A Moment Too Late Read online

  The town looks exactly as I remember it. The sign for the bowling alley, Lucky Strike, is still only partially lit, the last two letters dark against the setting sun. The theater appears to be playing reruns of old favorites instead of the latest blockbusters according to the marque. And Main Street has the same storefronts from all those years ago, including the Java Bean Coffeehouse, a place I spent many hours studying and visiting my best friend while she worked.

  It’s not until after I take a right that I realize I’m heading to my old apartment out of habit instead of the Old Town Hideaway B&B where I’m staying. When the apartment complex comes into view, my hands begin to tremble.

  Did they ever stop?

  So many good memories laced with bad ones.

  Parties at Spencer and Jay’s place. Sam and I kicking their asses at beer pong. Moving the couch to the parking lot on warm, summer nights so we could be comfortable as we watched the guys play street hockey. Mia gifting Spencer a stripper pole for his birthday and installing it in his bedroom, only to have it rip a giant hole in the ceiling the first time she tried to use it.

  My favorite memory will always be of the day I moved in, though.

  Before life became complicated.

  I lived in the dorms the first two years and was ready for a place of my own after getting stuck with catty roommates. Girls who only cared about themselves, and no matter how nice they were to your face, talked shit about you behind your back. They expected me to be a part of their little circle at first based only on what little they knew about me.

  From California. Thin, blonde, and busty.

  Of course, all that added up to me being fake like them. They couldn’t have been more wrong. Which made my first year in the dorms hell, and the second only slightly better after being assigned a new roommate who was also part of their group.

  In a hurry to get away from everything those girls represented, I didn’t pack as well as I should have. Most of my things were tossed in random boxes. The lids weren’t taped shut. Some were heavy while others were light as a feather. The worst were the ones that were weighted to one side.

  I was attempting to carry one of those when I tripped on the curb as I lifted my foot to step onto the sidewalk. A set of strong arms caught me before I hit the ground, but my box didn’t fair as well. Underwear and books tumbled across the sidewalk, my face heating in embarrassment.

  When I finally righted myself, I came face-to-face with the most stunning pair of hazel eyes. Light toward the edges with dark blue specs around his irises. His woodsy smell would have held me in a trance all on its own if his eyes hadn’t been piercing me.

  I’m pretty sure I fell in love at first sight that day. My heart began pounding in my chest, begging to be freed as my lungs struggled to suck in even the tiniest of breaths.

  Jay.

  The man who would ultimately become my downfall. My one weakness. He could bring me to my knees with just a look, and he did on numerous occasions. Each time making me feel guiltier than the last because he wasn’t mine.

  I shouldn’t have been thinking about him. Fantasizing about his strong arms wrapped around me. Dreaming of him at night when I closed my eyes.

  He belonged to Sam.

  My new best friend.

  The girl I met at work only weeks earlier and hit it off with. The girl who was coming over to help me unpack that night after her shift.

  I didn’t know he was her Jay at the time. I didn’t even know his name until two days later. Which is why it’s one of my favorite memories. The feelings I felt were still pure. They weren’t laced with jealousy as they would be in the following months and years.

  In the sixty seconds we spent together, his arms wrapped around me, gently cradling my body against his, the world around us disappeared. The butterflies in my stomach were flapping their wings. My heart was pounding against my chest, begging to be freed. To be given to a man I didn’t know. A man who wasn’t even asking for it.

  So I did.

  Metaphorically. I pulled my beating heart from my body, placed it in his hands, and smiled. I’d never been in love before, didn’t realize what I was doing. It was reckless, but between the way he was looking at me and the way my body was starting to shake in his arms, it was the only thing that felt right.

  I should have been more guarded. Or at least asked him his name. That would have been a better start. Instead, I thanked him and quickly picked up all my panties, rushing into my apartment.

