“Are you sure?”
I looked at him. I would never be tired of looking at him. “Yes. And at the end of the night, you took the video that they used in court. Just before you were shot. You died out there in the woods, at the tower, Josh, and—”
“I still don’t understand how I could have been at the tower. Or how I was shot.”
“Those parts don’t matter anymore. The paramedics brought you back. Now you’re healing, and that’s the end of that story.”
“But the other story,” Josh said, “it’s still going, Hadley. We should hear what happened today.”
“Oh my God, enough,” Mia said. “He’s guilty.”
“Mia!” I yelled, reaching between the front seats and smacking her leg. “I said I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want anything about that trial to ruin today.”
“Just because you were scared. You thought he might get off. I’ve seen it in your face—before the trial, during the trial, and the entire time we were planning this trip. But you don’t have to worry anymore. His parents couldn’t fix this, not even with the Baden fortune at their fingertips. Ben is guilty. As sin.”
“For sure?” I asked.
“Yeah. They haven’t scheduled the sentencing hearing, but there’s no doubt Ben will be locked up for years. For the drugs and how they were used. For photographing you and the others. A bunch of the other members are going down, too. The fact that their group was posted on the Internet as a game makes the charges even harsher. At the very least, most of the members are looking at sexual battery and being registered sex offenders for the rest of their lives.”
“I guess that’s good,” I said. “Still, it just doesn’t feel like enough.”
“Don’t forget the wrongful death suit my parents filed against Ben,” Tyler said. “There’s so much proof that Penny did what she did because of him, starting with the note you found in her room.”
I watched Tyler’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He was sad, but he was strong. It would take some time for him to adjust, but he would be okay.
“And then there’s Roller,” Mia said, scrolling down the news feed on her phone. “The article mentions that he was one of the original members of the Free Agents. He’s not only going down for the girls he targeted, but there’ll also be some level of accountability for all of the others. Obviously, the worst will be the charges he’s facing for shooting Josh.
I felt myself breathe—in and out—realizing I hadn’t, not really, since the gunshot and the blood and Josh going still in my arms.
Josh rounded a turn in the road, and a bridge rolled out before us like a silver beam of moonlight stretching from one piece of land to the next.
“It’s over,” I said. “It’s really over.”
“You’re the one who made it happen,” Josh said. “It all came down to you. You were brave enough to face it.”
“I had no idea how big it was. Besides, my decision had more to do with you. And Penny. Everyone had to know the truth. The two of you deserved that much. Not to mention the girls—I had to keep them from hurting more girls.”
I looked out the window, over the rail of the bridge, at the open water glinting below, slow waves churning, making me think that everything might have a chance of being washed clean.
“That,” Josh said, looking ahead, “is Grant Island.”
We were halfway across the causeway when he said it, the words floating through the car and giving everything a slow, dreamlike feel.
“It’s the place I’ve been telling you about,” Josh said, glancing over at me. “I swear to God, we were here. That night.”
“And I keep telling you, no. We stayed in Ohio. We ran from them all night long.”
“We ran here,” Josh insisted.
The tires clipped a chink in the road, and the sound rocketed through the minivan. We had arrived.
“I’ve seen it,” Josh said. “All of it.”
“You were dreaming.”
“He wasn’t dreaming, Hadley,” Sam said with a chuckle. “He was knocked out on a morphine drip those first few days in the hospital.”
“Look, I know it doesn’t make sense, but I swear it’s true. We were here. Me and Hadley. That night.”
“Right,” Brooklyn said. “You stole Ben’s car.”
“Headed to Cincinnati, where you left me and Brooklyn,” Mia added. “As if we’d ever allow that.”
“Then spent the entire night driving,” Sam said. “All the way to Florida.”
“Straight to this island,” Brooklyn said.
“Where you set them up,” Mia added.
“Just like you did in real life. In Ohio,” Sam said.
“I know it doesn’t make any sense.” Josh guided the minivan off the main strip, onto a road that gave me an odd sense of déjà vu. “But I’m telling you. I’ve been here before. There’s a big twisted tree right around this curve. It looks like it’s dancing.”
We were quiet then, waiting, maybe even hoping, for Josh’s sake, that it would be true. But there was no way.
And then, when we rounded the bend, we saw it. Everyone went silent. Thoughts whipped through my mind.
What if?
Could it really be?
Because he was right.
There was a tree—a very twisted tree—with thick branches spiraling outward, like arms spread wide in an invitation to join the dance.
60
GRANT ISLAND, FLORIDA
WE WERE standing at the top of the lighthouse, the ocean breeze washing us clean. Josh’s hands gripped the railing as he gazed out over the open sea.
I stood there, watching him, the way the wind moved through his hair, the gentle sweep of his lashes as he blinked in the light of the fading sun.
