The moment Shelley hit the water, Marcus froze. It was like the world had stopped spinning, every sound around him muffled into a distant hum. For a second, he couldn't move. His mind refused to process what had just happened. One second, she was running, her feet pounding against the dock in her panic, and the next, she was gone—swallowed by the dark, glassy surface of the lake.
"Shelley!" Elijah's voice cut through the fog in Marcus's head, sharp and panicked. Elijah didn't hesitate. He shoved past Marcus, his boots slipping on the wet wood as he dove headfirst into the water.
Marcus snapped out of his stupor, his heart hammering in his chest. "Shit," he muttered, stepping closer to the edge of the dock. His eyes scanned the water, but it was too dark to see anything beneath the surface. The lake looked menacing now, its calm ripples mocking him as his stomach twisted in fear.
"She can't swim!" Elijah's voice came again, muffled by the water as he surfaced for air.
Marcus felt a cold sweat break out across his skin. He cursed himself for not paying closer attention earlier, for not stopping Shelley when she stormed away. "Do you see her?!" he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.
Elijah didn't answer. He took a deep breath and dove again, his arms slicing through the water as he disappeared beneath the surface.
Marcus paced the dock, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a normal day. A joke. A stupid prank to cheer her up after everything she'd been through. He didn't think—he never thought—
"Come on, Elijah," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. "Where is she?"
The seconds dragged on like hours. Every ripple in the water sent Marcus's heart into overdrive. He felt the weight of it all pressing down on him—the fear, the guilt, the helplessness. He couldn't do anything but wait, and it was killing him.
Finally, Elijah resurfaced, gasping for air. But this time, he wasn't alone.
"I got her!" he choked out, his voice strained as he fought to keep Shelley's limp body above the water.
Marcus didn't stop to think. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the dock, reaching down and grabbing Shelley under her arms. Her body was heavy, waterlogged, and terrifyingly still. Marcus gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength, hauling her onto the dock.
Elijah climbed out after her, collapsing onto the wood as he coughed and sputtered. "She's not breathing," he gasped, his voice shaking with panic.
Marcus's heart dropped into his stomach. He leaned over Shelley, his hands trembling as he tilted her head back. Focus. Don't think. Just do.
"Call 911!" he barked at Elijah, his voice sharp and commanding. Then he pinched Shelley's nose, sealed his lips over hers, and started CPR.
"Come on, Shelley," he muttered between breaths, his voice breaking. "Don't do this. Don't you dare do this."
Elijah scrambled for his phone, his wet fingers fumbling as he dialed. His lips moved in frantic prayer as he watched Marcus work, his normally carefree demeanor replaced with raw, unfiltered fear.
Seconds stretched into eternity. Marcus pressed down on Shelley's chest, again and again, his mind racing with every worst-case scenario. He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't.
And then, finally, Shelley coughed.
Water sputtered from her mouth as her chest heaved, her body jerking weakly. Marcus let out a shaky laugh of relief, his hands still pressed to her chest.
"She's breathing," Elijah breathed, his voice thick with emotion.
But Shelley didn't open her eyes. Her breaths were shallow, her face pale, her body limp.
"We need to get her to the hospital," Marcus said, his voice steady now, though his hands were still shaking. "Now."
The ambulance ride was a blur of flashing lights and muffled voices. Shelley lay strapped to the gurney, her body shivering beneath the thin blanket they'd thrown over her. Mrs. Beauregard sat next to her, clutching Shelley's hand like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
"Shelley, baby, can you hear me?" Mrs. Beauregard whispered, her voice cracking. Tears streaked down her face, but she didn't seem to notice. "Please, honey bun, stay with me. Just hold on."
Shelley's world was fragmented, her thoughts slipping in and out like waves lapping at the shore. The fluorescent lights above her blurred together, spinning in dizzying patterns. Her mother's voice sounded far away, like it was coming from underwater.
She tried to speak, but her lips wouldn't move. Her body felt heavy, like it was sinking into the gurney, and her lungs burned with every shallow breath she took.
Clarence, she thought faintly, the image of his face flashing in her mind. His smile, his laugh, his hand brushing against hers. She wanted to see him, to tell him—
"Stay with us, Shelley," a paramedic said, his voice cutting through the haze.
