1. Ghosts

ONE

GHOSTS

ONE MONTH LATER

I 'm burying an empty casket.

My therapist says this could be my way of gaining some kind of closure. Even though my husband isn't in the mahogany box being lowered into the hole in the ground, in order to move on, I need to go through the motions of mourning Clay.

He's dead. Those two words have been repeating on an endless loop in my brain since the cops showed up at our house. At first, he was only missing—and I clung to the hope that they would find him. But his car was abandoned. So were his wallet and his phone. And just to make sure that my hopes were smashed into a million pieces, I learned that there was so much blood splashed and spilled all over the driver's side of his Audi, it would have been impossible for him to survive if it was his.

I needed to believe that he did. Clay was all I had… he needed to be alive. But last week the CSIs confirmed my worst suspicions: DNA results were in and that was Clay's blood all over the car.

I already knew he was gone. We started dating at seventeen, and from the moment I agreed to be his girlfriend, we were never apart. We got married at twenty. If Clay was alive, even bleeding out, I absolutely believe he'd claw his way back to me.

He didn't, and now I'm a widow at fucking twenty-two.

I'm not a stranger to tragedy. This isn't the first time that I've stood at a graveside, dressed all in black, watching my whole world disappear into the ground. Five years ago, I did the same thing, burying my mother. Only she was in the box, and I'm not sure what's worse: not knowing what happened to Clay but ‘burying' him anyway, or knowing how my mother died and not being able to change it.

At Caroline Preston's funeral, I was one among hundreds. Nearly all of Gullhaven came out to mourn her. Her fiancé, Rick. Our neighbors. Her boss at the clinic, plus her fellow nurses. Most of my high school class were there, too, but I wasn't naive enough to believe they gave a shit.

Oh, no. They came to gawk. To point. To stare. To whisper, too, and murmur to each other about what they were doing that fateful night when she died.

Everyone knew what happened on Halo Island. Every single Gullhaven High senior was on the island, celebrating our upcoming graduation. It was a beautiful weekend in mid-May, with our teachers and a handful of parent chaperones on site to keep us from getting up to no good on the small island about fifteen miles off of the coast of California. We booked every cabin and campground the island boasted for our class of one-fifty, but we all knew that the lake in the center of the island was off-limits once the sun went down.

No one was supposed to go there, but when my mom didn't return to the cabin I shared with a handful of my friends, I went searching for her. Unlike Clay, she was easy to find, bobbing face-down on the surface of Halo Lake.

They said my mother drowned herself. That she wanted to die. Why? She'd only just gotten engaged to Rick Tallows. My dad died when I was three and, until Rick came along, it was only the two of us. I was getting ready to graduate GHS, my mom looking forward to spending the rest of her life with her new fiancé. She wouldn't have committed suicide, but she did drown.

As for Clay…

I don't know what happened to him. I don't think I ever will.

Oh, the cops say the case is open, but when I arranged for this farce of a funeral, accepting my husband was gone… I got the idea that they'd only solve the mystery of his death if the answer fell right into their laps.

My mom's funeral was crowded. Today, I'm the only mourner.

If I had Clay's body returned to me, I'd bury him in California with the rest of our families. Since I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone who knew him back home that I'd given up hoping he'd turn up alive again, I threw enough money at a funeral home to go through this so I could say it was done next time I met with Dr. Lucas.

I'd rather tell my therapist that than discuss the unsettling feeling I've been struggling with lately. Ever since the cops showed up at my door, I just… I just can't shake the feeling I'm being watched.

It hits me now. It's November in New Jersey, and though I've lived on the east coast for almost five years, I was a Cali girl for most of my life. I'm dressed warmly in a black sweater, black jeans, and a long black peacoat. That should be enough to chase away the chill, but as the coffin reaches the bottom of the grave, I shiver—and it's not because of the weather.

I clutch the single red rose I'm holding tightly, grateful that the funeral director sheared off the thorns. He's a stern man in his early forties who met me at the grave before disappearing to give me privacy once the cemetery staff member started to lower the empty casket. I'm supposed to toss the rose on top of it once he's done, a symbol of saying goodbye to my husband.

I'll never say goodbye to Clay. If that means I'll take this rose home and press it between two pages of a book, I will—but, first, I turn to see if someone really is watching me.

There never is. Whether it's the alley between my neighbor's lot and mine, or the shadows of our backyard, I never actually see someone there when my senses are tripped… but now?

I do .

My heart skips a beat when I spy a very familiar man waving at me once I notice he's there. He has on a sleek black leather jacket—probably the only piece of black clothing he owns—and a pair of dark denim jeans. Aviator sunglasses hide his deep blue eyes, and he steps lightly in his heavy boots, purposely moving around the recently covered grave plots as though he can't bring himself to disrespect the dead.