Josh had gone quiet as he parked the minivan in the deserted lot, as he opened the driver’s-side door and swung his legs to the pavement. He’d flinched as he slammed the door closed, the still-healing wound from the gunshot smarting as it always did when he moved too quickly. I hadn’t wanted him to drive, but he’d insisted. He’d said he had to be the one to take us over the bridge, the one to cross us over to the island.
Josh had stopped to kneel on the pavement, all of us waiting behind him. The muscles of his back had clenched with a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. And then he’d stood and taken my hand, crossing from the pavement onto sand that stretched all the way to the water, where rolling, white-capped waves tossed themselves against the beach.
I thought he would lead me there, to the strength and calming rhythm of that ocean. Instead, he took me to the lighthouse and pulled me right through a little door wearing a sign that said CLOSED FOR RENOVATION. Past an abandoned umbrella that was cinched tight, leaning against the brick wall, glowing in the sunlight. We climbed up a set of spiral steps, my hand feeling the tingle of recognition as it slid slowly along the gritty surface of the banister. At the top, we made our way out of the lantern room, to the wraparound platform, and stood against the rickety railing.
The others were in the water, just past a pile of hoodies that had been abandoned on the beach, jeans rolled up to their knees, leaping and splashing, their laughter riding the wind that rippled across the sand.
“You’re quiet,” I said. “Are you okay?”
Josh cleared his throat. He looked back at me. “I’m remembering.”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing to remember.”
But I didn’t quite believe that. Somewhere, on the fringe, just out of reach, I remembered, too.
The salty taste of the air was familiar. So was the jagged-edged rock sitting near the toe of my sandal, and the slip of paper beneath it, flapping in the wind. I bent forward, feeling a hot, searing pain slice through my chest. I ignored it, knowing it wasn’t real.
But the rock. And the paper. Those were.
I reached down, the rock’s surface scratchy against the tips of my fingers as I rolled it away. With my other hand, I grabbed for the paper. I wanted�
��needed—to see what it said. But the wind caught it faster than I could, tossing it away. I watched the tattered note take flight, whipping across currents of air until it disappeared.
“It’s better, right?” I asked. “This. Here. It’s better than your dream?”
Josh reached for my shoulders and turned me toward him.
He smiled, his entire face tinted purple from the glow of the setting sun.
“Yes.”
His hands gripped my waist, pulling me close.
And he kissed me.
It was soft and slow, the silky feel of his lips reminding me of moonlight and starlight, the echo of promises, and of fading away.
When he pulled back, he tipped his forehead against mine.
Looked me right in the eyes.
“A million times yes.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A MILLION TIMES GOODNIGHT was inspired during a girls’ night (on the farm) while I was sitting around the most magnificent bonfire of all time, hanging out with a bunch of the finest sister friends a girl could ask for. So much love to my sweet, beautiful, sassy friends, who deserve all the credit for igniting the idea that eventually became this book. (Enough said, right? Because, what happens when you’re with the girls stays with the girls.)
It’s possible that a million people helped me along my journey while writing this book, from the first creative spark by that bonfire to the final version of this final draft, but I don’t have enough space to get through that kind of list, so I’ll stick to the basics:
A million thank yous to those who read various drafts as I created, tore apart, and recreated this intricate plot—Lori Behm, Janet Irvin, Katrina Kittle, and Sharon Short. But most of all, Melanie Singleton, who I believe read every single draft multiple times.
A million Holy-Crazy-She-Liked-It! leaps for joy in honor of my ever so talented, insightful editor, Alison Weiss, whose guidance brought additional depth and clarity to each draft. Also to Bonnie Cutler, a member of Egmont USA, who supported this title from the very start. And finally, to the entire team of Sky Pony Press, including Julie Matysik, Georgia Morrissey, Sarah Brody, Karla Daly, Denise Roeper, and Joshua Barnaby, I cannot express how much I appreciate the time and support that was offered during each step of this process.
A million and one moments of gratitude to my super-agent, Alyssa Eisner Henkin, who patiently encouraged me through every draft, offered creative suggestions for improvement, and ultimately helped me see the dream of this book through to publication. (We quite possibly logged a million hours on the phone during the process.)
A million thanks to my father, Keith McBride, for many discussions exploring the complexities of time and time travel. Analyzing both reality and fiction with you will always be one of my favorite things in life.
A million hugs to Diana Dermody and Maxine Purnhagen for helping wrangle the kidlings while I wrote, rewrote, and rewrote again. Friday afternoons at Grammy’s quite literally saved this book’s life. And playtime with Grandma Di is always the best distraction.
A million kisses to my children and husband for all of their patience, understanding, and love as I locked myself behind closed doors and hunkered over the screen of my laptop, typing away. You make leaving the world of my imagination and coming back to reality the most beautiful part of it all.
A million cheers to all of my readers. Thank you for believing in me and for helping me believe in myself. Much love.
A Million Times Goodnight Page 22