The next thing she knew, she was being rushed into the emergency room. The cold air hit her like a slap, and she felt hands on her body, lifting, adjusting, moving her onto a hospital bed.
"She's hypothermic," a voice said. "Get a warming blanket."
"Ma'am, you'll have to step back," another voice added, more firm.
"No—please, I can't leave her!" Mrs. Beauregard cried, trying to push past the nurse.
"Mary," Mr. Beauregard said softly, his voice strained. He placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back gently but firmly. "Let them do their job."
Mrs. Beauregard hesitated, her eyes locked on Shelley's pale face, before finally letting herself be led away.
Shelley's thoughts spun in and out like a carousel. She caught brief flashes—her mother's tear-streaked face, the worried furrow in her father's brow, the cool efficiency of the nurses as they worked around her.
Why can't I move? she wondered vaguely. Why can't I speak?
And then, just as quickly as the chaos began, the world faded to black.
Marcus leaned against the doorframe of Shelley's room, his arms crossed as he peered inside. She hadn't noticed him yet—her focus was glued to her phone, her thumb lazily scrolling while her face remained fixed in a deep, sullen expression. Her curls framed her face like a halo, but there was none of her usual spark. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her brows furrowed slightly.
It had been days since he'd seen her smile. No sarcasm, no teasing remarks, no playful shouts echoing through the house. Just this version of Shelley—quiet, withdrawn, and… well, sad.
Marcus frowned. He wasn't the type to get sentimental, but seeing his little sister like this tugged at something deep in his chest. She was supposed to be the one who kept them all on their toes, the one who could dish out as much as she could take.
"What's her deal?" Elijah's voice broke the silence. Marcus turned to see his younger brother leaning against the hallway wall, his arms full of laundry.
"She's been acting like this for days," Marcus muttered, stepping back into the hallway. He gestured toward her room. "Look at her. She's just lying there, staring at her phone like it holds the meaning of life or something."
Elijah raised an eyebrow. "You think it's a guy?"
Marcus shrugged. "Probably. Either that or she's just being dramatic."
Elijah smirked, shifting the laundry in his arms. "Well, if it's a guy, we better make sure he's worth it. If it's just drama, we still have to fix it. Can't have Shelley moping around the house—it's weird."
Marcus nodded, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Agreed. So, what's the plan?"
Elijah set the laundry down on the floor and rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "We're going full siblings day. No excuses. No escape. We're gonna annoy her so much that she forgets whatever's got her feeling down."
Marcus chuckled. "You're thinking chaos?"
"Always chaos," Elijah replied.
When Shelley finally opened her eyes, the room was quiet. The harsh fluorescent lights had been dimmed, and the steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence.
Her parents were sitting nearby, their faces drawn and tired. Mrs. Beauregard's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white, while Mr. Beauregard sat stiffly in his chair, his jaw clenched.
The doctor entered the room, his expression calm and reassuring. "Good news," he said, his voice breaking the tension. "Your daughter is stable. She's going to be fine."
Mrs. Beauregard let out a shaky breath, tears streaming down her face again.
"She's a lucky girl," the doctor continued. "If her brothers hadn't acted so quickly, things could've been much worse. I'd strongly recommend swimming lessons, though. If she plans to spend time near the lake, it's best she knows how to swim."
Mr. Beauregard nodded, his voice low. "Thank you, Doctor."
As soon as the doctor left, the room erupted.
"What were you thinking?!" Mr. Beauregard snapped, his voice booming. "Who let her near that lake in the first place?"
"She's a grown girl, Joseph!" Mrs. Beauregard shot back, her voice just as loud. "She doesn't need permission to go near some water!"
"She almost died!"
"She's alive, isn't she?"
Elijah, who had been standing quietly in the corner, raised a hand. "Uh, not to interrupt this lovely parenting moment, but…" He cleared his throat. "Shelley's dating someone. That's probably why she was upset."
The room went silent.
"What?" Mr. Beauregard's voice was dangerously low.
Elijah shrugged, his expression far too casual for someone who had just dropped a bombshell. "It must be the white boy in that pickup. You know, the one you saw at the barn two weeks ago."
Shelley blinked slowly as the harsh fluorescent lights in her hospital room came into focus. Her body felt heavy, her limbs weighed down by exhaustion, but at least the burning in her lungs had subsided. Her head throbbed faintly, and her throat was dry, but she was alive.
