast, as if he was ashamed she was on his doorstep. But he’d panicked. Mom had been against donating Eric’s organs. And for the first time in forever she’s finally crawling out of her depression.
Would learning Leah got Eric’s heart knock her back there?
Matt doesn’t know, but he can’t chance it.
Watching until Leah’s car turns the corner, he stays there, feeling his own heart dodge blows of guilt.
Is it wrong to want Leah to know she has the heart of a champion in her chest? Is it wrong that from the second he opened that door he hasn’t stopped thinking about their kiss and thinking about doing it again?
“Matt?” His mom’s voice has him turning around.
She’s standing in the door with a wiggling puppy in her hands. “What are you doing?”
“Just giving directions to someone who was lost.” On the scale of bad lies, ten meaning piss-poor bad, he rates that one a twenty. Lying has never been his specialty. Until recently. Now he’s been making a habit of it.
He hasn’t told his mom about his campaign to prove Eric’s death wasn’t a suicide.
He starts up the sidewalk, dragging his guilt with him.
“I got her to sit,” his mom says.
“That’s good.” He walks into the house and shuts the door. Mom sets Lady down. She squats right in front of them and, with pride, proceeds to pee on the beige carpet.
His mom laughs. And damn if it isn’t a nice sound. He could use more laughter in his life. His mind goes to Leah and how much they’d laughed that day he’d helped her study. How could a girl who thought she was dying find it in herself to laugh?
He grabs some paper towels, squats down beside the dog, blots the spot, slaps the floor, and tells Lady a firm no. Then he picks the puppy up and heads out to the backyard.
His mom moves with him. As he walks outside, he’s lifting his chin this way and that trying to avoid being French-kissed by his dog. His mom chuckles.
They got the puppy for Christmas. Their other dog, Flops, also a yellow lab, had passed right before his dad died.
Matt’s pretty sure getting the puppy was Aunt Karen’s idea. She’s been coming down almost every weekend now. He’s also certain that his aunt is behind his mom’s crawling out of her hole. About a month ago he heard them talking in the kitchen. Or rather heard his aunt talking and his mom crying. “I know you’re hurting, Sis. But the thing you’re not seeing is that you’re not the only one. You haven’t lost everything. You still have Matt, and he needs you, damn it!”
He hadn’t liked hearing that. But if it helped his mom, he supposed he could tolerate it. Besides, it was the truth. He needed his mom to be okay.
And since then he’d slowly seen her change. She’s sleeping less. Seeing a therapist. Probably taking fewer of the pills too. She’s started making him go running with her every morning.
“Oh,” his mom says. “Ted called when you were outside. He said there was a bunch of your friends going to see the fireworks. He wants you to go with them.”
“He called our home phone?” Matt asks.
“He said he called your cell, but you didn’t answer.”
“Yeah, I was going to call him back.” Not really.
“Why don’t you go? It would be good to bring in the New Year.”
“Nah, I’d rather just stay here with you.”
She frowns. “I’m half considering going out with some friends.”
Wow. That would be a first. “You should. Go,” he says.
“I will if you will.” She looks at him. He knows she’s dead serious. If he says no, she won’t go. He doesn’t like this, but … hell.
He needs to go see Leah, but the fireworks don’t start until ten. “Okay. But if you don’t go, I’m going to be pissed.”
“I’ll go. I promise.” She smiles. A real smile. Or he thinks so. Even if this is her faking it, it’s still nice. What’s that saying? “Fake it until you make it.” Maybe Mom’s going to make it.
Maybe he’ll make it too. But not until he finds out who killed Eric and gets them locked up in prison.
And that might be soon. Cassie, Eric’s girlfriend who left to go live with her father in California after Eric’s funeral, is supposed to be home soon to finish school here. She’s avoided every one of his calls. Then he was told to stop calling her. But now that she’s back in town, he’s going to get answers.
His gut says Cassie knows a hell of a lot more than she told the police. He’s pretty sure she knows who’s responsible for his brother’s murder.
* * *
I’m sitting on Brandy’s bed, in her bedroom that, by the way, is not pink. I’m here about ten minutes before I casually drop that Matt’s stopping by.
“Holy bat shit!” Brandy isn’t taking it very casually. Which is upping the amount of butterflies playing follow the leader in my stomach.
“I’m just going to sit in his car and talk for a few minutes.”
She smiles and rubs her hands together so fast I can almost see sparks. “This is going to be crazy interesting.”
“Not interesting. Please don’t make anything out of this.” I say the words like I mean them, but freaking hell if I’m not making plenty out of it.
My insides are quaking. What’s Matt gonna say when I tell him about the dreams, about having Eric’s heart?
