**Not fully edited* *

 Prologue

“My dad said I need to stay close to you until my mom comes back. He’s afraid a bad person will hurt me.”

While my mom zips the back of my white gown, I stare at the little girl before me.

So innocent.

So loved.

So beautiful.

Her dad is right. There are bad people who do bad things to children.

However, we are at a private venue surrounded by family and close friends. Whether it’s right or not, this is the perfect example of allowing kids to roam freely until corralled at the last possible minute—there’s an assumption that someone is watching them.

Her dad is feeling extra protective today because Winston Jeffries preyed on little girls running around at family events, like weddings, between 1892 and 1901. Nearly a decade of kidnapping. Nearly a decade of long hair hanging from trees in churchyards. Just the hair.

The bodies were never found.

Jeffries was convicted of thirty-seven counts of first-degree murder and hanged in Owensboro, Kentucky on February 10, 1902 without a single body discovered.

He took the location of the bodies to his grave.

“A bad person, huh?”

The young girl nods, her long, dark curls and pink ribbons bouncing with each tip of her chin.

Her father’s not worried about a mysterious “bad person.” He’s worried his bride might flee at the last second.

This girl has been sent here to keep an eye on me.

But why scare her? Why not just tell her I need help getting dressed? Why send her to deliver the one message that would make me want to kick off my heels, toss aside my veil, and run until my heart gives out?

“Mom, will you give us a minute?” I ask.

She straightens the skirt of my gown. “Sure. I need to check on your dad anyway.”

When it’s just me and the young girl, I bend down so we’re at eye level. “Do you trust me?”

She nods slowly, eyes wide.

“I think your dad is scared. Will you help him to not be so scared?”

Another slow nod.

“It means you have to be brave too. You have to do something really brave and trust me that it’s for the best. Can you do that?”

“I think so,” she whispers.

I riffle through my mom’s bag. She packed everything we could possibly need for any hiccup. My fingers curl around the orange-handled scissors, and I turn back to the girl. “Are you sure you’re brave?”

She stares at the scissors and nods.

“And you trust me?”

“Y-yes …”

“Come here.”

She shuffles her pink shoes toward me.

“Turn around.”

She turns around.

I remove the ribbon from the partial ponytail on the crown of her head. Then I tie it low, right above the nape of her neck.

She jumps when I cut her hair just above the tied ribbon, and the rest of her hair falls into a short bob around her chin when she turns toward me.

I smile, ignoring her parted lips and bugged-out eyes. “Take this to your dad, and tell him you are safe. Then tell him I am just a star. If he takes a step back, he’ll see the whole galaxy.”

She hesitantly wraps her hand around the tail of hair.

“One more favor?” I turn and squat in front of her. “Unzip my dress.”

Chapter One

Seven months earlier …

I could use a naked body with a pulse. This thought summarizes my love life as I approach Paul Turner, my first swipe right in over a month.

Full head of blond hair neatly parted to the side.

Clean shaven.

Jeans, white button-down, and a navy blazer.

He’ll work. My standards are at an all-time low.

Paul sips his water and surveys the restaurant, blue-eyed gaze snagging on me as I weave my way through the chattering crowd, clinking dinnerware, and the savory aroma of garlic. When he smiles, the tension vanishes, leaving nothing but relief. He not only looks like his profile picture; he looks better than his profile picture. This never happens.

“Josephine?” He stands.

“Paul?” I smile as he nods. “You can call me Josie.”

Paul gives me a hug instead of a handshake. We’ve been chatting online for weeks. I don’t get a lot of hugs, which makes it easy to sink into his warm body.

A warm body … I could use one of those too.

Warm.

Naked.

With a pulse.

“It’s nice to finally meet in person,” I say, taking a seat across from him.

“You look better than your profile picture.” Appreciation seeps through his words.

My grin doubles. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you as I approached the table.” In less than thirty seconds, I have a good feeling about Paul Turner. He doesn’t appear nervous or awkward. Confident, but not overly so.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.

“Water is fine. Thank you.”

“Are you sure? They have an amazing house wine here.”

“I’m sure. Please, however, order yourself a glass of wine. I’m going to jump straight into an appetizer because I skipped lunch today.”

He laughs. “Sounds good.”

We order drinks and appetizers while I contemplate my main course. He smiles a lot. I smile a lot. All the good vibes buzz around us.

“Did your niece have a nice birthday party?” I ask, lifting my gaze from the menu.

He narrows his eyes for a second. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I told you about that. Yes. It was extravagant. I fear when she turns five, anything short of a trip to Paris will be an epic disappointment.”

“Is she an only child?”

Paul gives me a few more details about his family, and his love for them bleeds through each word. He’s originally from Vermont, and he’s lived here in Chicago for five years as a cosmetic chemist. Paul swiped right because we both have degrees in the sciences.

“So how do you like Chicago? It has to be quite the change of pace from Des Moines.”

My head bobs several times as my stomach growls waiting for the appetizers. “It is, but I feel at home with my job.”

“And you like your job?”

I sip my water before nodding. “I do.”