Alive.
That realization hit her like a wave, and she let out a shaky breath.
"You're awake," Marcus's voice came from the foot of her bed. She turned her head and saw both of her brothers standing there, looking completely out of place in the sterile hospital room.
Elijah grinned, his arms crossed. "Took you long enough. We were starting to think you'd sleep through the rest of the week."
Shelley rolled her eyes, though the motion was sluggish. "You two are idiots," she croaked, her voice hoarse.
"Yeah, but we're your idiots," Elijah replied, winking.
Marcus stepped closer, his expression a little more serious. "You scared the hell out of us, you know that?"
Shelley's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Didn't think you cared that much."
"Of course we care, dumbass," Marcus said, his voice gruff. "You're our sister. Who else is gonna keep us in check?"
Shelley let out a weak laugh, her chest tightening with unexpected emotion. She glanced between her brothers, their familiar faces anchoring her in a way that nothing else could.
"Thanks," she murmured. "For, you know, saving my life."
Elijah waved her off. "Don't get all sentimental on us now. Just promise us one thing."
"What?"
"No more running off to lakes when you're upset," Elijah said, his smile fading slightly. "Next time, just… talk to us. Or yell at us. Or throw something at Marcus. Whatever works."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Blame me as usual."
Shelley chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. "I'll think about it."
The car ride home from the hospital was quiet, the tension hanging thick in the air. Shelley sat in the backseat, her head resting against the window as she watched the familiar landscape roll by. She felt drained, both physically and emotionally, but the relief of being alive outweighed everything else.
Mrs. Beauregard turned in her seat to look at her daughter, her eyes still red from crying. "When we get home," she said gently, "you better pack your bags."
Shelley frowned, glancing up at her mother. "What? Why?"
Mr. Beauregard, who was gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, answered without looking back. "We're going to Louisiana. To see Yaya."
Shelley blinked, caught off guard. "A road trip? Now?"
"It's not up for discussion," Mrs. Beauregard said firmly, though her voice was soft. "We all need a change of scenery. And your grandmother's been asking about you."
Marcus groaned from the passenger seat. "A road trip? Really?"
"Marcus," Mr. Beauregard warned, his tone sharp.
Marcus sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Fine. Guess I'll start packing."
Shelley didn't argue. She didn't have the energy to fight it anyway. The knock on the front door echoed through the house, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the chaotic buzz of packing. Shelley glanced up from her half-filled suitcase, furrowing her brow. She didn't expect anyone to visit—not now, not after everything that had happened.
"Shelley!" Mrs. Beauregard's voice called from downstairs, cheerful and light, almost as if the tension from the past few days had evaporated. "Honey Bun, it's Amanda!"
Shelley froze mid-fold, her fingers gripping the edge of a t-shirt she had been carefully rolling into her bag. Her blood ran cold as her mother's words sank in. Amanda.
She hadn't seen Amanda since prom night. Not since the betrayal that left her humiliated and angry, wondering how someone she'd trusted so much could have done something so cruel. Shelley's stomach churned, a mix of anger and dread clawing its way up her throat.
For a moment, she thought about staying upstairs, pretending she hadn't heard her mother. But the sound of Amanda's voice—bright, false, and so painfully familiar—floated up the staircase, pulling Shelley from her thoughts.
"Oh, Mrs. Beauregard, it's been so long!" Amanda's overly sweet tone grated on Shelley's nerves.
Shelley gritted her teeth, her fists tightening by her sides. She didn't want to see Amanda, didn't want to hear her fake laugh or watch her charm her way back into her family's good graces. But avoiding her wasn't an option. Not with her mom downstairs, probably already offering Amanda lemonade and reminiscing about their childhood friendship.
With a deep breath, Shelley stood and smoothed her shirt, forcing herself to look composed. Her legs felt heavy as she descended the creaky wooden staircase, each step amplifying the tension coiling in her chest.
The foyer came into view, and Shelley's stomach twisted further.
The space was small but cozy, with polished hardwood floors that gleamed under the light of a vintage chandelier hanging above. A faded, handwoven rug covered the center of the room, its intricate patterns softening the edges of the sturdy oak furniture. A narrow wooden bench sat against the wall to the right of the door, its surface cluttered with boots, a pair of work gloves, and Marcus's baseball cap. Above it hung a large mirror in a carved wooden frame, its surface slightly warped with age.
