“Where are we going?”
“Secret hot springs,” he said. “I signed up for two hours, so we should have plenty of time.”
“You have to sign up to go to the hot springs?”
He turned off the truck. “This one, yeah.”
“Why?”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Oh,” I said, letting out a nervous—and unflattering—giggle. “I get it. To prevent interruptions. So I guess people will just think you and your secret girlfriend are getting serious.”
He grunted and opened the door.
We walked down a path in the woods, passing several large No Trespassing signs. The air grew heavy with moisture, a thin mist curling between the trees.
Voices up ahead broke the enchanted silence of the woods. Gibson clasped my hand in his and walked in front of me, blocking me from view. My heart rate kicked into overdrive, but Gibson squeezed my hand, leading me forward.
“There you are,” a male voice said. “What in the hell are we doing out here?”
“Damn it, Gibs, you said there would be breakfast."
“I’m all for meeting your lady friend, but couldn’t we have done this at Moonshine?” That sounded like Scarlett. “Where there’s caffeine. And pancakes.”
Gibson stopped and, without letting go of my hand, nudged me so I’d stay behind him. “No, we couldn’t do this at Moonshine.”
“Okay, well, we’re all here.” The first voice again. Maybe Bowie? “You gonna tell us what this is about?”
He took a deep breath. “I do have a woman staying at my place, but she’s not my girlfriend.”
“You mean Maya who works for the fancy record company ain’t your girlfriend?” Scarlett asked.
“No, she’s not. And her name isn’t Maya. Well, it is now, but it didn’t used to be.”
It was as if the entire forest had gone silent. I didn’t even hear a bird chirp.
“Gibs,” Scarlett said, her voice tentative. “What are you talking about?”
Squeezing my hand again, he glanced over his shoulder and nodded. I met his eyes and nodded back. Here went nothing.
Gibson drew me out from behind him. I clutched his hand, suddenly afraid to let go.
Steam rose from the water of the nearby hot springs, shrouding the area with mist. A group of people stood, mostly in pairs, around the clearing. Most I recognized. A few were new faces, but it was easy to tell who everyone was. Gibson’s brothers, Jameson and Bowie, with Leah Mae and Cassidy. June stood in front of George Thompson. A man who had to be Jonah Bodine was on the end, holding hands with a woman I took to be Shelby. Scarlett was with her boyfriend Devlin. And giving me a reassuring smile was Jonah’s mom, Jenny.
All eyes were on me. I searched their faces for signs of recognition. Did they know me on sight? Would all of Bootleg know if I showed my face?
“Y’all, this is Callie,” Gibson said. “The real Callie.”
No one said a word. They stared at me, glanced at each other, and eyed Gibson with confusion.
“Bullshit,” Scarlett said, finally breaking the silence. “Since when did you get a sense of humor, Gibs?”
“I’m serious,” Gibson said, his tone thick with impatience. “Maya Davis is Callie Kendall.”
Jenny stepped forward, her smile warm. “It’s true. This is Callie. We met last year, just like I told you.”
I struggled to find my voice, the vestiges of my old self warring with my identity as Maya. I wanted to sound calm and collected. At peace with who I was. But I was anything but.
“It really is me. I know I look a little different.” I touched the scar on my face. “But I’m Callie Kendall. Or I was. I haven’t been Callie for a long time.”
“Oh my god. Jenny, you’re sure this is her?” Scarlett asked, then turned back to me. “No offense intended, but we’ve been fooled by a lookalike once. And then there’s all the misinformation, what with you supposedly being dead, and Jenny saying you’re not.”
“Pose a question only the real Callie would answer correctly,” June said.
Bowie turned to her. “Juney, I think this is really her.”
“We need proof,” June said, her tone completely matter-of-fact. “I also intend no offense. But we need to be certain.”
“None taken.” I took a deep breath. It meant reaching into the box, but I could handle digging through memories of my summers with all the kids in Bootleg. “Go ahead. Ask me something.”
