After the End

by Natasha Preston

  He shrugs and runs his hand over his head, and water drops down his back. His black T-shirt clings to every inch of his body, perfectly accentuating his abs.

  Eyes. Up.

  He turns his key in the ignition, and his car starts immediately. Though there is no snarky comment, the corner of his mouth does lift.

  “You know Karma is a bitch, right?”

  “I didn’t say anything, Tilly.” He reverses out of the parking space.

  “You didn’t have to. This is one of the rare times when I can read your expression.”

  “One of the rare times?” he asks, pulling out of the car park.

  “You can’t be surprised by that. You’re hardly an open book.”

  Silence falls over the car as Linc thinks about my words. He accelerates down the road. “Do you want to know more?”

  Yes.

  I push my damp hair behind my ears. “Know more what? About you?”

  “Well, yeah. If you want to know what I’m thinking, you could try asking.”

  An invitation to get inside Lincoln Reid’s head. So many people would snap that up, but getting deeper involved with him isn’t a good idea. He makes my head pound.

  “Why did you come back for me today?”

  Frowning, he looks at me for a fraction of a second. “You were obviously having car trouble.”

  “I told you to stay away.”

  “You did. I didn’t.”

  His blatant honesty stifles a laugh out of me. “No, you didn’t. Not that I’m not grateful you came back because I am.”

  “Is that all you want to know?”

  “For now,” I reply, laying my head against the headrest and sighing.

  16

  Linc

  Tilly turns up the heat in the car, having no issues with messing with my stuff.

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Do you want to ask me anything? Seems only fair.”

  “Nah, you’re not a closed book.”

  “Oh, you think you know what I’m thinking?”

  “Most of the time, I have a good guess. I’m good at reading people, remember? Maybe you don’t know what you’re doing or what you want, but that doesn’t mean no one else knows you.”

  Just because I don’t know what mood she’s going to be in from one second to the next doesn’t mean I don’t know what mood she’s in when she’s there.

  “I don’t think anyone else knows me.”

  “Not everyone, Tilly. Me. Your parents see what they want to see. Hanna and Mel see, but they don’t speak.”

  She presses her lips together and stares forward, like the windscreen is the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. Her mind is working overtime to absorb the truth in my words. She knows what’s going on and what she’s putting off—of course she does—but she doesn’t admit it to herself. Hanna and Mel are good friends to her, but they’re not honest about the situation with her family because they’re scared of hurting her.

  Tilly needs hard truths. She needs someone to tell her to wake up and start living rather than enabling her to crawl through life, pleasing her mum and dad. Robbie can’t do it anymore, and I promised him I would try.

  “You’re going to need to leave your engine on for a while to dry the car out,” she says after a minute of silence.

  “Will do,” I reply, my shoulders sagging.

  What did I think? That she was going to start opening up to me because I called it as it was?

  If she’s going to talk to anyone, it’s not going to be me.

  “Do you need me to help you with your car later?” I ask.

  “Thanks, but I’ll get my dad to sort it. We have breakdown cover if he can’t.”

  “All right. How are the hands?”

  “Huh?”

  “You were beating your steering wheel as if it were … well, me.”

  She rolls her pretty eyes at me. “Dramatic much? Besides, I would kick you, not hit you. I’ve taken up running, and my legs are much stronger.”

  “You’ve taken up running?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you take to stop yourself from breaking out in hives?”

  “Oh, ha-ha, Linc.”

  I laugh with the playfulness of her voice as well as the words. “Sorry. You were always so anti-workout, so knowing you run now is …”

  “Yeah, I get it. But there is something so freeing about running. When I’m out there, I feel like I can outrun my thoughts, and most of the time, I can.”

  “What about the times you can’t?”

  “Beer.”

  “Solid call, Tilly. Run or drink it away.”

  “Hey, I’ve done years of therapy. This does the same, and it’s cheaper.”

  “Do you want to go running together?” I ask before my brain can engage. It was me who was involved in the accident. I’m partly responsible for Robbie’s death, the very thing she is trying to outrun, and I just asked if she wanted to do it with me.

  She tilts her head toward me. “Want to run now?”

  “I’m kind of driving right now, Tilly.”

  “Have you taken something? All this joking around is very unlike you.”

  “Sorry. I’ll go back to my usual moody self soon,” I say sarcastically.

  “No, don’t. I’ve always liked it when you’re this way. It doesn’t happen nearly enough.”

  And it’s no coincidence that I only ever really feel like this when I’m alone with her. Sure, I can piss around with Jack and Ian and have a laugh, but it’s nothing like this. No one else can make me feel this good.

  “About this run,” she presses.

  “In the rain?” I ask.

  She nods. Okay, I don’t want to get wet, but I’m not going to turn down an opportunity to spend time with her. I don’t care what we do.

  “I’m in.” I pull into my driveway. It’s still raining but nowhere near as hard.

  “Cool. I’ll meet you out here in five?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  With a fleeting smile, Tilly gets out of the car and runs inside.

  I go into the house and get changed into joggers and a T-shirt. Placing my palms on either side of the window frame, I peer outside. We’re going running.