Standing in the center of the space was Amanda, her presence brighter than anything else in the room. Her shimmering ponytail swung back and forth as she tilted her head and laughed at something Marcus had just said.
Marcus, leaning casually against the doorframe to the living room, was grinning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was clearly enjoying the attention Amanda was lavishing on him, but there was an edge to his expression—like he was playing along for the sake of entertainment.
"You're still as much of a flirt as ever, Amanda," Marcus drawled, his tone teasing but distant.
Amanda giggled, twirling a strand of her ponytail between her fingers. "I can't help it. You always know how to make a girl laugh, Marcus."
Shelley clenched her jaw, the sight of Amanda's overly familiar behavior making her stomach churn. She couldn't decide if she was more annoyed with Amanda for shamelessly flirting with her brother or with Marcus for encouraging it.
When Amanda spotted Shelley at the base of the stairs, her face lit up with an exaggerated smile. "Oh, Shel!" she exclaimed, stepping forward with open arms. "I've missed you!"
Shelley stiffened, her hands gripping the banister for support. Amanda's voice sounded far too enthusiastic, like she was trying to sweep everything under the rug with a single greeting.
Mrs. Beauregard appeared from the kitchen, a dishtowel slung over her shoulder, her face beaming. "Isn't it nice to see old friends?" she said warmly, clasping her hands together.
Shelley forced herself to walk forward, though every step felt like a monumental effort. Amanda closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Shelley in a quick, perfunctory hug. The scent of Amanda's floral perfume was suffocating, and Shelley barely managed to suppress a grimace.
"It's so good to see you," Amanda said, pulling back and giving Shelley a look that was just a little too wide-eyed to be genuine.
Shelley didn't respond. She simply stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest as her gaze flicked to Marcus, who was watching the interaction with thinly veiled curiosity.
Amanda seemed oblivious to Shelley's cold demeanor—or maybe she was just pretending not to notice. She turned back to Mrs. Beauregard, her voice taking on a nostalgic lilt. "Oh, Mrs. Beauregard, do you remember when Shelley and I used to spend entire summers together? We were inseparable back then!"
Mrs. Beauregard's face softened, her smile growing wistful. "Of course I remember. You two used to run around this house like wild things. I'd practically have to drag you both inside for dinner."
"Those were the days," Amanda said with a sigh, glancing at Shelley with a fond expression. "We had so much fun, didn't we, Shel?"
Shelley's lips pressed into a thin line. She could feel her mother's gaze on her, could see Amanda's hand reaching out to rest lightly on her shoulder. She wanted to scream, to tell Amanda she didn't get to waltz back into her life and pretend like nothing had happened.
"Shelley," Mrs. Beauregard prompted gently, her voice tinged with confusion at her daughter's silence. "Isn't it nice to see Amanda again?"
Shelley finally looked up, her eyes meeting her mother's. "No," she said flatly.
The room went silent.
Mrs. Beauregard blinked, her smile faltering. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I mean Amanda isn't welcome here," Shelley said, her voice steady and sharp. She turned to Amanda, her gaze cold and unwavering. "You don't get to pretend we're still friends. Not after what you did."
"Shelley!" her mother gasped, her face a mix of shock and disapproval. "Where are your manners?"
Amanda's cheeks flushed, though she quickly masked her embarrassment with a tight-lipped smile. "It's okay, Mrs. Beauregard," she said sweetly. "Shelley's just upset. I'm sure we can work this out."
Mrs. Beauregard frowned, glancing between the two girls. "The both of you need to talk. Clearly, there's something going on here." She motioned toward the back patio, her tone firm. "Go outside. I'll bring some lemonade. But I don't want to hear shouting, do you understand me?"
Shelley opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut her off with a raised hand. "Out. Now."
The back patio was bathed in the soft golden light of the setting sun. The crickets had already begun their evening song, and the faint scent of wildflowers drifted through the air. But the peaceful atmosphere did nothing to ease the tension between Shelley and Amanda as they stepped outside.
Amanda leaned against the wooden railing, her arms crossed and her expression sharp. The fake sweetness she'd displayed in front of Mrs. Beauregard was gone, replaced by something colder and more calculating.
"What's your deal, Shelley?" Amanda snapped, her voice low but biting. "You embarrassed me in front of your mom."