“That’s good.” Paul sets his menu aside and unwraps his silverware, depositing the cloth napkin on his lap. “It takes the right kind of personality to work in a lab. My friends think I have a cool job, I mean … I formulate cosmetics, but when they find out I’m tucked away in a lab all day, it loses its luster. I bet you get the same thing.”

“Yeah, it’s not as uh…” I clear my throat “…glamorous as other jobs.”

“I can imagine people perk up when they hear you’re a doctor. You think doctor and immediately you think saving lives. But I suppose working in pathology you’re catching things like early stages of cancer, and in some ways, you’re saving lives as much if not more than other doctors. Right?”

Saving lives? Not exactly.

I find a subtle smile to accompany my slight nod. “I worked in surgery for just under a year. So I’d never take anything away from other doctors. I solve mysteries.”

“What’s the hardest part?” Paul asks, and I wish we could steer the conversation in a different direction. Talking about jobs this much on a first date is as disappointing as talking about the weather until the main meal arrives.

“The hardest part is dealing with the death of young children.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“So, Paul, do you travel much?” I make the conversation go in a more acceptable direction. Paul bites, gobbling up my questions like PacMan. There are no awkward moments of silence. We cruise through dinner and dessert with each topic of conversation smoothly shifting to a new topic. This is how a date is supposed to go, and I’m hopeful that it won’t end when we leave the restaurant.

“I’m going to use the men’s room quickly.” Paul stands after paying the check, even though I argue that the first date should be separate checks.

Feeling good about the start to my weekend, I watch his smooth gait drift toward the back of the restaurant.

“Josie Watts?”

No.

No. No. No.

That familiar voice at my back—familiar like a paper cut eliciting a grimace and a silent expletive—brings every hair on my neck to attention, ready for battle.

Turning, my lips find a neutral position short of an actual smile. That dark hair is as unkempt as it was the last time I saw it, nearly seventeen years ago. Same irritating smirk. Same glimmer of antagonism in his monster-like brown and gold eyes. He’s a dimple shy of being that guy every girl swoons over in high school then despises the rest of her life. “Colten.” His name still leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

“Wow! How long has it been?” he asks.

Not long enough is my answer, but I don’t offer it to him.

“I heard you went to medical school.”

“Did you?” I press my lips together for a beat. “I heard that too.”

He laughs, angling his body a little more.

“Eating alone?” I eye his table set for one.

“I am. I’m comfortable in my own skin. Besides, I like listening to the interesting conversations around me. A pathologist. That’s impressive, Josie. Well done. I can see you hunched over a microscope.”

“Good to know you heard I went to medical school and you can see me hunched over a microscope. Are your other senses working well too?”

Colten laughs again.

I’ve always been his favorite source of amusement. It started in fourth grade. The seventeen-year break from his torment has been nice.

“Still quick-witted. I’d forgotten how much I loved your feistiness.”

“Ready?” Paul saves the day with his return.

“Absolutely.” I stand, tossing my napkin on the table.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Colten has the nerve to ask me.

“No,” I say, hooking my handbag onto my shoulder while glaring at him. More than a decade and a half should be long enough to bury all hatchets, yet I feel eighteen again and equally as livid. No scientist has been able to prove the existence of time, so in some ways, I am and always will be eighteen and despise Colten Mosley.

He knows what he did. And he knows where he can go for it.

As soon as I escape Colten and step out into the early June sunset, Paul invites me to his place. It’s a no-brainer. I’m thirty-five. What I do with my body is no longer a measure of my virtue. However, when Paul makes me breakfast Saturday morning, it’s a positive measure of his virtue. After a long kiss at his door, we make plans for dinner midweek. This might be something.

***

Monday morning, I sweat at Pilates, grab a breakfast sandwich and coffee, meet in the conference room with twelve other pathologists, and then gown up in the county medical examiner’s locker room in time to meet my two bodies for the day.

A possible overdose and a suspected homicide.

I start with the suspected homicide because there’s something about the missing legs that calls to me. An hour later, I nearly bobble the liver right onto the floor when I hear an unwelcome voice behind me.

“Never saw this coming. Dr. Josephine Watts, M.D. Assistant Medical Examiner? No fucking way.” Colten Mosley chuckles.

I recover the liver before it slips past my clawing fingers and secure it at the end of the table where the decedent’s legs should be. Then I glance over my shoulder while a masked Colten makes his way into my view—suit, tie, and that messy excuse for a hairstyle. “What are you doing here?”

“Detective Mosley…” he flashes his badge “…homicide. I started last week after working in Indianapolis for five years. I wanted to move closer to home. The real question is what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I’d say you’re up to your elbows in vital organs, but you told your Friday night fling that you work in a lab. A nerd hunched over a microscope. This is … not the same thing, Josie.”

“I’m a pathologist. And I do have a lab with a microscope. What’s your point?” I glance up and reach for my scalpel.

“This is not what your date pictured. I can guarantee that. Not gonna lie … this isn’t what I pictured either when my mom told me you got into medical school.”

