Chapter 30

Mallowater, TX, 2008

Sloan woke with a buzzing head to a buzzing phone. It took a few minutes to orient herself. She was on the couch, and a gaudy Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room. Her brain felt slushy. The blurry details of the night before came into focus just as the lights of the Christmas tree did. She silenced the alarm on her phone and noticed a text she'd missed from Noah the night before.

How about tomorrow night for dinner? Vickie will make barbecue sandwiches.

It was too early to respond. Sloan needed longer to sleep this off, but her mom would wake up soon. That's when Sloan realized she hadn't heard Ridge leave.

The headache behind Sloan's eyes intensified as she trudged down the hallway. Both doors were open. She glanced into her room and noticed the bed was rumpled and unmade, but the window remained locked from the inside.

"Mom?" She walked across the hallway to Caroline's room. A small cardboard box sat on the bed—the box of ammo Sloan had found in the attic with Grandpa Radel's gun. It was open, and a few bullets were scattered across the comforter. Sloan didn't need to check the attic to know the gun was gone.

The room spun. Sloan grabbed the headboard for stability. Where had Mom gone with the gun? Where was Ridge? Sloan checked outside, expecting to see Caroline's car gone, but it was still parked on the curb. The creek , Sloan guessed. She grabbed her keys but threw them right back down. She was too dizzy and disoriented to drive, so she ran, calling Noah on the way.

"Good morning." Noah's voice was scratchy in that just woke-up way. "Did you get my text last night about dinner?"

"Noah, get to the creek now!"

"What? What's going on?"

"Mom has Ridge." Sloan gasped for air. "She took a gun, but her car is here, so they walked somewhere. I don't know where else she'd be but the river."

Sloan heard drawers opening and closing on the other side of the phone. "Meet you there."

Sloan arrived at the creek first. The low morning light rose like smoke from the night grass. Where would she go? Sloan started the trek up to their camping site but stopped short. Big Rock, she realized—the scene of Ridge's fake death.

She turned and ran through the trees, stumbling across uneven terrain. Her lungs seemed near collapse, but she couldn't stop. She heard her brother's deep voice first, echoing in the valley. "Come on, Mom. You don't want to do this."

"Who else has seen you?" Caroline's voice was bitter as the morning air.

Sloan was close enough to see them now, Ridge on his knees at the water's edge, Caroline behind him, gun drawn.

"No one else." Ridge's voice sounded hoarse. "Sloan only knows because I showed up last night," he lied.

"Mom, stop!" Sloan screamed as she stumbled down to the water. When Caroline cocked the hammer, Sloan stopped running and raised her hands. "Calm down." She took slow, small steps forward. "Ridge is alive. This is good news."

"You shouldn't have come back!" Spit flew from Caroline's mouth. "You lost the chance to come back a long time ago."

"It wasn't Ridge's fault," Sloan said. "He was just a kid."

"Who else saw you?" Caroline yelled now, the gun shaking in her hand.

"Nobody, I swear."

"I'll go to prison." Caroline's voice shook along with the gun. "Jay will be a martyr. It will be in all the magazines."

"No one else knows." Sloan continued to edge closer. "Put the gun down, and let's make a plan. You won't go to jail. If Ridge wanted that, he would have gone to the police already. But if you shoot him now, they will find his body, and the truth will come out."

"He's already dead," Caroline mumbled. "As far as the world knows, Ridge Hadfield already drowned in this creek. This won't change anything."

"Caroline!" Noah's voice boomed as he stepped out of the grove of trees opposite of Sloan. "Drop your weapon."

The interruption disoriented Caroline. She turned to look in Noah's direction, moving the gun slightly away from Ridge's head. Sloan took her chance. She charged at her mom, knocking her to the ground. While Ridge stood, staring at the water, seemingly paralyzed, Noah flung himself between Sloan and her mother. He wrestled the gun away and handcuffed Caroline.

"I'm not going back to the hospital!" Caroline screamed. "I'm not!"

"Ridge?" Noah looked up at his best friend. "What the hell happened, man?"

Ridge finally turned away from the river. "It's kind of a long story."