Thomas Gillis.

What is he doing here?

His tousled black curls waft in the November breeze. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his expression turning from friendly to sympathetic as he moves to join me by the graveside.

He gives me that old familiar crooked smile. "We've got to stop meeting at funerals."

That's right. The last time I saw him, it was during another tragedy. Another funeral. Clay's parents both perished when their private plane went down over the Cascade Mountains in California. Their bodies were recovered, though they were in no state to have an open-casket funeral, and me and Clay flew out West for the first time in years to make all of the arrangements for the Riverses.

Tommy was there. It was awkward for all of us, especially when he noticed the ring on my left hand and casually asked if his wedding invite got lost in the mail. The truth was that Clay and I eloped without telling any of his family—since I had none—or any of our friends. But he showed up at the funeral to support Clay, and I know I shouldn't be that surprised he's here now.

But I am. I can hardly believe he's here and for a simple reason, too: I didn't tell anyone except Dr. Lucas, Detective O'Halloran, and the funeral home I hired that I was ‘burying' Clay.

I drift closer to him, forcefully swallowing the lump that lodged in my throat when I initially recognized him. "Tommy. You came."

Tommy removes his right hand from his jacket, flicking his sunglasses up so that they're nestled in his mess of curls. His gaze sweeps over my face, taking in the deep purple bags under my eyes, plus the tight smile I can barely offer him.

His hand lands on the shoulder of my coat. "Clay was my best friend. I had to."

Even after everything that happened, Tommy still thinks of Clay as his best friend. I haven't shed a single tear since I arrived at the cemetery earlier, but that realization has my eyes stinging.

It's true. Clay and Tommy were incredibly tight when we were kids. Even in high school, they were loyal friends who did everything together… and that included eventually falling for the same girl.

Me .

I still have my regrets about how that all went down. When my mother died, I was only six months away from turning eighteen. I could've returned to my childhood home, but the idea of living in it alone gutted me. Especially with graduation only a couple of weeks away, I had to stay in Gullhaven. I just didn't know where.

Tommy wanted me to come stay with him. It made sense. We'd been in a committed relationship since freshman year when boys started looking less like friends and more like boyfriends. He was mine, and we were so serious that, by the time we were on the cusp of graduating, the town gossips were making bets on how long before he popped the question.

Then my mother drowned on Halo Island and everything changed…

I couldn't stay with Tommy. Besides his mother being a bit of a prude—no mixed-sex sleepovers at the Gillis house which just meant Tommy and me snuck over to mine to fuck—there was also the fact that he had one younger brother and two younger sisters. It was too full of a house for me; I was used to being an only child with a single parent. But Clay…

Clay had both of his parents at home, but that only meant the big Rivers mansion was their address. So busy with work and building their wealth and reputation, they were rarely there. Clay convinced them that he didn't need a live-in nanny by the time he was thirteen. At seventeen, he ruled the entire place on his own.

He didn't have to ask his parents if I could stay. The three months I lived with Clay in his family home, I think I saw them twice. They smiled, thinking I was Clay's new girlfriend and, well, by the time summer ended, I was. We were foolishly, desperately in love, and I had to make a choice.

I had to break Tommy's heart and admit that, while his best friend was doing his girlfriend a favor, they fell for each other. When Clay left at the end of August for New Jersey, there was nothing keeping me in Gullhaven. I followed him there, and we'd lived together ever since.

But that big house in Gullhaven… it's one of the reasons that, when we moved to Little Falls, we bought a decent-sized two-floor house instead of a McMansion. With Clay's money, we could've afforded something much larger, but that's not what he wanted. When he wanted to be with me every moment he could, there was no reason for us to have more than a handful of rooms.

Now they're all empty. He's gone, and like how I put my mom's house up for sale without ever spending another night inside of it, once this burial is over, one of the first things I'll be doing is looking for a good real estate agent.

At least, that was the plan. Now that Tommy's here…

"How did you know?" I ask him. For him to fly out just in time… "About the burial today. I didn't tell anyone."

A flash of guilt dances across his face. It might've been five years since I was his girlfriend, but I've always been able to read Tommy. "You sure you want to know?"

I squeeze the rose's stem so tightly, it nearly snaps. "Yes."

He holds up his hand. "Okay. I don't want you to think I'm stalking you or anything, Cyn, but when news got back to us at home that something happened to Clay… how you sounded when you called… I didn't want to bother you for updates. The cops wouldn't talk to me because, shit, why would they? So I set up an online alert. Any news that might've popped on Clay's case, I'd get a message sent to me."

That's pretty smart, actually. Considering I feel like the LFPD has been giving me the run around, I should do the same thing.

