When I Was You (29 page)

“License and registration, please,” the officer says when he approaches. The flashlight in his hand is pointed in my face, damn near blinding me as I dig into my wallet. I select one of the fake IDs—Richard Hawthorne—and hand it over. If Brienne is somehow not dead and somehow managed to give the police my name in the span of the last five minutes, I’ll be damned if this is how I go down.

“Wait,” the officer says. The flashlight clicks off, and two familiar chubby hands rest on the window ledge of my door as the man lowers himself.

Turning to get a better look, I try to keep my cool when I recognize the moonfaced sloth staring back at me with a dopey smile like he’s actually happy to see me.

“Brian?” I ask, forcing a chuckle to make him think I’m happy to see him, too. “What are you doing in uniform?”

He taps the badge on his left breast, pointing to where it identifies him as a Quinnesec Bluff Reserve Officer. “Just a little thing I do on the side.”

That’s what I get for deliberately trying
not
to get to know him all these months . . .

I debate whether to act impressed, but I’m soon distracted by my fake ID nestled between two of his thick fingers.

“Shane,” he says, getting back to business, “you realize you blew through that light back there, right? Not only that, but I clocked you going fifty-nine in a forty-five.”

From the corner of my eye, I steal glimpses of Sam, making sure she’s not trying to draw any attention to herself—not that I think she would. Pretty sure she’s seen what I’m capable of here, and she’s not going to try to pull any stunts.

“Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, I guess.” I feign regret as I run my hand along my bristled jaw. “Won’t happen again, though. I can promise you that.”

I reach for my Richard Hawthorne ID, but he jerks it back. “Still have to run it.”

“Seriously, man? I thought we were friends?” I remind him, recalling that day he caught me on my phone and did me a solid by not turning me in to management.

Brian nods toward the squad car with the flashing lights. “I’ve got a partner tonight, and he’s one of those by-the-book types. I’ll see if I can talk him out of the ticket, though. Anyway, this’ll just take a few minutes. Sit tight, okay?”

My hands tighten around the steering wheel.

As soon as he gets back and sees the name on the ID is different from the name he knows me by, he’s going to start asking questions again, and there’s no way he’s going to hand it back to me and let us go on our merry way.

“You doing okay, Sam?” I ask my girlfriend, placing a hand on her thigh. She all but recoils at my touch, so I let her go. Time. She needs time.

Sinking back into the buttery leather seats, I pull in a deep breath while checking the rearview. I can see Brian talking with his partner. And I can see his partner mouth something into the radio on his shoulder.

I rest my right foot above the gas pedal and squeeze my eyes, a chase scene playing out in my mind’s eye. My thoughts are loud, my heart thumping even louder in my ears. A victorious smile claims my mouth, and I bite my lower lip.

A second later, my decision is made, only when I open my eyes to reach for the shifter, I realize the dome light is on—and the passenger door is wide open.

Turning back, I spot Sam clambering to get into the back seat of the police car.

There’s a tightness in my chest, a physical pain. For a moment everything happens in slow motion, and I know the image of Sam turning her back on me will be seared into my memory forever.

But I don’t have time to wallow. Not here, not now.

My heart hammers, and my hand has a death grip on the steering wheel.

Shifting into drive, I floor the gas and peel away, tires screeching like something straight out of an action movie. There’s no way they’ll pursue me with an innocent civilian passenger in their back seat, so this will buy me some more time. I’m thirty miles from the state line, which means they’re going to have to enlist the help of other agencies—it’s a tedious process, yet another swing in my favor.

I glance up at the half-moon above and the sky full of stars, and I can practically feel Sonya smiling down on me.

CHAPTER 59

B
RIENNE

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Marisol’s voice fills my ear as I stir.

Electric pain sears through my head as I come to in an unfamiliar room. A quick glance at the wires and IV lines connected to me, coupled with the steady sound of my heart rate beeping on a monitor beside me, and I no longer have to wonder where I am.

I lift my hand to my head, expecting to touch flesh and hair, only to be met with a gauze bandage.