"My deal?" Shelley shot back, her voice rising slightly. "You have the nerve to show up here after everything you did, and you're worried about being embarrassed?"
Amanda rolled her eyes, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. "Oh, come on. You're still mad about prom? It was just a stupid date. Get over it."
"It wasn't just a date," Shelley hissed, stepping closer. "You went after my date. My friend. And then you have the audacity to show up here, smiling in my mom's face like you're some kind of saint?"
Amanda smirked, her lips curling into something cruel. "At least I'm not sulking around like a little kid. Seriously, Shelley, grow up."
Shelley's fists clenched at her sides, her anger bubbling over. "You know what your problem is, Amanda? You think you can take whatever you want and people will still like you. But guess what? No one actually does. You're fake, selfish, and honestly? You're not even that interesting."
Amanda's face flushed red, her composure slipping. "Screw you, Shelley," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.
Before Shelley could respond, the patio door creaked open, and Mrs. Beauregard stepped outside, carrying a tray of lemonade.
"Everything okay out here?" she asked, her tone light but her gaze cautious.
Amanda plastered a smile back onto her face, grabbing her bag. "Actually, I should go," she said quickly. "Thanks for having me, Mrs. Beauregard."
Mrs. Beauregard frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly as Amanda disappeared inside. She turned back to Shelley, her voice low. "What just happened?"
Shelley smirked faintly, leaning against the railing. "The trash took itself out."
The sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting streaks of amber and lavender across the sky. Shelley stood on the back patio, her arms folded over her chest as her eyes drifted toward the treeline. The distant hum of crickets filled the air, mingling with the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
In her mind, words unfurled like a poem, unbidden and vague:
The earth swallows what it cannot hold,
and the lake keeps secrets in its depths.
But the sun rises again,
even after the darkest nights.
A heart may drown, but it learns to float—
a quiet defiance against the pull of black earth.
The words lingered, heavy and restless, but Shelley shook them off. She reached for one of the glasses of lemonade her mother had left on the tray earlier. The glass was cool against her palm, and the tart sweetness of the lemonade grounded her as she took a sip.
With the glass in hand, she stepped back inside. The house was quieter now, the earlier chaos of packing reduced to a low hum of movement upstairs. She turned into the living room and spotted Marcus lounging on the couch, flipping through his phone.
She walked closer, her footsteps deliberate. "We need to talk," she said flatly, standing over him.
Marcus raised an eyebrow, lowering his phone. "What's your problem now?"
Her grip tightened on the glass of lemonade. "My problem," she said, her voice ice-cold, "is that you stood there flirting with Amanda like she didn't completely humiliate me at prom."
Marcus sighed, leaning back into the couch. "Shelley, it wasn't like that."
"Really? Because it sure looked like you were enjoying the attention," she snapped. "Do you even care how that made me feel?"
"I care," Marcus shot back, his voice rising slightly. "But what was I supposed to do? Slam the door in her face? She was here, and Mom was watching. I was just being polite."
"Polite?" Shelley scoffed, setting her glass on the coffee table with a sharp clink. "She's not just some random girl, Marcus. She's Amanda. She's the one who ruined prom for me. She's the one who—"
"I know what she did!" Marcus interrupted, standing now. His voice softened as he added, "But you can't keep letting her get under your skin. She's not worth it, Shel."
Shelley's lips parted, but she closed them again. Her brother's words stung because they weren't entirely wrong. Still, she wasn't ready to admit that—especially not to Marcus.
"Whatever," she muttered, turning on her heel. "Forget it."
"Shelley—"
But she was already heading toward the stairs, her heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration.
Shelley climbed the stairs, her footsteps slower now as the weight of the day settled on her. She stepped into the hallway and froze when she saw Elijah standing outside her room, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his head bowed like a guilty child.
"Elijah," she said, her tone wary. "What are you doing?"
Elijah looked up, his eyes darting nervously to meet hers. "Hey," he said, his voice unusually tentative.
Shelley's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"
He scratched the back of his neck, glancing down the hallway as if checking for witnesses. "Look, before you get mad, just hear me out, okay?"
Shelley crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "This should be good."
Elijah sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I… I may have mentioned to Mom and Dad that you were, uh… seeing someone. Like a summer fling type thing."