"Anyway," he continues, "I got a notification three days ago. Clay's name was on this funeral home website, saying there would be a private burial for Clayton Rivers today. I figured, even if you didn't want to invite any of us, I could still come, hide out in the crowd." His gaze darts around the empty graveside. "That obviously didn't work, but I'm even more glad I came. No one should have to mourn by themselves."

Fuck. Fuck . Those tears stinging my eyes from before? They begin to spill over.

Tommy Gillis, man.

I blink them back. After how much I hurt him when we were kids, I don't deserve his sympathy. I sure as hell won't stand here and cry, grieving over the man I cheated on him with, all while Tommy joins me as the only other mourner.

And then he smiles again. There's pain in that smile. Heartache. Matching grief.

Two warring thoughts dash through my mind: I'm so fucking sorry , and one of the things my devoted husband said to me time and time again over the last couple of years…

Clay loved me. I don't doubt that one bit. When we got together, we both lost Tommy, and despite my three-year relationship with him, Clay gave up his lifelong best friend when he chose a happy-ever-after with me.

I feel so fucking cheated. He promised me forever and all we got were five short years.

He wouldn't have left me. Someone took him from me, and if I ever find out who, I'd kill them myself. I really would. He was my life, and now that he's gone, I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do.

Tommy knows. Murmuring words of sympathy, saying all the right things that people who go to the funeral say even when those truly shattered by the death don't want to hear it, he lets me surreptitiously wipe away my tears as I realize that this is it. This is goodbye.

My husband is gone, and I'm little more than a ghost.

The wind cuts through me. My long blonde hair blows all around and I wish I would've pinned my hair up. I didn't because Clay liked it down. He liked it long. It was something small I could do, and as I shove my hair out of my face, I don't even think about taking a hair tie out to pull it back in a ponytail.

When I don't respond to Tommy, he falls silent. I crave the quiet. His presence at my side does help, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm not alone—or because it's Tommy fucking Gillis who is standing mere inches away.

Our hands brush. An electric charge rushes through me, and I take a hurried step away from him.

Tommy clears his throat. "What's your plan now, Cyn?"

I blink at him, not comprehending what he's asking me.

"You know. Clay… he's not here anymore. There's nothing keeping you in New Jersey." He hesitates for a moment. "Is there?"

Only the fact that Clay died here and I don't think I could ever truly move on with my life if I never find out what happened to him. Is that enough of a reason to stay? I'm going to sell our house; that's non-negotiable since I can't stay there any longer without seeing my husband everywhere . But I don't have a job here. I didn't want one, and Clay was more than happy to have a stay-at-home wife. Because I rarely left the house, I didn't make new friends. I don't even have a pet. I could pick up and leave as soon as I decided to… but where would I go?

I shake my head, and Tommy answers my unsaid question.

"What about home?"

"Gullhaven?" Is he serious? "You think I should move back to California?"

"I mean… yeah. Cyn, I know you left because of what happened to your mom?—"

I turn my head away from Tommy. "I don't like to talk about that."

"I get it. I do . But Gullhaven is home. I'm sure you have good memories there, too."

I fell in love with Clay in Gullhaven.

I fell out of love with Tommy in Gullhaven.

He moves closer. Through the late autumn temperature, I can sense his body heat reaching out for me. "You have friends there, Cyn. Not for nothing… you have me."

Damn it.

I shift on my heel, tilting my head back so that I can meet Tommy's gaze. It's guarded, and I know how much it cost him to admit that—in his way—he still cares enough about me to make that offer.

Just like Clay thought he might.

"Clay always said…" Another lump lodges in my throat. It's so hard to get the words out. "He said…" I shudder a breath out through my nose, struggling to hold onto the last shred of composure I have. Every time I think I'm all cried out, the tears sting my eyes once more and I'm proven wrong again and a-fucking-gain.

Tommy takes my hand, squeezing it. "I know, Cyn."

I told him that night I called Tommy and told him Clay was missing. When the panic gave way to icy numbness if only for a few moments, I managed to utter the words in a flat voice. If anything ever happened to him, get Tommy. Call Tommy. Go to Tommy. He'll be there for you. Clay told me that, and I told Tommy, and when he swore he'd be on the next flight out to Newark, I hung up the phone after I refused his offer.

But he didn't listen, did he? Oh, he gave me my space this last month, but now he's here… and Clay told me to turn to Tommy if I needed help.

He's not here, but if there's one thing I've always done, it's listen to what Clay told me to do.

Gullhaven.

Can I really return to Gullhaven?

And, if I do, will the rumors that chased me out of the small coastal town all those years ago be there to welcome me home?

There's only one way to find out—and I don't think I can do it… until Tommy moves to stand next to me, our shoulders touching, and I experience the first sense of peace since the cops knocked on my door.

For the first time since Clay left me, I'm not alone.