Ridge, Sloan, and Noah settled on a lie. They couldn't tell the truth about Caroline trying to kill Ridge—not when the world thought Ridge was dead. Noah would claim it had been a suicide attempt, and that would be enough to initiate a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. Long enough to get Ridge the hell out of Mallowater.

Sloan knew how much it pained Noah to do anything dishonest, especially regarding his job. This was a testament to how much he loved them. Noah Dawson was the truest friend Sloan had ever known. Who else would stay loyal when asked to resurrect ghosts just to bury them again?

"Maybe we should have told the truth." Ridge sat in front of the Christmas tree. In the light and sobriety of the afternoon, it didn't look as magical. Several branches were still clumped together, leaving gaping holes throughout the tree. Ornaments were concentrated on one side, and a strand of lights had completely burned out. "Mom needs to be in jail. She's dangerous."

Sloan pulled out her phone. Where was Dylan? Why hadn't he responded to her three texts? She looked back at her brother. "Mom doesn't need to be in jail. I can handle her."

"What's with your constant defense of her? She lied to us both."

"She had her reasons," Sloan said.

"So did Dad, but I don't see you over at his house pretending like nothing happened. Mom almost killed me."

Anger spiraled from the pit of Sloan's stomach. "Then why did you leave me with her?"

Ridge jumped up. "Because I saw a normal life. Mom's plan was sick. She was sick. She didn't care about us, just getting back at Dad. He spent twenty years in jail for something he never did."

"Oh, poor Dad; he was a real saint."

Ridge threw up his hands. "No, not a saint, but he didn't deserve all he got."

"So, you're telling me you wanted to stay with Libby and Vince?"

Ridge's body relaxed; his voice softened. "Yeah, but I wanted you to come too. They told me they asked, and you said no."

"No one asked me anything." Sloan choked back tears. "Ever."

"I know." Ridge's chin dipped down to his chest. "They came clean recently. There was a plan. Someone was supposed to talk to you, bring you to us if you wanted to come, but it all went wrong."

Sloan's heart banged against her chest. "Is this the guy who tried to take me? I remember that. It terrified me, Ridge."

"I swear that's not how they meant for it to happen," Ridge said. "I didn't even know about any of this. Not till a few weeks before my trip here. I've been wanting to see you and Mom for a while. I wasn't sure how much you knew, so I asked the Turners. They told me the truth."

Sloan chuckled. "How big of them."

"Libby and Vince made mistakes, but they were great parents," Ridge said.

"Oh, because they spoiled you? Because they have money? Because they gave you a life where you've made it thirty years without a job?"

The darkness that crossed Ridge's eyes told Sloan she had hit the mark. "Oh, shut up, Sloan."

"No, you shut up, Mister ‘I lived a life of privilege while my sister barely survived!'" Sloan's breathing pounded in her own ears.

"They paid for your school, too," Ridge said. "They've always looked out for you."

Sloan was momentarily stunned into silence. She'd never dreamed Vince and Libby were the anonymous donors. They had been long out of her life at that point. She tried to hold on to her anger. Paying for her college excused nothing they'd done.

"The only thing they didn't tell me is that Mom lied about your abuse. They didn't want to turn me against her. Like good parents, they've only ever wanted to protect me."

Sloan raised a hand to her throbbing temple. "They are not your parents, Ridge. Caroline Radel is your mother. Nothing can change that. Libby Turner is the woman who kidnapped you."

"She didn't kidnap me. She raised me." Sloan saw ligaments bulge in Ridge's neck. "Libby Turner gave me a normal life."

"She manipulated you."

"She loved me!" Ridge threw his hand backward, hitting the tree and knocking a few ornaments to the floor.

"Then why are you here?" Sloan stomped her foot. "If they're your family, go back to them!"

"Great idea," Ridge sneered. He grabbed his jacket from the chair, accidentally stepping on an ornament before walking out the front door.

Sloan looked down at the shattered ornament. It was the roller-skating rabbit, and both of its ears and one wheel were severed victims of the fall.

Given everything that had happened, a busted ornament should have been the least of her worries, but it brought her to her knees. She held the broken bunny and sobbed deep, gut-wrenching sobs for all she had lost.

Dylan called back at 5:00. "Where have you been all day?" Sloan asked, bitterness dripping from each word.