The picture of Brandy and Brian on her bedside table draws my attention, and, needing a distraction, I pick it up. They look happy. Brandy deserves happy.
We’ve been friends since third grade. She’d been the new girl at school and I agreed to share the gummy bears from my lunchbox with her.
She ate every one of them. But I couldn’t have picked a better friend. In spite of being totally and completely disgusted by anything medical, she stuck by me during my heart issues. Even after she’d fainted when she saw the blood on my hospital gown after my first surgery.
Brandy lets out a giggle. “I’m just wondering what Trent is going to think.”
“Trent?” The name falls off my lips as if I’d just said “toe fungus.” I sit the picture down. “Why did you invite him?”
“Because I invited everyone in the book club. Because he still likes you and because—your words not mine—‘he’s really nice and I only broke up with him because I was dying.’ Now you’re not dying.”
Yeah, I’m not dying and Trent’s nice. And he was … part of my old life. But sin
ce Matt showed up at my house, I learned that there was more than … nice. There was awesome and toe-curling, practically break-Donald-Duck’s-beak-off-my-house-shoes kind of kisses.
While I’m human and want to put the blame on Brandy for inviting Trent, I can’t. I Facebook messaged Trent twice—because he messaged me—but I still did it. But I never hinted that we’d pick up where we dropped off.
I was just trying to ease back into my old life. Dip my toe back into the water.
Now I wish I’d kept my toes dry. And not because I think Matt and I have something. I know better.
But … shit shit shit! Is Brandy right? Does Trent still like me? I don’t want to hurt Trent. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I fall back on Brandy’s bed and stare up at the ceiling.
I lay there for several insignificant seconds searching for an out. I find nothing. I’m so screwed. Moaning, I pop back up.
“What are we going to do?” I ask Brandy as if this is her problem. Not that she minds. She’s that kind of friend. We tell each other everything. Almost everything.
She told me she slept with Brian. A rite of passage I haven’t made, but I’m eager to since I’ve read fifty romance novels telling me how wonderful it can be. With the right person, of course.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Brandy says. “You aren’t going out with either of them.”
“But it’ll hurt Trent.”
“Okay, then lie? Tell Trent that Matt’s tutoring you, which wouldn’t be a complete untruth. Because he did.” She scrunches up her mouth, the way she does when she makes a point. “Though you somehow forgot to tell your best friend.”
“I didn’t tell you because … I don’t even know, but I can’t lie to Trent. I already lied to my mom when I told her I was coming straight here.” I drop back again on the mattress feeling answerless.
“Oh. So you have a one-lie-a-day quota?” Brandy’s grin is so genuine I can’t get mad.
“Sort of,” I say.
“Wait,” Brandy says. “What time did you say Matt is coming?”
“He said two hours so it would be five thirty.”
“Problem solved. Party doesn’t start until around six or six thirty.”
I sit up and finger-comb my hair. Bed hair is so not becoming and I’ve worn that style for too long. New Leah wears makeup, not bedhead.
“So one lie a day, huh?” Brandy’s question comes out loaded.
I nod, suspicious.
“Then let me ask you something. What’s really going on between you and Matt Kenner? And don’t say you’re just still crushing over him, because I know it’s more. I see it in your eyes every time you say his name.”
I inhale and try to decide how much to tell, how much to keep to myself. “Okay, but you can’t say anything.”
“Can’t say anything about what?”
I reach up and press my hand over my chest. “I’m pretty sure I have Eric’s heart.”
* * *
Running twenty minutes late, Matt parks in front of Austin’s house, then hurries across the street to Brandy’s front door.
There aren’t any cars lining the street. Just Leah’s. What time did Brandy’s party start? It’s almost dark as he walks up the sidewalk. The lights are on in the house. As he gets close to the porch, the front door opens.
Light beams out and Leah steps out in a glow, making her look almost surreal. He stops. The door shuts and now it’s dark again. Then the porch light pops on. Spotlighting her. She keeps walking, toward him. She’s so damn pretty, his breath catches in his throat.
She stops in front of him. “Did you say we could talk in your car?”
“Yeah.” He starts back to his car. “Would you like to go grab a Coke or something?”
“In the car’s fine.” Her words spill out. That and the way she’s rubbing her palms on her jeans tell him she’s super nervous.
That makes two of them. “Okay.”
They settle in, then look at each other. He’s practiced his apology, but he can’t remember it. Can’t remember why he told himself kissing her again would be wrong. Can’t remember why he’s so damn sad when there’s someone as perfect as her in the world.
He just blurts it out. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I just … was going through a rough time and…”
Something flashes in her eyes. It almost looks like relief. “I didn’t come to see you about that.” She rubs her palms down, then up her legs.
He holds his breath and waits for her to explain.