“You fell down the stairs,” Marisol says. “In case you’re wondering what happened.” She sighs, crossing her legs and leaning in. “You weren’t answering my texts, so I drove to your house, and just as I got there, I saw you driving away . . . only when you passed, I realized it wasn’t you. So I went into your house just as the police were pulling up. You must have called them before you fell? Or someone called them . . . And that’s when I found you lying at the bottom of the stairs.” She takes my hand.

“Did he get away?” I ask, voice groggy. I’d also like to know what day it is and how long I’ve been here, but first things first.

“You have a couple of cracked ribs and a concussion. In case you’re wondering . . .”

“Where is Shane? Did they get him?” My head throbs, but I fight through the pain, eyes unfocusing and refocusing on Marisol.

“They caught him,” she says, head tilted. “Guess he got pulled over just outside of town for running a red light, and at some point he decided to lead them on a chase—like a damn fool. He didn’t get far. They laid spike strips, and someone got him in the next town over. He’s in police custody.”

“Thank God.” I exhale, lifting a hand to my hospital-gown-covered chest. Everything about this moment is hyperreal: the rough texture of the thick cotton sheets on my legs, the sterile hospital scent that floods my lungs, the cool sensation washing over me as adrenaline leaves my system. “What about Sam? Where is she? Is she okay?”

I hold my breath, waiting for her response.

“Funny you should ask.” Marisol rises from her chair and grabs her purse off a nearby counter, fishing inside until she retrieves a white envelope. “She stopped by a few hours ago, but you were still out cold. She asked me to give you this.”

She hands me the envelope.

“I’m going to grab a coffee and call the girls,” she says. “They’ve been texting me every twenty minutes asking for updates. Be back in a bit.”

Marisol steps out, and I tear open the envelope before unfolding the letter inside.

Dear Brienne,

I wanted you to know that I’m deeply sorry for the stress Shane’s actions have caused you, but I’m even sorrier for my involvement in this. I swear to you, had I known what he was doing, I never would have had any part in it.

I also wanted to thank you because meeting you—and being you—has changed my life forever.

I’ve learned a lot these last few months.

When I was you, I learned about the person I was, the person I wanted to be, and the person I didn’t want to be anymore. And after meeting you today, I learned about the person I hope to become more like someday.

You are strong and resilient. You’ve been through the unimaginable, and your strength inspires me.

I hope you can forgive me.

And I hope someday our paths cross again.

Sam

PS—I think this is yours.

At the bottom of the letter, attached by a strip of clear tape, is my grandmother’s opal ring. I didn’t even know it was missing. I’m assuming Shane helped himself to my jewelry box at some point and gifted that to Sam under false pretenses. Perhaps it was some part of his master plan that hadn’t yet played out. I can only imagine.

Either way, it’s over now.

It’s over.

Lying back against my hospital pillows, I draw in a long, steady breath and close my eyes, remembering this saying my grandmother used to have hanging on our refrigerator:
In the end, it’ll all be okay. And if it isn’t okay, it isn’t the end.

I’m quite certain this is the end.

CHAPTER 60

N
IALL

Orange has never been my color.

I’m seated in a holding cell, awaiting my initial appearance. Apparently they’ve deemed me high risk due to the fact that I led police on a ninety-mile-per-hour car chase, and I just happened to have a gun in the car (even though it was in the console).

I rest my head against the cinder-block walls and close my eyes.

Now that I’m alone with my thoughts, I find myself thinking of Sonya’s letters to Brienne. I didn’t get a chance to read them, but I refuse to believe she was gaslighting me all those years. If anything, she was probably trying to get back into the good graces of her daughter and family so she’d have a chance at her rightful inheritance.

As far as I’m concerned, Brienne doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

She didn’t know Sonya the way I did. Sonya didn’t sacrifice for her the way she did for me, and that’s the true definition of love: sacrifice.

At the end of the day, even if this whole thing blew up in my face, at least I accomplished one thing: for the rest of her life, every time Brienne thinks of her mother, she’ll be reminded of me, and every time she’s reminded of me, she’ll remember what a gullible idiot she was.