  Pushing the memory away, it having soured in my mouth, I turn around in the parking lot, avoiding looking directly at either of our apartments, and head back toward town. I follow Main Street, my eyes focused straight ahead so I don’t accidentally glance in the direction of the park. When I turn on 2nd Street, my focus is on Riley’s Pub. My old stomping grounds. The only place I spent more time at other than the Java Bean or my apartment.

  The place I met Sam. Where our friendship was formed.

  The last place she was seen alive.

  Averting my eyes, I keep them focused on the road ahead. With the park on one side and Riley’s on the other, I can feel the walls around my heart starting to crack. I haven’t even been back for twenty minutes and I’m already close to breaking.

  It’s not until I’m safely behind closed doors in my room at the Hideaway that I let the first and only tear fall. I promised myself I wasn’t going to be an emotional wreck this weekend and I plan to try my best to keep that promise. Crying won’t bring her back. It won’t bring me any peace. All it does is make me appear weak … not that I’ve done anything to prove how strong I am since my conversation with Spencer.

  Hell, I was on the verge of breaking down that night. Instead, I drank an entire bottle of vintage red wine and passed out on my couch. The next morning was a flurry of activity as I arrived late to my first appointment and set myself behind for the rest of the day. By the time I was crawling into bed that night, thoughts of Sam and my impending trip had been long forgotten. Until I spotted my open suitcase sitting partially packed in the corner.

  The floodgates opened, and I fell asleep with fresh tears still staining my cheeks. And there she was, in my dream, smiling at me.

  Tuesday wasn’t much better, and today has been a nightmare. It feels like an elephant has been sitting on my chest since I woke up.

  Yet here I am. Riding the emotional rollercoaster that I’ve been avoiding for the last five years.

  The phone in the room rings, and I stare at it for a long moment before quickly crossing the room and answering it. Who has a landline anymore? It’s not a hotel. There isn’t a need for each room to have a phone. They could easily walk up the single flight of stairs and knock on my door. The entire place only has six room.

  “Yes?”

  “Andrea? It’s Ruth from the kitchen. Since you’ll be here for a few days, I was wondering if there was anything special you’d like me to prepare for you. We serve breakfast and lunch but you’ll be on your own for dinner.”

  The sincerity in her voice reminds me of small-town life. A place where you’re treated with respect until you do something to lose it. Where everyone knows your name and it feels like you’re part of one large family.

  “No, thank you. Whatever you have planned will be delicious I’m sure.”

  In all honestly, I have no appetite right now. All I want are a pair of yoga pants, an over-sized sweatshirt, and a good book. Two of those things can happen but the book will have to wait. I have notes and reports to sort through before I can read for pleasure. I need to try and make sense of today’s interview or I’ll start forgetting details.

  After quickly changing, I head down to the main living area. It doesn’t offer much—a couch, two chairs, and a self-service coffee station—but it’s quiet and cozy. That’s more than I’d get from a fancy hotel.

  This place has an antique feel to it. It’s been remodeled over the years but it still holds the classic charm you find in historic homes, from the archways and c
rown molding to the rich colors of the wood. There’s a stone fireplace in the corner of the living room that is burning, the wood crackling softly. The mantel above it is straight out of a home magazine and would be perfect for hanging stocking at Christmas.

  My room holds the same charm. A four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room, flanked on either side by a dark wood matching table, topped with gorgeous lamps with cream-colored shades that match the curtains. There’s a roll-top desk along one wall and a dresser along the other. What I’m assuming used to be a closet has been converted into a small, private bathroom.

  The walls are adorned in bright artwork, bringing out the colors of the knit blanket on the bed. They’re more modern than the rest of the room but the tarnished gold frames tie it all together.

  Setting my bag on the couch, I walk over to the coffee station. With trembling hands, I pop a pod into the machine, my finger lingering over the brew button for a moment. The little green light blinks at me, taunting me.

  I should have stocked up on iced coffee.