“I have one,” Bowie said. “The last summer you were here, who fell off the roof of the Rusty Tool?”
It took me a second, but the memory came to me. I smiled. “Nash Larabee.”
Bowie nodded. “And how many bones did he break?”
“Zero,” I said. “People said it was a miracle. But two days later, he tripped on the flat sidewalk and broke three. That night you drove him down to the lake in a recliner tied up in the back of someone’s pickup.”
“She’s right,” Jameson said. “I remember that.”
“Yeah,” Bowie said, his voice awed.
“There’s still something I gotta see.” Cassidy stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Would you mind pushing your sleeve up a bit?”
Gibson shifted closer. Was he growling?
“Easy, Gibs,” Cassidy said. “Like Juney said, we need to be certain.”
I pried my hand from Gibson’s and held out my arm, palm up. I knew exactly what she was looking for, although I had no idea how she would know this. With a deep breath, I pushed the sleeve almost to my elbow, revealing my tattooed forearm.
Tattooed, and scarred.
Cassidy gently held my wrist and looked closely at my arm. Touched it gently, feeling the ridges of my scars. She nodded and spoke quietly. “Your tattoos are real pretty.”
“How’d you know what was under them?” I whispered.
“I’ve seen a picture.”
My stomach felt like it had turned to ice, but I just nodded, quickly pushing down my sleeve.
“It’s her,” Cassidy said. “It’s Callie Kendall.”
“You’re here?” Scarlett asked, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re really alive and you’re standing right here.”
My eyes started to sting. “Yeah.”
“I’m hugging you now, that’s just what’s happening.” Scarlett came forward and threw her arms around me.
I hugged Scarlett back, tears breaking free from the corners of my eyes. Cassidy was next, then Bowie, Jameson, and Leah Mae. They introduced me to the others—Devlin, Shelby, Jonah, and George. Jenny wrapped me in a tight hug and by the time we were finished, my vision was blurry from crying.
“I’m glad you’re not deceased.” June gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder.
“Thanks.” I wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Me too.”
“Wow,” Cassidy said. “This makes a lot of sense, but I have even more questions than I did last night.”
“What are you talking about, Cass?” Scarlett asked.
“After Gibs told us the friend-named-Maya story, I did a little digging. I found a Maya Davis on Attalon Records’ website, but it was almost impossible to find any more information. No photos of her. And there’s nothing prior to twelve or thirteen years ago—like she didn’t exist. But I guess she didn’t.”
“I know you have so many questions—”
“Only like a million,” Scarlett said. “Where have you been all this time? Why did you disappear? Why didn’t you ever come back?”
“She did come back,” June said. “She’s right there.”
“But why did it take thirteen years?” Scarlett continued. “Why did my daddy help you, and why did he keep your sweater?”
“Enough,” Gibson said, his voice booming through the woods. “Scar, I think we all know why she left. And she couldn’t come back for the same reason. It wasn’t safe. It still isn’t.”
“The judge,” Devlin said.
“You didn’t give yourself those scars, did you?” Cass
idy asked.
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Did you ever try to tell someone?” Shelby asked. “A friend or maybe… a teacher?”
I started to say no, but that wasn’t true. “Once. I told a teacher, but only because she was persistent. Nothing ever came of it, and I was too scared to try again. I hid the evidence under my clothes. As for your dad, Scarlett, he found me on the side of the road and agreed to help me get away. But I don’t know why he kept the sweater.”
“His drunk ass probably forgot he had it,” Gibson said.
“I think he kept it as a reminder of something good he’d done,” Jenny said. “He had a lot of regrets in his life. I should know; I’m one of them.”
“Oh, Jenny, don’t,” Scarlett said.
“It’s okay, I made my peace with that a long time ago,” Jenny said. “But I really think that’s why. Maybe it was something he felt he could be proud of.”
