3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kayla

By the end of my first day at Bluebell Springs, I have a shiny new access card and a shiny new laptop. The photo on the card is terrible and I can't log in to the laptop, because the only IT guy in the whole town hall is at home, sick, but those are just minor hitches.

I shadow Michelle all day, listening attentively as she explains all the local processes to me. Unsurprisingly, they're pretty much the same as what I'm used to. I'm excited to start working on my own cases, but that will have to wait until the weekly department meeting tomorrow. And, of course, until the IT guy stops puking his guts out and adds my credentials into the system.

All in all, the day went better than I expected. My new colleagues are friendly and welcoming. They even insisted that next Friday, I join them on their regular outing to a local bar.

I'm not a bar person, but I agreed happily. I love that they want to include me. I'm not about to mess it up by acting like a stuck-up bitch who snubs a small-town bar, which is what they expected. And that's not a guess. They literally told me that's what they expected. Convincing them it's not true has become one of my new life goals. I want them to like me, and I don't care if it makes me sound needy.

This is my first time living on my own, in a new town, working a new job. I need as many friends as I can get.

Thinking of friends reminds me of Amy, and I quickly dial her number as I load the groceries into my car. My house—I actually have a HOUSE!—has a fridge, which, of course, was strikingly empty when I arrived yesterday. Fortunately, there are several decent restaurants in town that deliver to my new place. My new house. Un-fucking-believable.

"Kayla!" Amy's voice comes through the car's speakers.

I start the engine and carefully back out of the parking lot. Wouldn't want to ruin my great first day by dinging someone's car. "Amy! How are you?"

"Me? No, no, girl. We're not talking about me. It was your first day, so spill it! How are your new coworkers? Are they giving you trouble? Are there some sexy hunks around?"

I smirk as I remember Ethan. "Everyone is real nice. Director Smith assigned a great mentor to show me around. We went over the paperwork, I got the employee card…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stop avoiding the real question. What about the guys?"

"Amy…" I groan. "You know that I'm not interested in anyone. After what Nick did—"

"That's exactly why you need to get laid, girl! To show that fucker you never cared about him."

I did care about him. A lot. Much more than he did for me, apparently. "I don't want to talk about Nick anymore. I don't even want to think about that asshole."

I make a right turn, only to end up in a completely unfamiliar street. Not surprising. Most of the streets in Bluebell Springs are unfamiliar to me, but this one definitely doesn't lead to my new house. "Hang on," I tell Amy as I fiddle with the phone. "I need to set up navigation."

Amy snorts. "You got lost in that hillbilly town? Isn't it like, one road with a few buildings around it? A general store, a bank. A saloon, maybe?"

"You're such a bitch," I laugh. "Fifteen thousand people live here. It's not a ‘hillbilly town.' And yes, there are tons of streets here, and I don't remember how to find the right one yet."

"The right one to your house. Wow! I still can't believe they gave you a fucking house!"

The navigation informs me I've somehow ended up on the opposite side of the town. Fuck me and my sense of direction. "They didn't give me a house, Ames. I'm only renting it."

"But they're paying for it! You're a house owner now. All grown up. Ah," she sighs theatrically. "Where's the little girl who'd smear her boogers all over Nelson Lester's chair?"

I burst into laughter and nearly miss the next turn. "That was you!"

"I deny that vile accusation," Amy proclaims. "I'm a proper girl in a serious relationship, not some booger-smearing misfit."

My laughter dies. "In a relationship? Please, Amy, don't tell me you've taken Craig back? After everything he said to you? He's not good for you, Ames."

"Well, he says you're not good for me," she grumbles.

My grip on the wheel tightens, my knuckles turning white. "Of course he says that. He's trying to isolate you, Amy. Why are you fighting with your mom again? It's because of something he said, isn't it? He wants you alone and vulnerable so that he can control you. I—"

"Don't, Kayla," Amy interrupts me harshly. "Don't try this psychology crap on me. Craig loves me and I love him. He's not perfect, but at least he never cheated on me."

I don't respond, silently flicking the turn signal. It's devastating to know there's nothing I can say to make my best friend see the truth about the narcissistic manipulator she's dating. Everything I've tried so far just drives her further away from me and more firmly into his clutches.

Amy sighs. "I—I'm sorry, Kayla," she whispers, her voice trembling as if she's about to cry. "That was a low blow. I shouldn't have gone there. But I really love Craig. I'm happy. Please, don't take this away from me."

"I want nothing more than for you to be happy, Ames," I say. I don't mention that she'll never be happy with Craig, because she's not ready to hear it. "We might not be neighbors anymore, but you can always count on me. I want you to remember that. If you need anything, anything at all, just call, and I'll be there in a heartbeat. Alright?"

I hear a sniffle, then some rustling as she presumably wipes away her tears. "Thank you, Kayla. I have to go, but…I'll call you tomorrow, and I will want a full report on every single hot guy in town. Got that?" She sniffles again. "BFFs forever?"

I pull up to my new house and kill the engine, wiping at my own tears. "Forever. I love you, Amy. Please, be careful."

"You too." Her voice grows serious. "Make sure you lock up tight before you go to sleep. Who knows what kind of pervs live in that dump you moved into?"

I roll my eyes. "There's virtually no crime here, Amy. If anything, it's much safer to live here than in Kansas City. Everyone I met today smiled at me." Well, almost everyone. Mr. Arrogant barely even looked at me.

"Yeah, well, serial killers smile at people, too. Before butchering them. Lock the damned doors, Kayla. I don't want to attend your funeral. Black is not my color."

That makes me laugh again. "Girl, you are as black as they come, just like me. Black is literally our color."

Amy's laughing too, then stops abruptly. "I gotta go," she whispers. "Later, bitch."

The line goes dead, and I just know Craig walked in on her, and she had to cut our conversation short to avoid getting in trouble for talking to me. It's messed up, but she's not ready to see it yet.

Sighing, I get out of the car and gather the groceries. I was excited about moving here, standing on my own two feet, getting a fresh start away from Nick, but that was back when Amy had just broken up with Craig and swore to never take him back. Now, I regret leaving. Even though she won't admit it, she needs me, and I'm now all the way across the state.

I contemplate going back home. All of my things are still in boxes, piled high in the middle of my living room. I could call the moving company to have them return everything, but then what? Another sigh escapes me.

There's nothing I can do for Amy now, other than to offer to be there for her. I moved here with a purpose, and I won't back out now.

I unlock the front door, balancing the bag of groceries in my arms to keep it from spilling out onto the front porch. My front porch.

All my life, I've lived in a cramped apartment with my parents and siblings. When I got out of college and got my first job, I started paying rent, but I still slept in my childhood room. I haven't even taken down the My Little Pony wallpaper. And now, I have a whole house all to myself, with no little ponies in sight.

Granted, with one bedroom and a living room connected to a compact kitchen, it's not a big house. But it's all mine, and in my book, that beats any downsides the house might have. Including the fact that the local cemetery is located just behind the patch of trees surrounding the back veranda. But I've already slept here once and haven't seen any ghosts, so I think I'll be fine.

Ignoring the boxes, I head straight for the kitchen. I know I should be unpacking, but I don't have the energy. Instead, I have a quick sandwich dinner, then make myself my usual cup of tea and settle on the back veranda with a book in my hand.

The evening is quiet, surprisingly so, compared to the noise of the city I'm used to. There are some bugs chirping in the overgrown grass, and I hear a faint TV from one of my neighbors, but there is no traffic, sirens, shouting, or loud music. Just peace and quiet.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I sip my herbal tea. I think I'll like living in Bluebell Springs.