A Moment Too Late

by Rachael Brownell

  “What did yours say?” I ask, sliding my card back into the envelope and flipping it over so I can stare at the little heart again.

  “The same thing yours did basically. That she loved me but wanted me to be happy. She knew I was in love with you and made me promise to be good to you, to take care of you, to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

  Memories of the morning I left for spring break flash through my mind. The look of devastation on Sam’s face. I always assumed she was sad because she was going to be alone for the week. Now I can see the hurt in her eyes. The pain in her stare. The concern in her voice as it shook while pleading with me.

  She wanted time alone with me before she dropped her knowledge bomb. Time without Jay around. Time where it was just the two of us. Best friends hanging out.

  Hoes before bros.

  What she’ll never know is that I’d always choose her over a guy. She was my sister at heart. If she didn’t want me to be with Jay, if she asked me to stay away from him, I would’ve. My heart may have shattered in my chest, but I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

  “What now?” I ask. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sam gave us her blessing. We didn’t deserve it then and we don’t now. I don’t know what to make of this,” I say, motioning to the envelope on the table.

  “I think we take her words to heart. We spend the rest of our life proving that there was a reason we couldn’t stay away from each other back then, that we were meant to be together, to love each other with our whole hearts. We get married this summer the way we’re planning to. We have nine more kids and live happily ever after.”

  “Nine!” I screech, slapping my hand over my mouth and closing my eyes, hoping my voice didn’t carry up the stairs to where Sammy is sleeping thanks to Uncle Spencer.

  “Fine, seven, but you’re not getting me to go any lower,” Jay jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  “You’ll be lucky to get two more out of me, Mr. Ross.”

  “Ooh. So formal. And what if I want three more, Mrs. Soon-to-be Ross?”

  “One step at a time. You put a ring on it. It would be nice to be Mrs. Ross before popping out another mini you.” Leaning in close, I press my lips against his as I say, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t practice.”

  “Are you sure you’re not pregnant already? You’re awfully horny these days,” he notes before pulling me close and capturing my lips with his.

  When I finally pull away, breathless, I mentally calculate the last time I had my period, rule out pregnancy, then drag my soon-to-be-husband up to our room to practice. We barely get across the threshold when Sammy wakes up, his screams echoing down the hall as I reach for the button of Jay’s jeans.

  “I’ll get him,” Jay offers, kissing me on the forehead before leaving me and my raging hormones standing in the middle of the room.

  And he wants nine more?

  I laugh at the thought of ten kids running around the yard as Jay and I watch from the swing he hung from the front porch last weekend. Ten might be a bit too many for me but I’m not opposed to having more. Especially when I see my sexy-ass-fiancé walk back in the room, shirtless, with our son pressed to his chest.

  “Someone was missing his mama I think,” he says as Sammy catches sight of me, wiggling his entire body, a huge grin on his face.

  All I can do is smile. I couldn’t be happier with the way my life is turning out. I only wish Sam was here to be a part of it. Though, there are times I swear she is here, watching over all of us. Keeping us safe. Smiling down.

  “There’s something I think I’d like to do,” I say to Jay as I situate myself on our bed, resting against the headboard with Sammy curled in my arms. “I’ve been thinking about it all week, but I want your opinion.”

  “Okayyy,” he says, drawing out the word. Nervous curiosity looks adorable on him.

  “I want to talk to Ben Royal.”

  “Why?” he asks before I can continue.

  Shooting him a look that screams ‘calm down’ he nods his head and takes a seat at the end of the bed facing me.

  “I want to interview him. I want to complete the profile. I need to complete it.”

  “What’s nagging at you?” he inquires, knowing I’m leaving out the most important facts.

  “It was too easy. He was a textbook case, yet he went undiscovered for five years. Yes, the police screwed up, overlooked things, but I think there’s more to the story than we know. I want a complete profile, one without holes in it, and I want to write a book. The story of Sam’s murder.”

  “A book? Like a murder mystery?” Jay wrinkles his brow in confusion.

  “No. I want to write her story. I want the world to know what an amazing person she was. It’ll be more of a biography of her life, told through the eyes of the people who knew her best. And part of it will be told through Ben’s eyes.”

  Letting my confession sink in, Jay stares at me for a few minutes before finally nodding his head.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I need to talk to him,” I state firmly, my voice strong even though the words cause my heart to stop in my chest at the thought of confronting him.

  “I’m recording this conversation for research purposes. Anything you say cannot be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?” I ask, staring into his dark brown eyes. They’re filled with humor; the way most killers’ eyes are.

  They find it amusing that I want to speak with them. It feeds their ego. They get to relive their crimes and enjoy the high all over again all by telling me their story.

  This man is no different than any other murderer.

  He may have killed my best friend but that doesn’t make him special.

  Yes, I’ve taken a special interest in him, but that’s personal.

  “I understand. Just like I did last week when we talked. And the week before that.”

  “Thank you. Now, Mr. Royal—”

  “Ben. Please call me Ben. Mr. Royal was my father, and he was not a good man.”