“I don’t care what you pic—”

“I pictured…” he cuts me off, sliding his hands into his pockets “…a dress hugging your curves, stopping right above the knees, high heels, sexy lab coat, hair down, maybe nerdy glasses sitting low on your nose. Not this astronaut getup with a black apron, goggles, and a face shield. And I guarantee Mr. Friday Night didn’t picture you in this. Unless … did you tell him the rest? Did you tell him you’re not just a pathologist, but a forensic pathologist who plays around in the cavities of dead bodies like a toddler in a sandbox?”

“What do you want, Mosley? I’m too busy with my real job to play cops and robbers with you today. So if that badge is real, then you’d better have a good reason for interrupting me.” I glance around the autopsy suite for Alicia or one of the other assistants, someone to force Detective Mosley to get to his point and leave me alone.

“We canvassed the entire area and we can’t find a weapon. I thought you might tell me what we’re looking for.”

“An eighteen-volt circular saw with a seven-and-a-quarter inch blade. Six-foot cord. Zero to fifty-one degree bevel angle range. Adjustable cutting depth. Red handle.”

“How do you know the handle’s red?” Colten asks.

I grin behind my mask and shield. I’ve waited for what seems like forever to be the one on top. “Because you don’t saw off two legs without a little blood splatter. But really, your question should be how I know the cord is six feet long.”

“How do you know that?”

Glancing up again, I wait for him to realize I just ate his lunch.

“Jesus … you don’t know shit about the weapon, do you?”

“Weapon or tool? If the cause of death didn’t involve a weapon, then you’re merely looking for the tool that was used to remove the legs. Now … get out of here. When I know something that you need to know, I’ll let you know. Breathing down my neck won’t expedite anything.”

“Oh, Watts, I’m not breathing down your neck.” He heads toward the exit. “If I were, you’d feel weak in the knees.”

“Or … I’d vomit.” My comeback bounces off the door that shuts before my words stumble out of my mouth.

I hate him. He’s always one step ahead of me.

CHAPTER TWO

I met Josephine Watts the summer before fourth grade. While I wasn’t thrilled about moving to Des Moines, my dad landed the head boys’ basketball coaching job at the high school, and the cost of living allowed us to have a bigger house—aka my own bedroom.

“Better stay out of trouble,” Dad said, squeezing my shoulder as my older brother and I helped Mom unpack the dishes. “Our new neighbor is the Chief of Police. Just met him while he and his son were getting ready to go fishing. They hunt too.”

“Great. Neighbors who are gun obsessed,” Mom murmured.

“Not everyone hunts with a gun, Becca.” Dad slapped her butt like he did to his players. Then, he winked at me like I needed to take notes so I could slap my wife’s butt someday too.

“How old is their son? Do they have other kids?” Mom quizzed Dad. He opened the fridge as if some food fairy filled it before our arrival. No such luck.

“I don’t know if they have other kids. I didn’t ask. His son, Joe, is Colten’s age.”

“Really? My age?” I perked up. Hunting and fishing weren’t my favorite pastimes; in fact, I knew nothing about either one. However, the idea of making a friend before school started easing my anxiety a bit.

As soon as Mom dismissed me from helping her in the kitchen, I ran up to my room. Mine. It was all mine. No more bunkbeds. No more of Chad’s dirty underwear being tossed on my pillow, streak side down. No more “accidentally” breaking my Lego creations or wiping boogers on my baseball glove.

It took me the better part of the afternoon to get my room organized. Mom was a stickler on cleanliness, except with Chad. Apparently, his ADHD diagnosis gave him an exemption from hanging up his shirts and dumping his dirty underwear in the hamper.

I tacked up my final poster to the wall, Hank Aaron, while the neighbors pulled into their driveway. The police chief climbed out of the black pickup truck as his son jumped down from the other side. A fishing hat with dangling lures covered his head.

Tan, scrawny legs, baggy shorts, and a green tee—nothing like his intimidating father with shoulders twice as broad as my dad’s and calves the size of tree trunks. The kid had to be the runt of the litter. My enthusiasm lost momentum. My one friend for the first day of school wasn’t going to be the most popular kid, that was for sure.

With no lack of confidence, I headed downstairs and straight to the door. “Mom, I’m going to meet the boy next door.” Figured I might as well befriend him early. Without at least one friend, it was going to be a long summer. And I sure as heck wasn’t going to rely on Chad to entertain me. All he did was play stupid video games. I wasn’t sure his skin ever saw the sun.

“Don’t play with any weapons,” Mom replied.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay.”

Their garage door was open, and my steps faltered for a second when two freaky eyes peered at me. It was a deer head mounted to the garage wall. Before I could make it to the front door, it opened.

“Hi. Are you the new kid?” A girl in jean shorts and a pink tee grinned at me. Her teeth looked extra white behind her deep red lips and tan skin. Hair as black as my brother’s fingernail (the one Mom said might fall off) caught in the breeze and blew into her face as she peeled it away.

“Yeah. I wanted to meet your brother. I guess we’re going to be in the same grade.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

I stepped onto the stoop and shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “Haha. My dad already talked to your dad, so I know you have a brother. And I watched him get out of the truck a few minutes ago…” I turned to point at my window facing the street “…from my bedroom window.”