  I can handle this. It’s just one cup. Plus, I need it or I’ll fall asleep and be even further behind on work.

  Once I’ve doctored my coffee so it tastes more like sugar and creamer than actual roasted beans, I curl up on the couch and retrieve my paperwork from my satchel. The place is eerily silent, which doesn’t surprise me. Great Falls isn’t a tourist town. Unless it’s the start of the school year or graduation, I can’t imagine either of the two B&B’s are ever fully booked.

  Which makes this the perfect place to focus on work and avoid thinking about why I’m really here. An attempt to keep the memories at bay, at least for the night. Tomorrow is a different story. According to my itinerary, Spencer and I have a meeting with the dean at Great Falls University. I have no idea what it’s about, but I know it has something to do with Sam and that’s enough to make me uneasy.

  The university is hosting a memorial brunch Friday afternoon and a lantern release on Friday night. As much as I would love to skip both of those events, I have a feeling Spence would hunt me down if I didn’t show up. Not to mention, Friday will be easy compared to what the town has planned for Saturday.

  The actual anniversary of Sam’s death.

  It starts with the first annual Samantha Bridges 5k marathon. It’s been years since I’ve run outside, let alone more than a mile or two. The marathon isn’t what scares me, though. It’s what happens after everyone is done running.

  The fountain dedication.

  In the park.

  Where Sam was killed.

  On the anniversary of her death.

  A permanent reminder of the tragedy. In the very place it happened.

  I haven’t been back to the park since that night. I avoided it at all costs the last few months I lived here and now I’m expected to what? Just walk in the park like it’s no big deal? Like what happened that night didn’t alter me in a way I still haven’t recovered from?

  One step at a time.

  My new personal mantra, because if I look too far ahead, I’m going to shatter without warning. No amount of glue will be able to piece me back together this time.

  Chapter Three

  Sleep didn’t come easy. Between the time difference and the two cups of coffee I ended up drinking, it was close to three o’clock before I was finally able to crawl in bed. Once I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard a noise. The floor creaked as if someone was standing outside of my door. The thought alone caused my adrenaline to soar.

  Which is why I’m standing outside of the Java Bean right now, debating on going inside. I had two cups of coffee with the omelet Ruth made me this morning, but they didn’t even faze me. I could have drunk an entire pot of coffee and I have a feeling I would have been able to fall back asleep no problem. Still, a double-shot vanilla latte with skim milk sounds amazing right now. Extra-large. Maybe two. More than anything, it’s necessary if I want to make it through the meeting I have with the dean in less than thirty minutes.

  Going inside brings with it a new set of emotions, though. Emotions I’m not sure I’m strong enough to handle on the little sleep I was able to get. Memories that will tear me apart and bring me back to a time I’ve tried to bury down deep because I’m not sure I’ll even be able to handle reliving them.

  “You gonna stare at her through the window all day or go inside and say hello?”

  Letting out a sigh, I turn to face the familiar voice even though I’m not entirely sure I’m ready. This weekend is already starting to feel like I’m ripping off band-aid after band-aid. Reopening wounds that have never fully healed. Wounds I’ve tried to ignore instead of deal with.

  “Spencer,” I say, walking into his open arms. When they wrap around me in a warm embrace, a single tear falls.

  Damn it.

  I promised I was going to keep myself in check. Yet, my damn tears didn’t seem to get the memo. I blame the lack of sleep.

  He feels the same as I remember. His large body has always made me feel safe though the first time I met him, I was slightly intimidated. He had shaved his head bald after losing a bet. Between his size, his shiny new dome, and the leather jacket he was wearing, he looked like he was in a biker gang. All that was missing was the motorcycle.

  One conversation was all it took for me to realize I had judged a book by its cover. He was sweet and cuddly. More like a teddy bear, even without the hair. He never took himself or anything seriously. When he wasn’t cracking jokes, he was dancing around like a fool or poking fun at us girls. His teasing was relentless. He always found a way to use our words against us. Mainly turning any normal comment into a sexual innuendo.