  She’s tipped back onto the pro-Linc side, and she wants us to run. I don’t know how long it’s going to last, as she could hate me again when I get back outside, but I’ll take it.

  I walk through the empty house, looking at everything that’s changed so dramatically that it might as well be a different place. Gone are our photos or the crap my mum used to buy and hang from walls or sit on the mantel.

  The house feels cold all the time.

  I have to get out of here as soon as possible.

  Grabbing my keys and phone, I head out just as Tilly is coming out of her house. She’s dressed in leggings and a longline vest. Her wet hair is tied up, and she’s wearing a smile.

  My body stiffens.

  Jesus, her legs.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  How did we get here?

  I clear my throat. “I’m ready. Where do you usually run?”

  “I don’t plan it. I just run.”

  “Ah, nice and safe then.”

  “What’s going to happen to me in our little town, Linc?”

  I’d argue with her, but what’s the point? Besides, I don’t want to piss her off. I’m not going to give her a reason to turn cold on me. She’ll do that all by herself soon enough, I’m sure.

  She turns around and starts jogging. I follow.

  We pass streets lined with houses with perfectly manicured lawns. Her feet hit the floor, face frowning so slightly, like she’s running from her mind right now. I’m right here, so that’s not going to be possible.

  “All good?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she huffs. “Let’s go right at the end of the road.”

  Toward Robbie’s grave?

  That’s the only thing that’s right. Beyond the cemetery is anot
her town.

  “You want to visit him?” I ask.

  “No. I like to run past.”

  She either likes to torture herself or she finds being near him comforting. I honestly don’t think she knows which one.

  “You’re cool with me running past?”

  “You visit Robbie, Linc.”

  “I do. Alone.”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine with that,” she says breathlessly as we push harder.

  I run faster to keep up with her. “Thank you.”

  “He was your friend, Linc. Just because you were there doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to visit or to be sad.”

  “I used to do this, you know. When we first moved, I would run and run at all hours of the night, trying to forget. For those few hours, I would be free of it. I wouldn’t see the accident over and over on a loop in my head.”

  She stops dead near the entrance to the cemetery, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Do you still see it?”

  “Almost every time I close my eyes.”

  “I’m glad it’s not every time.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  What I don’t tell her is that, when I’m not seeing Robbie die, I’m seeing her after his funeral, telling me to go to hell. It’s no less painful.

  17

  Tilly

  I can’t stop letting Linc in. He’s like a big, muscular, gorgeous magnet that I can’t keep away from for longer than five minutes. Being around him is as comforting as it is painful. All I’ve felt over the last four years is pain, so it’s addictive, feeling something else.

  Linc is back at his house after our run, and I’m in mine. Things got a bit awkward when we ran by Robbie’s grave; neither of us quite knows the right way to deal with the brother issue—either of our brothers, to be fair.

  I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body.

  We picked up the pace as we were walking home, so my muscles are going to be aching tomorrow. I’ve missed the burn of exertion.

  Towelling off my hair, I change into shorts and a T-shirt and head downstairs.

  Dad is the only one home after sorting my car. Mum is in late meetings all week with her team. Something to do with a new product launch at the local department store or whatever.

  “Hey, Dad. How’s it going?” I ask as I bounce into the kitchen.

  He looks up at me over his newspaper and smiles. “You’re chipper, love.”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “It’s good to see. I’m about to sort dinner. What do you want?”

  “Are you cooking, or are we getting takeaway?”

  “Takeaway. Chinese or Indian?”

  Well, I guess I did just run five miles. “Chinese sounds good.”

  “All right. Before I order, I want to talk to you since your mum is working late.”

  Okay. Why can’t he talk to me while she’s here?

  “Sounds ominous.” I sit down and place my palms on the worktop.

  “Nothing to worry about. I just want to check in since you’re out more often than you’re home. If I say anything in front of your mum, she’ll only fret.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “There’s no reason for either of you to be concerned, Dad. I’m okay. You know, you often encourage me to go out more with my friends.”

  “I do. Is it coincidental that you’re getting out more now that Lincoln is home?”

  My heart stalls at the break in Dad’s voice when he says Linc’s name. He’s still hurting. I want to be honest. I want to tell Dad that I’m on friendly terms with him, most of the time anyway, but he’s not ready to accept Linc.

  I’m not pushing.

  “Yes, it’s coincidental. Jack and Ian are spending more time with Linc, so Hanna and Mel are at a loose end.” The lie comes easily. I surprise myself. I’m used to telling them I’m fine, and I want to be at home still, but this seems worse.

  Dad nods, my lie accepted at face value. “As long as everything is cool.”

  “You know what’s not cool? You using the word cool.”

  Laughing, he puts the newspaper down. “I’m not that old just yet, Tilly. Have you seen much of him? I know he’s next door, so it’s hard not to, but he seems to keep to himself.”

  No, he doesn’t. I see him all the bloody time.

  “He’s around, and I see him, but it’s okay. I … I don’t blame Linc the way I used to anymore, Dad.”