“That was me.”

“Why are you being weird?” I tilted my head to the side. “I know what I saw. And my dad’s not a liar. And I know your brother’s name is Joe.”

“You saw me. And my name is Josephine. My friends call me Josie. And my dad calls me Jo because I was supposed to be a boy.”

I shake my head. “The kid who got out of the truck was wearing shorts and a green shirt.”

“Yeah. And it smelled like fish, so I changed my clothes. Do you want to come inside?”

“Not if you don’t have a brother.”

“That’s …” She twisted her lips together as her fists perched onto her hips. “Rude.”

“I’m not being rude.”

“You don’t want to be my friend because I’m a girl. That’s rude.”

“I don’t play with dolls and dress up stuffed animals.”

“Do you eat cookies and drink chocolate milk?”

After thinking about it for a few seconds, I nodded.

“Good. So do I. Come on.” She turned and left the door open, disappearing to the right.

I glanced back at the street, giving a quick look right then left before taking slow steps into the house. More animal heads mounted to the wall peered at me along with a big fish and some kind of bird on a shelf that looked quite real.

“Where are your parents?” I asked, peeking around the corner into the kitchen as she poured two glasses of chocolate milk.

“My dad’s rubbing my mom’s feet in the bedroom. They’re huge! She’s pregnant, and I guess being pregnant makes your feet and ankles get really big, and that makes them hurt.”

I nodded slowly while she climbed onto the kitchen stool and opened a Tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies.

“So what’s your name?” Josie asked, setting a cookie on a napkin for me right next to hers.

“Colten.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Across the street.”

“Duh. Where did you live before you moved into the house across the street?”

I stammered a second. She had me flustered because she was a girl, a pretty girl, with as much if not more confidence than I had. “Houston, Texas.”

“Are you a cowboy?”

“No. Why?”

She lifted a shoulder and dropped it just as quickly while dipping part of her cookie into her chocolate milk. “I thought there were a lot of cowboys in Texas … which is weird because we have a lot of cows here in Iowa, but I don’t see that many cowboys.”

I couldn’t start my first day of school with only one friend—a girl. But school wasn’t starting for two months, so I didn’t see anything wrong with being Josie’s “neighborhood friend” just until I found boys my age. After all, the cookies were the best thing I’d ever tasted, and I liked watching Josie.

Her smile.

The way she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Even the way she whisper-counted to ten every time she dipped her cookie in milk.

“Have you ever seen the exoskeleton of a cockroach under a magnifying glass?” she asked before starting her silent count again with her next bite of cookie dipped into the milk.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a live cockroach.”

“Oh, it’s not alive, silly. It’s dead. I have a lot of dead stuff in my room. Want to see?”

And just like that … the hair-tossing and whisper-counting became the least fascinating thing about Josephine Watts.

CHAPTER THREE

“You’re breaking my heart, Dr. Watts.”

On the verge of grabbing my bag and heading home for the day, I glance up from my desk. The irony …

I’m breaking his heart? I’m pretty sure he obliterated mine on more than one occasion, which proves one thing: he has no heart.

“Who keeps the citizens of Chicago safe while you’re stalking me, Detective Mosley?”

“I bet it felt nice to put on makeup and wear a bra for your date the other night?”

I’m wearing a bra. Asshole.

Glancing down at my chest, I curl my shoulders inward when I notice my nipples. I’m wearing a thin bra.

But still … he’s an asshole.

“You were supposed to call me with the results of the autopsy.”

“I talked to Detective Rains. Cardiac arrest due to major blood loss. The decedent was alive when his legs were amputated.”

“Why?” Uninvited, Colten takes a seat in the chair across from me.

“It’s extremely hard to profile a ghost. When you catch your killer, plenty of qualified people will dissect his life and motives.”

“No.” Colten shakes his head. “Why did you talk to Detective Rains instead of me?”

“Because I like him better than I like you.”

“Oh …” He nods and smirks. “So you do, in fact, like me?”

“I like your parents …” My scowl softens as I keep my gaze on my computer screen. “I liked your parents. I haven’t talked to your mom in years, but I was brokenhearted when I heard about your dad. I’m sorry, Colten.”

“Good old dad hung himself.” He blows out a long breath, staring at my framed certificates on the wall. “I didn’t even come home for the funeral. Fuck it. If I mattered to him, he wouldn’t have killed himself.”

I deal with a lot of grief in my job. I talk to families daily, explaining what and sometimes why something happened to their loved ones. But suicide doesn’t usually come with a clear “why” answer. “I know you weren’t there.”

Colten returns his attention to me. “My mom told me you were at the funeral.”

With a slow nod, I shut off my computer. “I wasn’t there for you.”

He grunts. “Of course you weren’t. Nobody gave a shit about me, especially my dad.”

“How rich of you to play that part.”

“What part?” Those monster-like eyes narrow at me.

“You’re fine with people being shit on as long as it’s not you.”

Colten’s dark brows lift a fraction. “Oh, this is about that? You think I shit on you.”

I know he shit … shat … crapped all over me.