  And you are? I want to ask.

  “Okay, Ben. We’ve talked about how you met Sam in high school. The jealousy you felt when she dated your brother, Brandon. And reconnecting with her when you moved back to town. You’ve explained what you loved about Sam and how you wanted to be with her. You even described in detail the events leading up to the night you killed her.”

  “It was an accident,” he insists, for the millionth time.

  You don’t accidentally carry a tire iron around in a backpack and you certainly don’t accidentally hit someone over the head with it. It’s called premeditated murder, but I don’t correct him. That isn’t why I’m here.

  “Yes, the night of the accident. Can you tell me what happened that night?”

  I’ve been interviewing Ben Royal once a week for the last month. We’re getting to the hardest part of the interview. The night he killed her. I’m not ready for it, I know this, but I also know the story won’t be complete without all the facts. So, I had him start at the beginning.

  Meeting Sam. Falling in love with her. Showering her with gifts in high school, when she was only in ninth grade. He wanted her even back then. Wanted to make her his. He also admitted to being aware that she would never want to date him because he was a screw up.

  Ben was a star athlete but a poor student. The only reason he passed was because his brother, Brandon, who was a freshman at the time, helped him with his homework. Ben was the brawn and Brandon the brains of the family. Ben had failed kindergarten twice, making him a nineteen-year-old senior.

  The verbal abuse from his father started at an early age and never let up.

  The only reason he came back home was to watch his father die a painful death from lung cancer. When his mother asked him to take over the theater, he agreed so he could be close to her. Then he ran into Sam again. She was older this time, a sophomore in college. And he
found her even more infatuating.

  Sam had recently started dating Jay and it enraged Ben. In his mind, Jay wasn’t good enough for her. No one was but him. She belonged to Ben, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way.

  So, he watched and waited for the perfect moment to strike.

  We had it all wrong, though. His sights weren’t set on Sam. He wanted Jay. He wanted him out of the way so they could be together. In his mind, Jay was the problem and if he removed him from the equation, Sam would seek comfort from Ben. The way she had the night at the theater when she was upset.

  He bought the rope and tape from a neighboring town. Stored them in his backpack along with the tire iron and carried it everywhere with him. He was on his way to Riley’s that night, assuming Jay would be waiting in the parking lot to pick Sam up after work the way he always did. When he saw her walking home, alone, he approached her.

  Offered to walk with her.

  She turned him down.

  He persisted, attempting to take her hand, and she pushed him away.

  Sam was a spitfire. If she wasn’t interested in you or you were getting too pushy, she wasn’t afraid to tell you. Her lack of a filter that night was what sent Ben into a fit of rage. He tried to calm her down, to control her, but Sam struggled to get away from him. When he thought he heard someone coming he took the tire iron out of his bag and struck her over the head, planning to knock her out, and carried her to the small, hidden enclosure of the park. The couple entered the park as he was tying her up. He panicked. He hadn’t intended on hurting Sam. Jay was his target.

  He screwed up and he knew it. Knowing he’d need an alibi in case anyone stumbled on Sam, he went to Riley’s, had one drink per usual, and walked back through the park to see if the couple was still there. He watched them run out, rain falling in sheets, drenching everyone and everything.

  When he went back to where he left Sam, she wasn’t breathing. He hadn’t intended to kill her. He only wanted to subdue her so he could talk to her. To explain how they were meant to be together.

  He goes into detail about how he covered his tracks. About how he felt knowing she was dead. That he had killed the one woman he loved.

  Not a single tear is shed by either of us as he speaks. When I finally turn the recorder off and leave the room, I fall to a heap on the floor and let myself cry.

  For my friend. For myself. For everyone who knew Sam.

  “That’s it, right? You’re done now?” Jay asks, as I slide into the passenger seat.

  “I’m done. I have everything I need to complete the book and he’s going to rot in hell for what he did to Sam, whether he intended to kill her or not.”

  I don’t plan to tell Jay he was Ben’s original target. There’s no need. It won’t change the facts of the case. It won’t be included in Sam’s biography, but the profile I’ll be writing will have all the facts.

  Telling him the truth will only hurt him. There’s no reason for him to feel any blame for her death, and I know that’s where his mind will go. It’s not his fault. The only person to blame here is Ben Royal.

  “Where to?” he asks, taking my hand in his after shifting the car into drive.

  “Home. I want to go home.”

  Wherever I am, as long as Jay’s by my side, feels like home.

  * * *

  Want more Jay & Drea?

  Grab the bonus epilogue!

  Readers who’ve enjoyed A Moment Too Late may also enjoy For All The Wrong Reasons. Flip to read chapter one…

  * * *

  In the mood for a LOL romantic comedy? Everyone who joins my mailing list can read my romcom, Dating Dilemma, FREE. Sign up here!

  For All The Wrong Reasons

  GABRIELLE

  * * *

  How does the saying go?

  You only want what you don’t have because you don’t have it.