  He clears his throat. “All right. Look, I understand what happened that night. I don’t place any more blame on Lincoln than I do on Robbie, so if you don’t want to spend more energy on hating Lincoln, that is okay.”

  “Thank you, Dad. Do you think that Mum will have the same opinion? I mean, I’m not looking to be Linc’s best friend. I’m just so tired of always feeling like I’m being weighed down. I want to let go of everything negative that I cope with.”

  “I’m really glad to hear you say that, love. I wish I could do the same.”

  “You can. It’s not easy, but you can. Trust me, it feels pretty good.”

  Please forgive Linc.

  “I’ll tell you what. If you spend a couple of extra nights at home with me and your mum, I’ll do my best to follow suit. Maybe I’ll say hello over the fence when Lincoln is outside.”

  I laugh. “I can just see that now, you both pausing from cutting the grass to say good morning.”

  “Does Lincoln cut grass now that he’s back? It doesn’t look like anyone is doing it since he arrived,” he jokes. The fact that he can talk about him this easily, even if he is still using his full name, is a start.

  “When I see him, I’ll have to mention that you don’t want to look out of your window and see a jungle next door.”

  He grins. “Do you speak with him?”

  “We talk when I run into him, yes. Briefly.”

  His jaw tightens, but his eyes are free of tension. “You were friends before.”

  “We were. Well, he was Robbie’s friend, but we have more in common.”

  “Ah, the creepy movie stuff. I never got that.”

  “No, you’re a die-hard action fan. Linc and I used to go to Ted’s cinema on the edge of town. Every few months, they would have a horror week and play scary movies all day, every day, in one of the two screens.”

  Smiling, he says, “I think I recall you mentioning that years ago.”

  “Yep. Linc came by to pick me up, and you gave us the third degree.”

  Dad assumed we were going on a date, but that was so far from the truth.

  “Yes, well, a nineteen-year-old man comes by to pick up your seventeen-year-old daughter, and you have questions.”

  “Okay, you make it sound gross. We were horror fans, and none of our friends were; that’s it.”

  He lifts his hands. “I know; I know. Now, pick what you want, and I’ll order food.”

  Dad ends the Linc subject, and I don’t feel like I can say anything else, or he might get suspicious. I want my parents to be okay with Linc. I want to be able to hang out with him and my friends at the same time without worrying that it’s going to get back to Mum and Dad. I would prefer if they just knew, if they were okay with us being friends again.

  I reel off a list of Chinese food that is far too long, and Dad places the order. While we wait for our food, we chat about work, mine and his, keeping things on a safe, surface level that we’ve become accustomed to.

  When the doorbell rings, I go to answer, and Dad gets plates and cutlery ready.

  I open the door and frown. “Greg. Hey.”

  “Hey, is this a bad time?”

  “Er, no. I just thought you were the Chinese delivery guy.”

  Chuckling, he shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint. I just wanted to apologise for that night at the pub again—in person this time.”

  “Yeah, look, I’m sorry that I haven’t called—”

  “It was my fault, Tilly. That man just gets under my skin.”

  From behind me, Dad calls, “Greg, are you joining us?”
/>
  My parents love Greg. They have always liked him, but ever since Robbie died, they love him. I can see the look Mum gives me when he comes by, all doe-eyed and ready to buy a hat. But there is nothing but friendship there.

  Greg is good-looking, sweet, and funny, but I don’t feel an attraction to him. Not even the tiniest spark.

  Blue eyes settle on me, asking if I am okay with him staying. I step to the side, giving him my answer, and just as I do, Linc walks out of his front door. His posture visibly stiffens from across the lawn, face paling.

  I lick my lips as I raise my hand in greeting. He dips his head and then steps back, shutting his door with just a little bit too much vigour.

  Well, that’s great.

  On a sigh, I close the door, as Greg moved past me the second I stepped aside to let him through. I turn and smile.

  “What have you been up to over the last week?” I ask him.

  “Come through, son,” Dad calls.

  Greg waits for me to go into the kitchen and follows. “I’ve been working a lot.” He lifts his chin to my dad. “Hey, Dan.”

  “Did you walk or drive?”

  “Drive. So, I’ll grab a Coke, if that’s okay?” Greg replies.

  “You know to help yourself by now,” Dad says at the same time the doorbell goes again. “I’ll get it. Tilly, take an extra plate over for Greg, will you?”

  I busy myself with the plate as my stomach flutters with nervous energy, the call of next door buzzing through my skin.

  “Are you okay?” Greg asks, sensing my discomfort.

  “Yeah. Hungry.”

  I want to go and see if Linc is okay. But that’s stupid. Greg and I are friends. I don’t owe Linc anything, and whatever issue they have with each other is none of my business. I can speak to each of them without picking sides. I refuse to be in the middle of bad blood.

  “Well, sit down, and let’s eat,” he replies as my dad comes into the kitchen with two full bags of Chinese food, holding them up like they’re some grand prize.

  We dig in, dishing spoonfuls of different food onto our plates. I push some noodles around with my fork before trying a mouthful of egg fried rice. My throat closes as I swallow, making me gag.

  I press my hand to my chest as my body tries to reject the food.