“I’m referring to your mom and brother. When you don’t show up to be with them—the living—that’s pretty shitty. Even for you.”

“I visited them the following week. I helped go through his stuff.”

I open my mouth to say more, exchange another barb, but I close it just as quickly. “Detective Rains has everything you need to know. And for the record, I was right about the weapon. And if you find it, and it has a red handle and a six-foot cord, I expect something like a fruit and chocolate bouquet with a note that says I’m the goddamn queen of forensic pathology.” Standing, I sling my bag over my shoulder, give him a tight-lipped grin, and fish my keys out of the side pocket.

“I knew you were smart to a fault, Watts. But this…” Colten stands and takes several steps toward the door before glancing over his shoulder “…is a godlike arrogance I never saw coming from you. I imagine you’re a pain in the ass to work with. We should grab dinner sometime.”

“Can’t. I’m busy.” I usher him out the door so I can close and lock it.

“I didn’t say when.”

“I know.” I pass him on my way to the stairs. “I meant I’m busy never having dinner with you. Not having dinner or any interaction with you outside of work is officially my new pastime.”

“Jesus, Watts. You’re still boring as fuck if avoiding me is your pastime. But I’m flattered that you’re spending so much time thinking about me. Feels like old times.”

I race down the stairs. “I’m not thinking about you. I’m actively not thinking about YOUUUUUU!” My foot catches and I fall down the final four steps.

My head. Oh, my aching head. My fingers reach for the laceration at my temple.

“Josie, just … don’t move. You could have broken something.” Colten flies down the stairs after me.

I broke something alright. My pride, her sister Dignity, and Dignity’s cousin Self-Esteem. It’s taken Colten less than a week to reduce me to the young, shattered-ego girl I was the day I left for college. He’s a perpetual thorn in my side. He’s necrotizing fasciitis—a flesh eating infection that can’t be contained.

“I’m fine.” I search for my feet to get them under me so I can make another mad dash.

“You really need to hold still and let me call for help.”

“When you…” standing, I grimace “…finish medical school, I’ll let you give me advice on my health. In the meantime, just stay away. You’re nothing but bad luck.”

“Are you blaming your clumsiness on me?” Colten’s jaw unhinges like I offended his fragile, Good Samaritan soul.

I blame everything bad in my life on Colten Mosley. Always have. Why stop now?

As I dig into my bag for a tissue, Colten grabs my arm and pulls me toward the restroom. The men’s room.

“Let go of me. I don’t appreciate being manhandled.”

“Really?” He opens the door and forces me inside without checking for occupants. Luckily there are none. “Huh. You used to love my hands on you. Handling you.”

Asshole.

“I have an open wound, and you think the best idea is to get me closer to urinals?”

He grabs a wad of paper towels and runs them under the water. “I’m pretty sure I can assess your wound and decide if you need stitches without an actual medical degree. Basic first aid training, Watts. Or did you become a forensic pathologist because you couldn’t save lives? Did you get demoted to the morgue? Can’t kill anyone if everyone’s already dead.”

“Asshole.” I could only keep it in my head for so long. He’s the worst! And when I’m in his presence, I’m the worst version of myself too.

“You remember what I used to do when you called me that?” He presses the wet towels to my injured head.

He used to kiss me. I’d get mad. Call him an asshole. And he’d kiss me until I lost all my fight. He called me a stubborn overthinker. As if one can really think too much.

“You manhandled me. And I hated it.” I frown, averting my gaze to the side.

“You loved it.”

“That’s what your inflated ego said to ease your conscience of the burden of truth.”

“And what was the truth?”

I force myself to look at him. “You were a control freak. And clearly you never grew out of it.”

He flinches.

Colten’s mom called his dad a control freak. I know Colten doesn’t want anyone comparing him to his dad, but it’s the truth. It doesn’t mean Colten will hang himself while his wife and oldest son pick up Friday night pizza. It’s just an unavoidable mix of genetics and years of learned behavior.

“You’ll need a couple stitches. Or glue. They glue shit now, right?”

I grab his wrist as he blots my temple. “Give this to me.” Facing the mirror, I frown. “This is why you don’t chase people downstairs.”

“You’re not seriously blaming this on me?” He lifts his right eyebrow.

“I was trying to get away from you.” I press the wet towels to my temple and open the door with my other hand.

“Why are you always trying to run away from me?”

I turn back toward him with such speed that he nearly bumps into me. “You’re too old to be asking why the grass is green and the sky is blue.”

Rubbing his stupid lips together, he hides his grin. They’re stupid lips because I always stare at them. They were my first kiss. I still feel robbed.

“Look at you. You’re a goddamn medical doctor, Josie. That’s a shit-ton of school. So much hard work and determination. However, here you are … assistant chief medical examiner in the third largest city in the US. Even if your job is creepy as fuck, it’s a huge feat. Not very many people can do what you do. But a lot of people can get a bachelor’s degree to be an accountant or some certificate to sell real estate. A lot of women get pregnant and forego their professional aspirations to stay home and a raise a family.” He shakes his head slowly, face a little more somber. “You weren’t that girl.”