Shelley stared at him, her expression unreadable. "You what?"
"I didn't mean to, okay?" he said quickly, holding up his hands. "It just kind of slipped out when Dad was freaking out about the lake. I thought it might explain why you've been so… you know, moody lately."
Shelley's eyes burned with a quiet fury, but her voice remained calm. Too calm. "You had no right to tell them that."
"I know, I know," Elijah said, his voice rising in panic. "But I thought maybe it would help them understand. Dad already saw that guy's truck at the barn a few weeks ago, so it's not like it was a huge secret."
Shelley straightened, her arms falling to her sides. "I don't care what you thought. It wasn't your story to tell."
"I'm sorry, okay?" Elijah said, his voice cracking slightly. "I didn't mean to screw things up."
Shelley stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head. "I have to protect my peace," she said softly before stepping past him and into her room.
Elijah watched her go, guilt twisting in his stomach as she closed the door behind her.
The warm glow of the neon "Stacey's Diner" sign lit up the sidewalk as Amanda approached, her eyes glued to her phone. She was typing furiously, her thumbs dancing over the screen as she ignored her surroundings.
She didn't notice the figure walking toward her until she bumped into them, her shoulder colliding with theirs.
"Sorry," she mumbled, barely glancing up before continuing toward the diner.
The stranger paused, watching her retreat with a faint frown.
Inside, Stacey greeted her with a bright smile. "Amanda! Long time no see. Where's Shelley? You two used to be glued to the hip."
Amanda's stomach twisted at the mention of Shelley. The memory of her harsh words from the patio resurfaced, stinging like a fresh wound. She forced a smile, brushing off the comment. "Oh, you know… we've been busy."
Stacey raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Amanda slid onto one of the bar stools, sighing heavily as she ordered a milkshake.
Moments later, the stranger from outside entered the diner. He was tall, with a confident stride and an air of quiet authority. He scanned the room before his gaze landed on Amanda.
"You," he said, his voice firm but calm.
Amanda turned, startled. "Excuse me?"
"You bumped into my little sister outside," he said, gesturing toward a young girl sitting at a nearby table, her face scrunched in frustration as she tried to clean up a spilled milkshake.
Amanda's cheeks flushed. "Oh, I—I didn't notice. I'm sorry."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Didn't notice? She's ten."
Amanda glanced at the girl, guilt flickering across her face. "Let me buy her another milkshake," she offered quickly.
The man studied her for a moment before nodding. "Fine."
As the two waited for the new milkshake, Amanda found herself relaxing. The man's sharp demeanor softened as they talked, and soon their conversation turned playful, even flirty.
"So," Amanda said finally, tilting her head. "What's your name?"
The man smirked. "Clarence."
Amanda's smile faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered, her curiosity piqued. "Nice to meet you, Clarence."
The two locked eyes, an unspoken tension settling between them as the milkshake arrived.
Amanda shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other as she studied the man sitting next to her. Clarence. The name echoed in her mind, tickling a faint sense of familiarity she couldn't quite place. His presence was confident but not overbearing, his sharp eyes carrying a quiet intensity that made it hard to look away.
"So, Clarence," Amanda began, her voice breezy as she tried to regain some control over her nerves. "I take it you're the overprotective big brother type?"
Clarence smirked, leaning back slightly against the counter. "Something like that. Someone has to keep an eye on her, especially when people are too busy staring at their phones to notice they're barreling into her."
Amanda flushed, her cheeks turning a soft pink. "Okay, okay, I get it. I was distracted. I didn't even see her."
"Clearly," Clarence replied, his tone dry but teasing.
Amanda crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "You're not exactly making it easy to apologize, you know."
He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "I'm just giving you a hard time. Don't worry about it. You made it right with the milkshake." He tilted his head toward the little girl sitting a few tables away, happily sipping on the fresh drink Amanda had bought.
Amanda followed his gaze and softened slightly. "She's cute. What's her name?"
"Annalise," Clarence said, his voice softening as he glanced at his sister. "She's a handful, though. Always running around, getting into trouble. But she's got a good heart."
The way he spoke about Annalise caught Amanda off guard. There was so much care in his voice, so much love. It wasn't the kind of thing she was used to hearing from guys, especially ones like him—self-assured, sharp-tongued, and, if she was being honest, irritatingly attractive.