"I had a meeting with the district attorney and depositions. I told you about this."

He had. But Sloan hadn't realized that was already today. "That's right." She slumped into a chair. "I'm sorry, it's been a terrible day. Can you come over?"

"I'll stop by the house and change, then be right there. Want me to pick up dinner for you and Caroline?"

"Mom's back in the hospital under observation."

"Uh oh." He lowered his voice. "Should I pick you up some wine?

"No." Sloan rubbed at her still-pounding forehead. "Never again."

Sloan rearranged ornaments on the Christmas tree while she waited for Dylan. As stupid as it was, she couldn't leave the tree like this.

She had just replaced the burned-out bulb when Dylan knocked at the door. He was still dressed for the deposition in the same shirt and tie he'd worn on their first date, tucked in this time, and accompanied by a jacket. He was carrying an overnight bag.

"Wow, look at you." Sloan pulled him into the house and into her arms.

Dylan sniffed her hair. "You smell . . ."

"Horrible." Sloan pulled away. "Like sweat and gin."

"I was going to say pears," he said. "Some sort of pear-scented shampoo, but yeah, I detect the gin too. Do I even want to know?"

"Long story."

"Well, we've got all night." Dylan held up the bag. "I mean, since Caroline's gone, I thought I'd stay here. But only if it's okay with you."

"Of course." A fluttery sensation filled Sloan's chest. "That's more than okay. I don't want to be alone."

Dylan leaned in for a kiss but stopped short, looking across the living room. "Sloan? What's with the tree?"

"Another long story." She ran a hand through her sweat-soaked hair. "Tell you what, if you don't mind making a pot of coffee, I'll get a shower, and then we'll talk."

Sloan took a quick shower and put on some yoga pants and a t-shirt. She wasn't sure what Dylan had in mind by staying the night, but regular pajamas seemed too intimate. She didn't bother with makeup but couldn't bring herself to go back out without at least blow-drying her pear-scented hair.

Dylan was sitting beside the tree when she came back in. He took a big breath. "Now you really smell like pears."

Sloan glanced back at the tree, noticing a gift underneath it, wrapped in newspaper with a bow made of a coffee label. "What in the world?"

Dylan picked up the present and shook it. "Catch." He tossed it to her. "Merry Christmas, I guess."

"Yeah, about this," she waved a hand at the tree. "Ridge came over. We got drunk and decided to decorate." She held up the present. "But how did you know to bring a gift?"

"I've had it a few days," Dylan said. "I didn't plan on wrapping it, but when I saw the tree, I improvised." He stood. "Open it."

Sloan tore into the paper, revealing two sketchbooks and a set of professional-colored pencils. A sudden thickness in her throat left her speechless.

"You said you used to draw," Dylan said. "I wondered if you might like to try again. Thought it might be like music for me. That it could help you heal."

Sloan swiped at tears falling on her cheek.

Dylan's eyes dulled. "Did I mess up?"

"It's perfect." Sloan's voice cracked. "I'm a crappy girlfriend, is all. I've never even heard you play guitar. I forgot about the depositions. I haven't even asked how the case is coming along."

Dylan swept her into a hug. "Hey, it's okay. You've got a lot going on. I haven't wanted to overwhelm you with more."

"I'm so sorry. Can you fill me in tonight?"

He wiped a strand of still-warm hair out of her face. "You bet. And hey, I brought my guitar with me today to help me relax during my breaks. So, it's still in the jeep if you want to listen later. But first, tell me what happened today."

Sloan motioned to the couch behind him. "We better sit. And a cup or two of that coffee wouldn't hurt."

Half an hour later, they had filled each other in on everything. Despite the intensity of the conversation, Sloan felt lighter just for having shared with Dylan.

She stared at the tree across the living room. "Will you help take it down?"

"Sure, but if you want to leave it up, leave it up."

Sloan looked away from the tree. "I used to love Christmas, but I haven't enjoyed one since Ridge disappeared. He took away all my Christmases, Dylan. Putting this tree up with him seemed like redemption, but it wasn't."

"I get that," Dylan said. "It's the same for me with Thanksgiving. My dad was an incredible chef. He cooked Thanksgiving dinner but always needed Mom and me to help. He spent the entire day yelling at us to bring him this or that or to chide us for doing everything wrong. It sucked."