I never said I wanted to be that person. I hated him then and a part of me still hates him now for assuming he knows everything about me. Colten meant something to me, but he wasn’t a drug that took away my ability to make sensible decisions. He’s still so fucking full of himself.

“Oh my god.” My head rears back. “Please tell me you’re not trying to take credit for who I am and what I’ve become.”

“Well …” he says slowly.

“You…” I jab my finger into his chest “…are still an asshole. I became a doctor, and you stayed an asshole.”

He inhales my words like they give him some sort of high. It doesn’t matter if it’s a compliment or not. The bastard gets off on pushing my buttons. “I’ll drive you to urgent care.”

“You won’t.” I pivot and stomp my feet toward the parking lot.

“You’re going to hold that to your head and drive?”

“Yes. And I might even chew a piece of gum at the same time.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Watts.”

Even when I’m showing strength and independence, he has a way of making it seem like I’m stubborn, which feels like a weakness. I can’t explain it. And nobody else has ever noticed it. Everyone thinks Colten Mosley is a classic nice guy which means my reaction to his constant goading seems extreme.

I’m the bitch.

I’m overreacting.

I don’t know how to take a joke.

Not true.

Not true.

Definitely not true.

I get along well with others.

I’ve always excelled at group activities.

And most people find my sense of humor endearing. I can laugh at myself.

Except … when Colten pokes and prods at me. He toys with me like I’m a cat batting my paw at a dangling ball of yarn that only he and I can see.

“Colten’s going to miss you, Josie. He’s making a sacrifice so you can pursue your dreams and he can find his way. It’s noble. Friends do that for each other. You’ll be better … stronger for it someday.”

My mom had all the great mom lines and philosophies.

Boys are mean to you when they like you.

Girls are catty because they are jealous of you.

You’ll look back and be so grateful that you didn’t try to fit in with the cliques.

You’re smarter than them, and that’s intimidating.

You might be the only girl in your class who hunts, but that just means you’d be the only one to survive if you’re ever stranded on a desert island.

That one was always my favorite.

How many people actually get stranded on desert islands? I grew up in the Midwest. Was that really a danger?

I drive to urgent care, grab groceries after that, and get in a workout just to prove that I’m not anyone’s damsel in distress.

Then I pull out my photo albums because I can’t believe Colten Mosley actually got better looking with age.

I really, really hate him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Josie wasn’t the worst friend ever—for a girl.

“You sure do like balls,” she said as we rode our bikes to the batting cages.

I laughed. “That sounds bad.”

“Why?”

I made a quick glance behind me as her dark hair blew in the wind. “Because it sounds like you’re talking about parts of a body.”

“You mean testicles? If I meant testicles, I would have said it. I know all the parts of the human body.”

“Yeah.” I faced forward again to hide my grin. “I know you do.”

Josie didn’t look like a nerd, but she acted like one. It’s not that I didn’t like to read, but that’s all she did. Well, that and fish with her dad. I probably had no room to talk; I spent a lot of hours practicing piano. Mom was determined to have one of her boys play the piano. Chad wouldn’t even consider it.

“Am I your only friend?”

“No,” she scoffed.

“Because I haven’t seen you play with anyone else since I moved in next door to you.”

“Do you stare out your window and watch me all the time?”

“No.” Yes. Watching her house was my favorite pastime. Her dad seemed to like me. He ruffled my hair a lot the same way my dad ruffled my hair. Chief Watts looked intimidating in his uniform. He always appeared ready to crush something or someone. They had a two-stall garage attached to the house and another two-stall detached garage where he kept all kinds of free weights, a bench press, and a pull-up bar. Sometimes Josie would go ask him for permission to play with me while he was lifting barbells that I swore weighed more than Josie and I combined. Angry veins riddled his skin like the Hulk. And a really big one bulged along his forehead while his face turned as red as the cherry tomatoes Josie’s mom grew in five-gallon buckets on their porch.

“Jenn and Adrianna, my two best friends, are gone for the summer to Jenn’s grandparents’ house. They have a cabin on a lake in Wisconsin.”

“And they didn’t invite you?” I made another quick glance back at her, not at all hiding my grin. I liked picking on Josie. Whenever my mom heard me doing it, she rolled her eyes and assured Josie I was just pretending that I didn’t have a crush on her. Of course, I adamantly disagreed, but not because my mom was wrong.

She was right. However, I would rather have died than admitted it.

“They invited me. I just couldn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jenn’s dad got arrested for drinking and driving, and now my stupid dad won’t let me ride in the car with them, even though Jenn’s mom was going to do the driving.”

Why did it disappoint me that Josie had two best friends? Why did I secretly hope I was her only friend?

Oh, right … I had a huge crush on her.

We locked up our bikes and headed toward the cages.

“My dad said to always be careful if you’re here close to dark because a few years ago a boy our age was kidnapped. They never found him.”

“Then how do they know he was kidnapped?” I asked.

“Because he’s gone, stupid.”

“Maybe he didn’t like his family, and he ran away.”

“He was nine. Where does a nine-year-old go?” She pulled my bat out of my backpack and turned quickly before I could grab it back from her.