“I heard about Eric.”
The light in the car isn’t good, yet he can swear she has tears in her eyes. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“Yeah.” A thousand people have told him that, but she seems to mean it more. Perhaps because she has Eric’s heart. Or perhaps that’s not it at all. Her empathy just feels like more. Leah McKenzie is more.
“I … don’t know how to say this,” she continues, “but…” She folds her hands in her lap, unfolds them, then laces her fingers together. “Eric died the same day I got my heart.”
She knows. His chest feels instantly empty, as if someone sucked all his emotions out. And he’s waiting for her to put them back in.
“I … know we have the same blood type. You mentioned it when you came to my house. Well, you said we had the same. And identical twins…”
She knows.
His chest fills back up with so many emotions he can’t decipher them.
“Did … Eric donate his organs?” She put a hand on her chest, over her heart. Over Eric’s heart.
She knows.
“I saw you.” The words slip out.
“Saw me?”
“At the hospital, when I was leaving. You were coming in with your parents.”
She blinks. A tear, almost silver from the low hue of the streetlight, slips down her cheek. “So you knew?” Her lip trembles.
He nods. The desire to brush that tear off her cheek has him clenching his fist.
“Do you hate me?” She bites down on her bottom lip. He watches her straight teeth press deep into the tender pink flesh, and he has the strongest desire to tell her to stop. Instead, he runs a finger over her lower mouth.
She releases it. Her lip is soft and wet against his finger. He’s lost in looking at her. Touching her. Wanting to keep touching her. Then, realizing how awkward this is, he pulls back his hand.
“Why would I hate you?”
She unfurls her fingers and brushes the tear away. “Because I’m alive and he’s not.”
He remembers feeling that way that day. He’s embarrassed for feeling it too. But he knows it was his grief talking.
“You getting his heart had nothing to do with him dying.” The honest words leak out of him.
She nods. Her hands shake.
Without thinking, he reaches over and folds his fingers around her hand. Her palm is warm. Small. Soft. “There is no one in this world I’d rather have gotten Eric’s heart.”
She stares at their hands, then hesitantly lifts her chin. Their gazes meet and there is something so right about it, it scares him.
She glances away. “I need … to tell you one more thing, but…”
“What?” He gives her hand an encouraging squeeze.
She inhales then lets out air. He can hear it. He hears the slightest tremble in her breath.
“I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” He shifts, so he’s facing her more.
“That you’ll think I’m crazy.”
7
From the second Matt touches me, my fear becomes manageable. It’s as if something inside me says, Don’t worry, this is Matt.
I swallow. I can still feel his finger against my lip. Like when he kissed me, I long to memorize the feeling.
I look at him knowing I just need to get this out. But how?
Then I look into his eyes again and just say it. “When I woke up from the transplant, I started having dreams. The doctors say it’s a side effect from my medicat
ion, but … I think they might have something to do with Eric.”
His eyes widen. His jaw drops. I hear him inhale … then exhale.
He releases my hand and scrubs his palm over his face.
My fear comes tumbling back so fast I want to get out of the car. Run away. Be alone.
“I know how it sounds, but I swear, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Leah, I—”
“I’m not lying.”
“I know.” He touches my hand again. “Eric’s running in the woods, isn’t he? He has a gun?”
Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “How do you know?”
“Because I’m getting the same dreams. I woke up that Sunday night he was shot with the dream. My right temple was throbbing. I know how it looks. Everyone thinks he committed suicide and that I’m in denial, but I’m not. Eric didn’t kill himself. Someone did this to him.”
I absorb what he says, but my mental sponge is so dry it takes a minute.
“I believe you. In the dream, I hear a voice. A man’s voice. He seems angry.”
Matt’s eyes widen. “What does he say? Who is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s distant, and I can’t make it out.”
“Will you tell this to Detective Henderson? Maybe he’d believe me.” His eyes light up with hope, and until then I didn’t realize how sad his eyes were.
Then the consequences of doing what he asks flash through my mind. What will my parents say? I haven’t told them. I haven’t even told my best friend.
“I … Won’t he just think I’m crazy? Have you told him about your dreams?”
The hope in his eyes fades. I remember I’m alive because Eric’s dead. “I’ll do it.” I blurt out.
“No. You’re right. I haven’t told him about my dreams because … He’s not going to believe it.”
He looks out the window as if collecting his thoughts. Then he focuses back on me. “Is it freaking you out?”
It is. “No.” I really pass my lie quota for the day. “What about you? You’re seeing it too.”
“Yeah, but we’re twins. We have a special … Had … Damn it!” He hits the steering wheel. “Someone murdered my brother. Everyone thinks he killed himself. And I don’t know how to prove he didn’t.”