"I bet." Sloan leaned in closer. Dylan rarely talked about his parents.

"It just wasn't worth it. We'd end up with an amazing gourmet dinner, but we were on the verge of tears by dinnertime. I would have rather ordered a pizza and been happy with each other. Thanksgiving is a holiday for being thankful for what you have, not for yelling at the people you are supposed to be thankful for."

Sloan remembered her last Thanksgiving. She'd spent it with Liam's family, like always. Two days later, she'd discovered a text from Megan on Liam's phone. Three weeks later, he'd filed for divorce. Sloan wondered where she'd be next Thanksgiving. Unnerving how much could change between Novembers.

"So," Dylan continued, "when I was twelve, I decided that when I grew up and had my own family, I'd never be unhappy on Thanksgiving."

Sloan smiled. "I like that. There are enough unhappy days in life. Thanksgiving shouldn't be one of them." She turned back to the tree. "I guess Christmas shouldn't either."

Dylan leaned forward and picked Ridge's broken ornament off the coffee table. "Do you think he left town?"

"Yeah." Sloan looked again at the glass bunny's broken ears. "I do."

Dylan set the ornament back down. "Well, I'm glad you got to see him. I'm glad you know. Because even though the truth can really blow, it's always better to know."

"You think knowing the truth is always a good thing?" Sloan asked.

"I do. I mean, Logan Pruitt's parents told me the same when I met them. Well, not in those words, but they were glad to learn the truth," Dylan said.

"Wow, you met Logan's parents? You never told me that."

Dylan wiped his hands down the legs of his slacks. "Yeah. They were so great, I assumed they'd hate me."

"Why would they hate you?" Sloan noticed Dylan pull his elbows tight against his sides like he was trying to make himself smaller.

"Because I could have saved Logan." Dylan clutched his hands together. "I should have gone to the cops the night I left, and they could have busted Eddie then. I justified my silence, told myself that Logan was getting too old and that Eddie would let him go soon, but in reality, I was scared to death of Eddie coming back for me. Coming after Dad."

Sloan squeezed Dylan's forearm. "You were a kid, Dylan. One who'd been through trauma. No one can blame you for that."

"Eddie killed Logan soon after I left. They can't say the exact date of death, but by the time Eddie left Mallowater, Logan was in the ground. Eddie probably did it because I ran. Because he figured I'd go to the cops." Dylan pressed a fist against his trembling lips.

"Dylan . . ." Sloan paused, trying to collect her thoughts.

"You don't have to say anything," Dylan said. "There's nothing to say. I only brought it up because you asked if the truth, even the ugly truth, is worth it."

Sloan kicked at the coffee table. "Does my dad deserve the truth?"

"Yeah, I mean, in theory. But that's easy for me to say, right? I never told Dad what happened to me, and I waited till he died to tell the world. I guess I thought knowing would be a burden for him, but now, I think him feeling like he couldn't help me all those years was probably the real burden."

Sloan stared at her feet. "I kinda want to see Dad again. But not with Anna, and definitely not with Felicity."

"So, see him," Dylan said. "On your terms. Go to dinner somewhere. Just the two of you."

Sloan shook her head. "I don't want the media attention."

"Use my house. Don't make excuses; make things happen."

"Man, you're full of quippy bits of wisdom, aren't you?" Sloan nudged him. "Don't make excuses; make things happen. The truth can blow, but it's better to know."

Dylan grinned. "I should make motivational home décor."

"How about you make some music instead?" Sloan tapped her feet against the floor. "I'm dying to listen to you play."

Dylan rubbed at his chin. "Only if you promise to show me one of your drawings sometime."

"Oh, so this is a ‘show me yours, I'll show you mine' type of negotiation?"

Dylan's cheeks reddened. He opened his mouth, then closed it as though struggling for words. He finally stood and pulled out his keys. "I'll just go grab that guitar."

Sloan checked her phone for the first time since Dylan arrived. She noticed the voicemail icon, but when she checked the call log, there were no missed calls. That voicemail notification always seemed to put up a fight to disappear. When Dylan returned, a maple-colored acoustic Gibson guitar was strapped over his shoulder. He held a gray pick and strummed a few chords, warming up. Sloan marveled at the change in the Dylan that walked out the door and the one who came back in. His posture was stronger, and he held his head higher. For the first time Sloan had ever seen, Dylan Lawrence looked confident. It was extremely sexy.