“If I ran away, I’d hide in the woods during the night and get free samples at the grocery store during the day. Sometimes, the gas station will give you free pizza and donuts if it’s the end of the day, and you pretend you forgot your wallet at home. They just throw them out anyway.” I shrugged.

“He’s dead. Someone took him and cut up his body. He’s in the woods, buried in pieces.”

I tried to hide my shock. Josie looked so innocent, but the things that came out of her mouth were not things most kids our age said. Her dad must have discussed his job around her. Of course, that didn’t explain why she had a collection of dead insects in her room or why she liked to hang out around the funeral home in hopes of seeing Roland Tompkins, the undertaker, to ask him a slew of questions.

“Anyone die today?”

“Have you ever put two people in one casket?”

“Are you going to be cremated or buried when you die?”

“Can you put ashes in a casket if you want to be cremated but still want to be buried too?”

Roland tolerated her because she was the police chief’s daughter. After the third or fourth question, he nodded toward our bikes and asked us if we had somewhere we needed to be. I would say “yes” at the same time Josie would say “no.”

“Thanks, Josie. Now, every time I come here, I’ll think about someone kidnaping me, cutting up my body, and burying me in the woods.” I managed to snatch the bat away from her.

“Well, that’s what I always think about when I’m here with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You think about me being kidnapped or you?”

She didn’t answer me, not until I was in the batting cage hitting my third ball. Her fingers curled around the chain links as she leaned against the cage to watch me. “Both. I think we’ll be kidnapped and killed together. Or … what if our kidnapper makes us choose? What if only one of us can live? Would you choose me or yourself?”

“I don’t know.” I swung and missed. “Who would you choose?”

“I asked you first.”

“I’m not answering unless you answer first,” I said.

“Then let’s answer at the same time. I’ll count to three. Who would you save? One. Two. Three.”

We both said “me” at the same time. Then we shared an offended look at the same time.

“You’d let me die?” Josie’s jaw dropped.

I laughed and hit the next ball. “You’d let me die.”

“Yeah, but …” She had nothing.

“I don’t think the kidnapper would let us choose. He’d make us run, and the fastest one would get away.”

“Well …” She took several steps back from the cage. “That means you would die.”

“Uh …” I missed the next ball because I was looking at her overly confident grin. “No. That means you would die. I can run faster than you.”

“Why? Because you’re a boy?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s race.”

I shook my head.

“Scared you’re gonna lose?”

“No. I just don’t want you crying when I beat you.”

“I won’t cry.”

“Fine.” I dropped my bat and sighed as I exited the cage.

We found a strip of grass to the north of the fields and made a starting line with a few sticks pushed end to end. Then we did the same for the finish line.

“It’s like capture the flag.” Josie set a bigger stick right behind the finish line. “First to get the stick wins.”

“Promise you won’t cry?” I said as she hunched into a ready position at the starting line.

“Shut up, stupid. Mark. Set. Go!” Josie took off like a shot. Arms pumping furiously.

I can’t lie. She nearly beat me. Nearly.

And maybe she would have had she not tripped three feet before the finish line and scraped her hands and knees along the ground until they were grass-stained and a little bloodied.

“Are you okay?” I tossed the winning stick aside and knelt beside her as she pulled her knees to her chest and inspected her hands. I couldn’t see her face because her hair hung like a dark, silky veil around it.

“I’m fine,” she said just above a whisper in a shaky voice.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” She sniffled.

“If you are, it’s okay. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m not crying!” Her head whipped up straight. She wasn’t crying, but she had tears in her eyes, and she clenched her jaw so hard it made her whole upper body shake.

I didn’t know what to say, so I grabbed the prize stick and handed it to her. “Here. If you wouldn’t have tripped, you would have won.”

She stared at the stick for a few seconds and sniffled again before taking it from me. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“What?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I said I’ll be your girlfriend. Your mom said you have a crush on me. And my dad said I should never like a boy who isn’t nice to me. You did the right thing. I won, and you gave me the stick. So I’ll be your girlfriend for the rest of the summer.”

My young brain didn’t know how to respond. She packed so much into her little speech. She wasn’t faster than me. She simply got a head start because she said “mark, set, go” so quickly. And I never said I wanted her to be my girlfriend. Then there was the summer part. She’d be my girlfriend for the rest of the summer? Why? Why did I need a girlfriend for the rest of the summer?

“But you should get a skateboard. Jenn had a boyfriend last summer, and they rode to the skate park all the time. Sometimes they kissed. We’re not kissing because you lick your lips a lot, and I’m not kissing your lips after you’ve licked them.”

“No thank you.” I stood and headed back to the batting cage to get my bat and bag.

“What do you mean no thank you?”

“If we’re not going to kiss, then I don’t need you to be my girlfriend. And I already have a skateboard, but one of its wheels got busted off when my dad accidentally ran over it with his car. And you’re not faster than me. And I shouldn’t have given you the stick because now you’re acting weird. Well … weirder than you already are.”

“Colten Mosley. What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m weird?” She chased after me.

“Yes. You collect dead stuff, and you talk a lot about death. That’s weird.”