My stomach churned with nausea. I needed to change the subject—stop talking about that night. There were hazy spots in my memory that made my vision seem blurry. Like something was trying to break free. I shied away from it. “I want you all to know how sorry I am for disappearing. I’m sorry you didn’t know I was okay.”
“She didn’t have a choice,” Gibson said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“Where did you go?” Scarlett asked.
“A little town in upstate New York called Blue Moon Bend. A couple, Quincy and Henna, took me in. They were friends of a friend. I think you’d have to meet them to understand why, but I knew I could trust them to help me. I went to them thinking they’d shuttle me off to the next place where I could hide, but they insisted I stay. They’re amazing people. A little odd, maybe, but amazing. They took very good care of me. Helped me heal. I lived there until I was nineteen. Since then, I’ve been all over the world.”
“Where do you live now?” Leah Mae asked.
I hesitated, not sure how to answer. “Well, I was just on tour with a band—Outbound Platinum. Before that, I was in Seattle for a little while. Before that, it was Nashville.” I paused again, thinking back. My trips tended to blur together. “I was in London for a few months. I don’t have a permanent place to live, really. I stay in hotels a lot. Sometimes rent a temporary apartment. If I’m in L.A. for more than a few days, I crash with a friend. And I try to get out to Blue Moon every so often to see Quincy and Henna.”
“Always running,” Jenny said.
I’d never thought of it as running, but perhaps there was a bit of truth to that. My lifestyle made it easier to stay hidden. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“But you can come back now,” Scarlett said.
“Not so fast, Scar,” Gibson said. “I need to make something perfectly clear. This stays between us. To everyone else, she’s Maya. Anyone so much as thinks the name Callie in front of other people, I’ll break them in half.”
“Gibson, you know I can’t do that,” Cassidy said.
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. I could feel Gibson getting angry. “Your dad needs to know, too. I’m prepared to talk to him, as long as we can keep it quiet for now.”
“Gibs is actually right about keeping her a secret,” Devlin said. “We can’t forget what we’re dealing with here. There’s a falsified forensics report, harassment, not to mention more than one mysterious death that could be tied to the judge.”
Jonah stepped forward. “I’m seconding this. We need to be very careful.”
“He’s dangerous,” I said. “Please don’t underestimate him.”
“Which is why y’all are going to keep your fucking mouths shut,” Gibson said.
“Of course we’ll keep her safe,” Scarlett said. Her mouth turned up in a little grin. “But y’all realize you’ll have to keep up the pretense that you’re dating, right? People might look at you twice, but if we all stick to the story that you’re Gibson’s girlfriend Maya, it’ll work.”
My eyes darted to Gibson, but I couldn’t read his expression. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“She’s right,” Leah Mae said. “We want to control the narrative. In this case, it means giving Bootleg Springs something else to talk about.”
“A distraction,” Devlin said, nodding.
“And let’s be honest, Gibs,” Bowie said, patting him on the back, a big grin on his face. “You walking around town with a girl on your arm is going to be one hell of a distraction.”
12
MAYA
Gibson’s family left the hot springs in small groups about ten minutes apart. They didn’t want anyone in town noticing that we’d all been out there at the same time. I watched June and George go—the last of the group besides me and Gibson. June was telling George what sounded like a complicated plan to take a winding route back to town to throw off any pursuers. She didn’t seem swayed by George’s good-natured reminder that no one was actually in pursuit.
We left shortly after and went straight back to Gibson’s house. Someone had left a tin-foil-wrapped dish outside the front door with a little note. Gibson brought it inside and tossed it on the counter, grumbling about nosy neighbors.
He got two calls and a text, all from different family members confirming that the Kendalls weren’t in town. Their house had been vacant for at least several days, maybe longer. That was good news. There was a low risk that I’d run into them unexpectedly.
Which meant I could go into town.
After a late breakfast of scrambled eggs—Gibson cooked today—we decided it was time to see if we could pull off our plan. Either I was going to show up in Bootleg and cause an uproar, or they were going to buy our story that I was Maya.
