Prologue

"Aww,Dad, does she have to come?"

Bronson stared down at the ground and kicked it with the toe of his shoe, not looking at his father as he whined.

Boys could be real babies, I thought—a silent snicker bubbled up in my throat—and there he was complaining about being around a girl. But my little heart sank at the notion of them leaving me behind.

"Now, son, what did I tell you last time about being kind to everyone, including Lake?"

Bronson scuffed his foot a few more times across the earth and sent a cloud of dirt up into the cool morning breeze. As I waited on pins and needles, the birds chirped around us ready to start the day. I was eager as a beaver too, but the only good way to begin each day was with Bronson.

"Fine," he huffed, looking up at his father with a resigned expression, before looking over at me. "Lake, do you want to go fishing with us?"

His tone may not have been as chipper as those birds still singing, but that was okay, I'd gotten what I wanted. I beamed a bright smile at my favorite person in the world and accepted his offer with glee like a child on Christmas morning.

Spending the day with the boy that stood in front of me was better than any present I could ever receive, even if he looked like he'd just sucked on a mouth full of Sour Patch Kids candy.

I'd been following Bronson around since the day I could walk. Or tried anyway. When his dad was around it was easier to worm my way into their fold, but when it was just him or his friends it was a lot trickier. Since my parents were friends with his father, his dad always tried to include me.

That day fishing, something shifted and things began to slowly change. And as we got older, having me around seemed like something he actually enjoyed. Over time, and through the years, we became best friends. Our connection was unbreakable.

But it turns out, I was very wrong.

The bond I thought we had was a mirage in my mind.

Throughout the years, the memories of Bronson were always there. However, after he left, I'd done a pretty decent job of pushing them to the furthest place in the back of my mind to avoid the sadness they brought.

Yet since responding to the emergency call that led me to him so many years later, I couldn't contain the flashbacks of our time together growing up. They played over and over like ancient, classic black and white movies.

Moments that couldn't be locked away or forgotten.

There were so many happy times that thinking about them should've only brought me joy. But when he left me without ever looking back, my teenage heart was ripped from my chest. While he was my best friend, my feelings had also gone well beyond that.

For one second, when he'd pressed his lips to mine so long ago, I'd thought he felt the same. But then he said goodbye, never to return to me.

After so many years had passed, he was suddenly there. My eyes misted with tears that I worked so hard not to shed.

As an EMT, I saw some awful things, but that night in February when I saw Bronson on the icy-cold ground with a gunshot wound to his back, my world went topsy-turvy, and for a split second my training flew out the window.

I'd stumbled at first, pausing, a precious moment that couldn't happen when it came to my job, but I'd been thrown for a loop.

I might have lost him long ago but I wouldn't watch him take his last breath there that night when I could help save him. Just as he'd helped me so many times when we were growing up. Whether it be soothing me from a skinned knee, tears over a fish out of water, or the mean kids in school.

So many feelings erupted inside me when my eyes landed on the man, not the boy that I'd once known, lying on the stretcher. I gasped in surprise as I took in his uniform. Bronson was a cop?

How long had he been close by, never wanting to see me?

Shaking off the melancholy feeling rushing through me, I leaned over closer to him, hoping he could hear me. "Bronson, it's Lake, you're going to be okay. I'm going to make sure of it."

When I heard him groan my name, my heart lurched in my chest. It had been a long time since I heard that voice, even if it was unclear and filled with pain.

We got him in the ambulance and getting to work, I started an IV. I'd always prided myself at being exceptional at my job. There were reasons the profession called to me. First and foremost was because of my daughter's battle with asthma. But honestly, the need to help others had been inside of me for as long as I could remember.

Cold fingers lightly circled my wrist, dragging me out of my thoughts and my gaze whipped down to Bronson who looked up at me with his brownish-green globes.

His woodsy scent that drifted to my nose matched his eyes, reminding me of the bark and moss on the trees surrounding the lake we grew up on and called home. And just like that, I was catapulted back in time and lost in his stare.

Bronson whispered my name, grabbing my attention once again. It was the second time in less than ten minutes I'd heard him speak. For just a second I let the sound wash through me knowing he'd be lost to me soon and I'd probably never hear it again.

"Lake, is it really you?" His voice was scratchy and unsure. "I must be dreaming," he said, garbled. And then he closed his mesmerizing eyes.

Swallowing down the golf ball sized lump in my throat, a tear slipped down my cheek that I couldn't hold back any longer.

I sent up a silent prayer that the only boy I'd ever loved—even if he'd broken my heart—would be okay.

Once we got him to the hospital, I couldn't make myself leave until I heard how he was doing. Standing in the shadows of the waiting room, I could see he was very much adored, if the mob of people waiting for him and a couple of others that were brought in was any indication.

When the doctor came to let everyone know he'd made it through surgery and would make a full recovery, I knew that was my cue to leave.

Right before heading out the door, a beautiful pregnant woman who I'd learned Bronson saved, turned, and looked at me. Her head tilted slightly as she studied me for a second, a curious but warm look on her face. I couldn't tell what she saw but my emotions were on overload and I needed to get out of there.

When something else grabbed her attention and she turned away, I made a hasty exit.

Bronson would probably never remember or know I was there. It was for the best. The old wound that had been dug up at the sight of him was enough to bring me to my knees, a state I couldn't afford.

I had to be focused and strong.

For Stormi…