“Maybe it’s unique. My mom says I’m unique.”

I shoved my bat into my bag and headed toward our bikes. “She says you’re unique because your skin is not the same color as hers or your dads.” I turned just before reaching our bikes. “My parents told me not to say anything to you in case you didn’t know, but if it were me … I’d want to know.”

“Know what?” She crossed her arms over her chest and flipped out her hip.

“You’re adopted. That’s why your skin and hair are darker than theirs.”

“I’m not adopted, stupid.”

“Um …” My nose wrinkled. “Yes. You are. My mom said it looks as though you have a little Native American in your bloodline. And don’t tell anyone I told you. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“My mom had sex with someone else. That’s why my skin is darker.”

“What do you know about sex?” I asked. I knew only what my brother had told me. A man pushes his penis between a woman’s legs and pumps his hips. I asked why. He said because it feels good like when I touch myself. But … I hadn’t touched myself in a feel-good way. Not yet. That came (pun intended) the following summer when Josie let me see her tits for three seconds in exchange for half of my Twix bar. I later learned it was frowned upon to trade things for glances at titties. They really needed a handbook for stuff like that. I couldn’t keep track of all the unspoken rules.

“Sex is how two people make a baby, stupid. Why don’t you know that?”

“I do know that.” I ignored her “stupid” label. My mom, the relationship expert, said Josie calling me stupid was actually an endearing term—just a little immature and unrefined. Mom said “silly” might be a better word, but she assured me Josie didn’t really think I was stupid.

“Then why did you ask me?”

I turned away from her and unlocked my bike. “Because my bro—” No. I stopped myself. I wasn’t giving my brother credit for my knowledge of sex. If my mom was wrong and Josie did think I was stupid, I didn’t want to give her anymore ammunition to tease me. “Because I’m pretty sure people have sex for other reasons too.”

“Other reasons?” Josie eyed me as she unlocked her bike.

I didn’t make direct eye contact because my cheeks were catching fire from talking about something that felt taboo. “Yeah. Sex feels good.”

“What do you mean?”

By that point, I couldn’t remember how we got on the conversation of sex, but I would have given my right arm to talk about anything else. “You’ll find out someday.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

We hopped onto our bikes.

“Tell me, Colten.”

“Nope.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m telling my dad you pushed me down.”

I slammed on my brakes, skidding to a stop. My gaze flitted from her scraped knees to her grass-stained hands. Before I could say anything, I think she read my reaction and withdrew her threat. That was the first of what would be many withdrawn threats.

“Fine.” She sighed. “I won’t tell my dad that. Just … tell me. If you don’t tell me, I’m not going to be your friend.”

Again, I gave her a look.

Again, she huffed a breath and withdrew her threat.

“We’ll be friends, but I’m never coming back here with you. And that’s no lie. So if someone tries to kidnap you, tough luck, Mr. Duck.”

After a few more blinks, I laughed. “Tough luck, Mr. Duck?”

She hated it when I laughed at her, but I couldn’t help it. Who said, “tough luck, Mr. Duck?”

Josie. That was who.

I was too young to recognize it, but I started falling in love with Josephine Watts before I had any idea what that really meant. By the time my adult self figured it out, she was gone, and it was my fault.

She frowned at me, a rain cloud ruining her baseball game, and wrinkled her nose while bolting ahead of me, down the street. I easily caught up to her.

“I’m kidding. Are you mad?”

“I’m kidding. Are you mad?” she parroted in a mocking voice.

“You’re mad.”

The second we turned onto our street, Josie kicked it into overdrive, dropped her bike in the front lawn, and ran inside her house.

“Did you and Josie have fun at the batting cages?” my mom asked as I kicked off my high-tops at the front door.

“I don’t know.”

She glanced up from the sofa, folding laundry and sorting it into piles around her. “Did something happen?”

I pulled off my baseball cap and hooked it on the banister before plodding my way to the faded leather recliner next to her.

“Don’t sit on my folded bath towels.”

“I won’t,” I said, managing to wedge myself into a small open gap next to them. “Josie’s mad.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “She’s a girl. Girls get mad about stupid stuff.”

“Like?”

“Like I was joking about something she said, and that made her mad. And she said she’d be my girlfriend for the rest of the summer, and I said no. Maybe she’s mad about that. I don’t know.”

Mom chuckled. “She offered to be your girlfriend for the rest of the summer?”

“Yes. Because I let her win a race.”

“You’re a little too young to have a girlfriend. And I really like Josie, so I think it’s best that you stay friends.”

I didn’t mention that I would have said yes to her being my girlfriend had she not made the no kissing stipulation.

That night, my eyes were glued to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Josie. Just when I was about to give up and close my blinds, she ran out the front door and grabbed her bike. As she walked it toward the garage, she glanced back at my window. I jumped to the side so she wouldn’t see me. My heart pounded, and I wasn’t sure why.

What was the point of hoping to see her if I didn’t want her to see me too?

Over the next nine years, I spent a lot of time at that window hoping to catch a glimpse of Josie Watts. Hiding from her. Hiding my feelings for her.

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