If Sonya would’ve raised her, none of this would’ve happened.

Sonya would’ve made a soldier out of her, of that much I’m sure.

“Knudsen, you’re up.” A guard in a tan uniform calls my name, and it’s time to see the judge.

I place my hands through the opening in the door, and they fasten cuffs around my wrists.

This is nothing but a minor setback.

Sure, I stole money.

Sure, I’m going to spend a little time behind bars.

They’ll hit me with some wire-fraud charges and slap my wrists, and it won’t be long until I’m a free man again.

And Sam? It’s her loss. One of these days she’ll come crawling back. In the meantime, I’ve got time to sort out what I’m going to say when she does. My stepmom didn’t raise a doormat.

Besides, it might be kind of nice going to bed at night without a care in the world. No car payments. No utility bills. No soul-sucking job to report to bright and early every morning. In a weird sort of way, Sonya’s wish for me is coming true after all.

CHAPTER 61

B
RIENNE

I knock on Sam’s apartment door at the Harcourt. The hospital discharged me a couple of hours ago this morning, and I headed straight here, but not before making a quick stop.

She doesn’t answer, so I knock one more time. There’s a good chance she’s already left Quinnesec Bluff. She’d have no reason to stick around and every reason to want to forget this chapter of her life. But just as I’m about to go, the door swings open, and a wide-eyed Sam stands before me.

“Brienne,” she says, stopping in her tracks with a soft jolt. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I’d catch you,” I say. My heart is racing, and I’m not sure why. “Can I come in?”

She moves aside, stealing a quick peek at the bandage on my forehead. “Of course.”

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

She gives a slow shrug before shaking her head. “No. No, I’m not. But I will be. What about you?”

“Same,” I say. “Still shaken up but . . .”

“None of it feels real.” She hugs her sides, biting her lower lip, and I notice a small tremble in her hands. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. Couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes . . .”

Her voice trails off, and she doesn’t finish her thought.

“At least he’s behind bars now. Where he belongs.”

She lifts her brows, nodding. “I guess I’m still kind of in shock over it all. I saw a side of Shane I’ve never seen in my life. He’s not the person I thought he was. I mean, he’s done some things in his day, but never anything like this. Never this . . . extreme.”

“My mom was like that,” I say. “Different personalities to suit her different agendas. All those letters she sent me over the years . . . While I want to believe they were genuine, there’s a part of me that will always doubt that. For all I know, she was trying to get back into the family’s good graces for some kind of personal gain. The woman always had ulterior motives . . .”

I glance around the apartment and realize most of it is boxed up, and two large suitcases rest beside the front door. She’s going home—wherever that is.

“I wanted to give you something.” I fish into my purse, retrieve the small gift I’d picked up on the way here, and hand it over.

“What is this?” Sam takes the velvet box and props it open, gazing at the dainty ring inside.

“It’s moonstone,” I say. “It’s supposed to symbolize new beginnings.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” she says as she takes it out and slides it over her right ring finger, fitting perfectly. Sam looks up at me, eyes glassy.

“I did,” I say, lifting up my own right hand. “Got one for myself as well.”

Her lips turn up at the sides, and we share a quiet moment, a wordless understanding.

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”

CHAPTER 62

B
RIENNE

Three Months Later

We sit on the bare floor of the empty front parlor on a Saturday night. The old gang’s all here—Stacia, Amber, Marisol, and myself—surrounded by open boxes of pizza and plastic Solo cups filled with red wine.

The last few months have been a roller coaster of emotion, but I couldn’t have done this without them.

“It’s so weird that some other family’s going to be living here,” Stacia says, gazing out the front window at the S
OLD
sign in the yard. “The end of an era.”

“It’s for the best,” Marisol says, patting my knee. “Bri’s got a lot of living to make up for.”

They say a brush with death will do that to a person: give them a new lease on life, prompt them to make drastic changes and do the things that once terrified them.

“I’m going to miss this place.” I sigh, taking another look around as if it’s my last.