"She's lucky to have you," Amanda said before she could stop herself.
Clarence's eyes flicked back to hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw something shift in his expression. "I do my best," he said simply.
Amanda cleared her throat, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. She picked up the straw in her milkshake and stirred it idly. "So, what brings you to this little diner? Passing through?"
"Something like that," Clarence said. He didn't elaborate, and Amanda got the sense he wasn't the type to overshare.
"Very mysterious," she teased, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked again, his lips curling in a way that made her heart do a small, unwelcome flip. "What about you? You seem pretty familiar with this place. Stacey greeted you by name."
Amanda shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "I grew up around here. This diner's been a go-to spot for as long as I can remember."
"Seems like a nice town," Clarence said, his tone neutral.
Amanda let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Nice? Sure, if you like everyone knowing your business. It's the kind of place where secrets don't stay secret for long. And even if you don't have any, people will make something up just to keep things interesting."
Clarence raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
Amanda hesitated, her fingers tightening around her straw. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt like opening up to him—a stranger she'd barely met—but there was something about the way he looked at her, steady and unassuming, that made her feel like he'd listen.
"Let's just say I'm not exactly the town's favorite person right now," she admitted, her voice quieter.
Clarence leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the counter. "Why's that?"
Amanda hesitated again, debating how much to share. She glanced at Stacey, who was busy wiping down tables, and then back at Clarence. "I… had a falling out with someone. Someone I was really close to. And people talk, you know? They pick sides. It's messy."
Clarence nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "And how much of what they're saying is true?"
Amanda blinked, startled by the directness of his question. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Clarence said, his gaze steady, "people can talk all they want, but at the end of the day, you know the truth. So, are they wrong?"
Amanda opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Was he calling her out? Or was he giving her a chance to explain herself? She wasn't sure.
"Some of it," she admitted after a long pause. "But not all of it. People like to twist things, make everything sound worse than it really is."
Clarence nodded again, his expression unreadable. "Sounds like you've got some regrets."
"Don't we all?" Amanda countered, her voice sharper than she intended.
Clarence didn't flinch. Instead, he gave her a small, knowing smile. "Fair enough."
The silence between them stretched for a moment, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Amanda found herself studying him more closely—the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking, the way his eyes softened when he glanced at Annalise, the way his presence seemed to fill the room without him even trying.
"So," she said, breaking the quiet. "You never answered my question. What brings you here?"
Clarence tilted his head, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I guess you could say I'm visiting family. Trying to take care of some loose ends."
"Family, huh?" Amanda asked, her curiosity growing. "Anyone I'd know?"
"Probably not," Clarence said, his voice careful.
Amanda narrowed her eyes slightly, sensing there was more to the story, but she decided not to push. Instead, she picked up her milkshake and took a long sip, letting the conversation settle.
When she set the glass down, she looked at him again, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You're a hard guy to figure out, Clarence."
He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with quiet humor. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Amanda leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Don't get too cocky."
Clarence shook his head, his smile growing. "Too late."
For the first time in days, Amanda felt herself relax. There was something about this moment—sitting in a diner with a stranger, the weight of her recent troubles momentarily forgotten—that felt almost… normal.
As the conversation continued, they found themselves talking about lighter topics. Annalise's antics. Amanda's favorite milkshake flavors. Clarence's thoughts on the diner's old-school vibe. The flirtation between them was subtle but undeniable, a current running just beneath the surface of their words.
Finally, as the conversation began to wind down, Amanda glanced at him with a curious tilt of her head. "So, Clarence… you've got the whole mysterious thing going for you, but I think I deserve at least one straight answer."
He raised an eyebrow. "What's the question?"
"What's your story?" she asked, her tone playful but genuine.
Clarence hesitated for just a moment before replying, his voice calm and steady. "I'm just a guy trying to do right by the people I care about."
Amanda smiled softly, something warm and unfamiliar stirring in her chest. "Well, Clarence, it's been… interesting meeting you."
"Likewise," he said, standing and motioning for Annalise to join him.
As he turned to leave, Amanda called after him, her voice light but laced with curiosity. "Hey, Clarence—what's your last name?"
He glanced over his shoulder, his smirk returning. "McMullen."
Amanda's smile faltered, her heart skipping a beat as the name registered. She watched him walk away, her mind racing with the realization.
Shelley.