  When I would stay up late studying and complain, ”I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

  His response would always be, ”Who was the lucky guy?”

  If I was talking to Mia about needing my hair done and say something along the lines of, ‘My hair’s a mess.”

  He would respond with, ‘Who was pulling on it?”

  After working all night, I’d plop down on their couch and throw my feet up on the table with Sam by my side. One of us would always say, ‘My feet hurt.”

  Spencer’s comeback? ‘You mean your knees? We’re you down on them again?”

  After a while, you could almost anticipate what he was going to say. Still, there were times he would surprise me by offering to rub my feet or brush my hair instead of making a witty remark. Or the time he came home with three little foot spas and set them out for us girls, pampering us for a few hours.

  “It’s good to see you, Andi. I missed you, my California beauty queen.” I can hear the sincerity in his words as he squeezes me tightly, holding me pressed against his chest.

  Smiling against his shirt, I can’t help but giggle at the ridiculous nickname he gave me the first time we met. I had hoped it wouldn’t stick but it did. However, he wouldn’t let anyone use it. Not even Jay, his best friend and roommate. Though he did on more than one occasion to piss Spencer off. Usually when we were all good and drunk.

  Always after Spencer and I beat him and Sam at beer pong.

  “I missed you, too, Spence,” I admit, taking a step back as he holds me at arm’s length. “You look exactly the same. How is that possible? Do you not age?”

  “I can’t give away all my secrets,” he replies with a smirk.

  “Mia’s been making you use those creams on your face, hasn’t she?” I tease, knowing damn well there’s a strong possibility it’s actually true. Before he can deny it, I change the subject. “Where is Mia?”

  “Working, per usual. I promised her we’d stop by after our meeting so she could see you but now I’m reconsidering.” Spencer taps his finger against his lips as if he’s thinking hard about the decision. As if he really has a choice. Regardless, I’ll play along.

  “What? Why?” I ask, the bell above the Java Bean door startling me as a middle-aged man comes barreling out.

  “Don’t take this the wrong
way, but you look like shit, Andi. Did you even sleep last night?” I can hear the concern in his voice laced with mock horror.

  “I think the Hideaway is haunted. I kept hearing footsteps outside of my door, so no, I didn’t get much sleep,” I confess as I tuck a stray curl behind my ear, averting my gaze.

  “Which means you need coffee yet you’re standing out here instead of in there.”

  All I can do is nod, my eyes still focused on the bike rack behind him as the bell chimes again, but I don’t notice anyone walk past us this time. I don’t have to wait long to find out why when a pair of skinny arms wrap around me from behind at the same time lips are pressed against my cheek.

  “The second child returns home,” Summer announces excitedly, releasing me from her hold as she throws her hands in the air. Sliding up next to me, she turns her attention to Spence and winks. “I really thought you were lying to me, Spencer.”

  “You think so little of me after everything I’ve done for you. I still don’t understand.” His mocking tone tells me he understands completely why she doesn’t trust him.

  The pranks we all used to play on Summer are legendary. Everyone in town would talk about them, some offering suggestions for next time while others were oblivious to the fact that we were the ones behind them.

  They weren’t always elaborate. We’d move things around in the shop after she closed for the night. Flip the menus so they were hanging upside down. Change the prices of everything either up or down depending on our mood.

  My favorite pranks were always the ones that revolved around decorating for the holidays. If it was Easter, we’d hang Halloween decorations. For Christmas, Independence Day decor. They never matched the actual holiday, and after a few seasons, Summer gave up buying decorations at all knowing that someone was going to foil her plans. It was a surprise to her when she walked in to work on Valentine’s Day and everything was pink and red and white. Giant hearts were hanging from the ceiling and there were window clings of little cupids. She always blamed Spencer for being the mastermind behind them when really it was Sam.