  Something like that, anyway.

  I hate that saying. It’s ridiculous how much truth lies in one sentence. How much control the heart has over the brain.

  Why can’t they work in tandem?

  Why can’t they agree on how to feel? What to want? What to think?

  The really fucked up part is that no matter how hard we try not to want the things we don’t have, it seems nothing and no one can change the way we feel. You can’t ignore the indescribable need that haunts you all day every day. The constant obsessive thoughts you can’t seem to shake no matter how hard you try. No matter how much you want to think about anything other than the one thing you can’t have.

  Take brownies for instance.

  I loved them. When I had a chocolate craving, they were my go-to. When I was down on myself, I knew I’d feel better after I ate a few. Or a whole pan. Don’t judge. Anytime I needed a pick me up, brownies were there for me. Homemade. Store-bought. It didn’t matter.

  Then I went on a diet. I wanted to get healthy.

  Retract that.

  I needed to get healthy. I’d eaten my weight in brownies over the course of a few weeks, gained ten pounds, and there was no sign of me slowing down any time soon if I didn’t force myself to get off my ass and take back control of my life.

  Why was I eating brownies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

  Gavin.

  My boyfriend of three years.

  The man I thought I was going to marry.

  Right up until the moment he broke up with me.

  It was a real-life Legally Blonde moment. Same ending and all.

  Not as funny when it happens to you in real life by the way.

  He took me out for a nice dinner. Nice restaurants were generally reserved for special occasions. Birthdays. Our anniversary. Valentine’s Day.

  So when he told me where we were going, I couldn’t help but get excited. This was it. It had to be. We’d reached that exciting next step in our relationship. With only a year left of college, he was going to propose.

  I was ready.

  The next chapter of our lives couldn’t start soon enough. I’d been hinting at the future for months. We’d talked about backpacking about Europe together after graduation. Just the two of us. Two months of romance and fun before we had to embark on the real world. Before we had to grow up and act like adults, do adult things, and start our careers.

  Why wouldn’t I think he was about to propose?

  All the signs were pointing to him sliding a sparkly, more than likely small—but that didn’t matter—ring on my finger at dinner. He would tell me how much he loved me. How I was the one who was meant for him. That he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, to start a family, and grow old with me.

  The scene played out in my mind while I got ready, spending extra time on my hair. I made sure my makeup was flawless. I even bought a new dress for the occasion, complete with matching lace bra and panties for the celebration afterward.

  When I opened the door and found him standing on the porch, his face reserved, emotionless, I should have noticed something was off. I was beaming with excitement, a permanent smile on my face and glimmer in my eye. Why wasn’t he? Why did his eyes seem empty, uncaring?

  My focus was on what was about to happen, so instead of worrying, instead of asking the questions I should have, I brushed it off as him covering up his nerves about proposing. I slide my arm through his, even when he didn’t offer it to me. I stood patiently next to the car door waiting for him to open it for me, keeping my hands clasped in front of me to keep them from shaking, my anticipation overwhelming me.

  When he didn’t initiate a conversation on the way to the restaurant, I took the opportunity to tell him how excited I was for tonight. How much I appreciated him taking me out for such a nice dinner. I may have mentioned how lucky I felt to be dating him a time or two. How grateful I was for the way he takes care of me.

  You know, I made sure he knew I was all in without accepting his proposal before he got the chance to drop to one knee. I didn’t want to ruin it for him.

  His repl
y came in the way of a forced smile and a slight nod as he kept his eyes trained on the road.

  Dinner was a lot of the same. I’d talk, he’d pretend to listen, his attention focused on the food in front of him. His silence should have spoken volumes, but all I could hear were wedding bells.

  And they were blaring.

  My vision was clouded by ideas for flower arrangements and possible color schemes. Thoughts of dress styles and potential venues.

  My knee started to bounce under the table when our waiter came over to offer dessert. I’d been too nervous to eat my dinner, but I never passed on dessert, and Gavin knew that. Chocolate was my weakness when it came to all things.

  But he didn’t order chocolate. He handed the waiter his credit card and waved him away with the flick of his wrist.

  The pep in my step fell flat, my knee settling itself down as my heart slowed its pace inside my chest. Sitting across the table from me, Gavin shifted his body so he was directly facing me and then leaned forward on his elbows.

  “We need to talk,” he began, but I barely heard the rest.

  We’re too different. Headed down separate paths. We want different things out of life. It’s best to end things now to preserve our friendship. He’ll always have feelings for me. He’ll always love me.

  The true kicker.

  He’s sorry.

  As he after excuse as to why he was breaking up with me, because let’s be honest . . . all his reasons were excuses, all the little details of the night started to add up in my head. Then I searched further back in my memory. Weeks, months even, and I started to pick up on the tiniest things.

  Missing date night.

  Not returning my text messages.

  Forgetting about plans.

  Avoiding our usual hangouts.

  None of it stood out on its own, but I finally saw what it all added up to.

  Another woman. There was no other explanation.