We went outside and Gibson locked the door behind me. It was still warm summer weather here in West Virginia, the sun bright in the clear blue sky. We walked out to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath my sandals.
“What happened to your old truck?” I asked. “The blue one you used to have.”
“It died,” he said. “It was old when I got it, and I wasn’t exactly easy on it. I’ve had this one for a few years. I got it mostly to haul lumber, but I’ve been driving it full-time for a while.”
We both got in and I fastened my seatbelt. “Why?”
“I hit a patch of ice trying to avoid a deer last winter in my other car,” he said. “Wound up hitting a tree instead. I had to save up to get the body work done. And now I have to wait because my guy’s busy. But I don’t trust my baby with anyone else.”
“Your baby?”
“Nineteen sixty-eight Charger,” he said with pride.
I could imagine him in a hot muscle car. “That’s literally the perfect car for you.”
“Yep.” His lips turned up in a little smile. “She purrs like a kitten.”
Shifting in my seat, I looked out the window. He really needed to stop being so effortlessly sexy. He was killing me.
We headed out the long drive toward the road, then down the twisting highway that led into Bootleg Springs.
I braced myself as the town came into view, expecting to feel a rush of anxiety. The last time I’d seen this place was the day I left.
But instead of hitting me with a flood of bad memories, the sight of Bootleg Springs was comforting. It had changed in thirteen years, but not so much that it wasn’t recognizable.
There were more stores and restaurants than I remembered, but the town still had a quaint lived-in feel. The buildings were worn, but friendly. A small knot of senior citizens sat on benches outside the Brunch Club. And a chicken strutted her stuff down the sidewalk, stopping to scratch and peck.
“Is that Mona Lisa McNugget?”
Gibson glanced over as he parked. “Yep. I think this is Mona Lisa the fifth, though.”
“I guess I don’t know the lifespan of a chicken. They just keep renaming them Mona Lisa?”
“It’s tradition.”
I really had missed this place.
He found a spot and turned off his truck,
but paused, not reaching for the door handle to get out. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
I fluffed out my hair and slipped on my oversize sunglasses. “I’m ready.”
I’d decided to wear a tank top today, letting my tattooed arms show. Callie had always worn long sleeves to hide her wounds. But as Maya, I’d tattooed a delicate mandala pattern over my scars. Not only did it make them almost invisible, it had been my way of taking my body back.
Gibson got out and I followed him onto the sidewalk, shouldering my big handbag. I turned a slow circle, letting the moment sink in. I was back in Bootleg Springs.
A tingly feeling skittered up my spine. Henna would say it was a premonition, or the energy of the universe telling me something. I decided it meant I was where I was supposed to be—that I’d made the right decision in staying.
Without quite looking at me, Gibson cleared his throat and took my hand in his. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or irritated at having to hold hands. Gibs had always been a little rough around the edges, and it was becoming clear that time hadn’t softened him. If anything, he was harder now than he’d been when I’d known him before.
Not that it bothered me. He wasn’t trying to hide anything. So many of the artists I worked with adopted a mask, an identity they showed the world. Usually it was the person they thought their fans expected them to be, but it wasn’t really who they were.
I got the sense that with Gibson, what you saw was what you got. I liked that about him.
I also liked the way it felt to walk with him down the sidewalk, hand in hand. But I knew I shouldn’t dwell on that.
He led me toward Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee. Heads turned as we walked, people’s eyes darting between the two of us. It made me a little nervous, but it didn’t seem like anyone recognized me. I doubted even Gibson would have known who I was if he’d seen me with big sunglasses on.
And they weren’t really looking at me, anyway. They were looking at us. Maybe he’d been right—Gibson Bodine walking around town with a girl was gossip enough.
The scent of coffee and sugary baked goods filled the air as Gibson held the door open for me. I kept my sunglasses on for now—I figured it worked with my look, what with my wild hair and tattoos, and they made me feel like I could hide in plain sight.
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 9