He sat down next to her and, with no introduction, strummed the opening to "Making Memories of Us."

Sloan watched in awe as the guitar became an extension of Dylan. He made it look so effortless. His voice was smooth and sweet, perfect for the romance of a song about pledging the best part of yourself to someone. Sloan inhaled deeply, anchoring herself in the moment and taking in the scent of Dylan's cologne. She knew that no matter what became of her and Dylan, the smell of Calvin Klein's Eternity for Men would forever bring her back to this perfect moment.

Goosebumps covered her arms by the time Dylan strummed the last note. She stood and turned toward him to clap.

"Stop." Dylan squeezed his eyes shut and motioned for her to sit.

"That was beautiful. Please play another one."

Dylan stretched his arms out in front of him, interlocking his fingers. "Any requests?"

Before she could respond, a tiny electronic melody filled the room. "Sorry. I thought I had it silenced." She pulled out her cellphone. "It's Felicity."

"Answer it," Dylan said.

"No way." She pressed ignore. "I have no idea why she'd be calling, and I'm busy." She set the phone down and turned toward Dylan. "Since you played Keith Urban, it's only fair you play some Whitley."

Dylan tuned a couple of strings. "I expected this and have been practicing." Sloan sank back on the couch cushion and listened as Dylan began playing, "When You Say Nothing at All."

He was still on the first verse when Sloan's phone sounded again, this time with a text notification. She didn't want to be rude to Dylan, so she ignored it. But when the second beep came, alarm bells sounded in Sloan's head louder than Dylan's gorgeous vocals. She pulled out her phone and turned away from Dylan to check it. Both texts were from Felicity.

Sloan, your mom is here at my parents' house. Just sitting in her car across the street. Dad is on his way home, but he was in Longview with Brad, so it will be a bit.

"What!" Sloan jumped to her feet, trying to read the second text through the spots in her vision.

Should Kyle go talk to her? Or should we wait for Dad? We aren't sure what to do.

Dylan stopped strumming. "What's wrong?"

Sloan ran to the window. "Mom's car is gone! Was it here when you pulled up?"

Dylan set his guitar on the couch and walked up behind her. "Yeah. It was parked on the street."

Sloan shook her head. "I don't understand. How did she get out of the hospital? How!"

"Are you sure no one stole the car?"

"Mom's in Tyler." Sloan moved around the room till she located her shoes. "At Anna's." She struggled with her flip-flops, accidentally putting the left one on her right foot. Suddenly, Sloan was at Blockbuster Video in 1995, getting the phone call from Walt. She was waiting for Noah to drive her home and leaving her vomit all over the break room table for Danny to clean up.

"Are they sure it's her? How did she get her keys?"

Sloan ran down the hall and into her mother's room, Dylan close behind. Her mom's purse was missing from the table beside her bed where Sloan had put it. And the window was wide open.

"I'm sorry," Dylan said. "I thought I heard something earlier, but you were blow-drying your hair, so I assumed I was hearing things. I should have checked."

The gun . Sloan had a moment of confusion, thinking that her mother still had the gun. But of course, she didn't. She'd been in the hospital. Sloan had unloaded the gun and put it back in the attic. Noah was bringing her a lockbox tomorrow. Sloan hated guns, but it was one of their few possessions that belonged to her Grandpa Radel.

Dylan looked around the room. "The noise didn't sound like it came from her bedroom. It was above me."

Sloan shut the window. "Well, she didn't get into the attic. She would have had to walk right by you."

Dylan stepped farther into the room. "There's not another attic entry in here? There's a draft coming from somewhere."

"No," Sloan said. At least she didn't think there was. She scanned the popcorn ceiling. "The draft was coming from the window."

Dylan walked into the closet and looked up. "It's in here. An attic access door. It's open, so she's been up there. I knew I heard something."

Sloan grew dizzy. Black spots clouded her vision. "Come on." She latched onto Dylan's arm to steady herself. "Get me to Tyler and fast."