Friction

“Duplin County?” Reeve says as we pass a welcome sign on Interstate 40.

“Yup. Where was I born and raised,” I clarify.

Reeve’s head turns toward me quickly, and I shoot him a quick look. His eyes are round and surprised. “You’re not taking me home to meet your mom, are you?” he asks seriously. “Because we really need to stop and let me get some flowers or something.”

I laugh and reach over to pat his knee. “Um . . . no. I’d give you a better heads-up if that were the case. And besides, my mom now lives on the coast, just below Wilmington. I bought her a small house down there about two years ago.”

“Why the coast?” he asks with interest.

“She’s always loved the ocean. And just . . . you know . . . for everything she did for me growing up. All her sacrifices. I wanted her to be at peace somewhere she loved.”

Reaching over, Reeve takes my hand off the steering wheel and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses my fingertips. “You’ve got a beautiful soul, Leary. I can’t imagine how proud your mother must be of you.”

I smile and blink back the small prick of tears in my eyes over Reeve’s lovely words. The validation he gives me is a comfort, because I haven’t always been so giving to my family.

“So, if we’re not going to see your mom, what are we doing?”

“Patience, my extremely hot and sexy man.”

“Hot and sexy?” he asks with interest. “Like . . . would it be hot and sexy if I put my hand between your legs and got you off while we were driving?”

I take my eyes off the road briefly to shoot him a sharp look, just to see if he’s kidding.

And holy hell . . . he’s not. His eyes are dark and licentious as he looks back at me.

“Hands to yourself,” I croak. “I’ll wreck the car for sure.”

He chuckles and turns his head back to watch the scenery go by.

We pull off the interstate a few miles down and head into my hometown of Kenansville. I show him the town square, point out the old redbrick hospital where I was born. As we pass through town, I point down a side street and say, “If you go that way about two miles, the trailer park I grew up in is down there.”

“Want to go by there?” he asks softly.

“Nah,” I tell him with a tiny smile. “I don’t need that trip down memory lane.”

We hit the outskirts of town, follow Highway 24 for a few miles toward Jacksonville, and then I put on my blinker to make a right-hand turn. Reeve looks out the passenger window, and I can see him sit up straighter in his seat in surprise.

I pull into Shadow Glen Cemetery and follow the main road. It winds around rolling hills studded with grave markers and pine-tree clusters. When I reach the correct spot, I stop the car, put it in park, and turn off the ignition.

Without looking at Reeve, I get out of my car and I hear him doing the same. It’s relatively comfortable outside for November, and the small sweater I put on over my blouse is enough to keep me warm.

Reeve meets me at the front of my car, and I hold my hand out to him. He takes it, wrapping his large hand around mine protectively, and I turn to lead him up a small grassy knoll.

I weave my way past three rows of graves and come to stop in front of a large headstone of a deep, dark gray, which has a matching stone bench sitting alongside the grave. I point at the headstone and say simply, “My sister . . . Lauren.”

Reeve is silent as he reads the words carved into the monument. I didn’t spare any expense.

LAUREN RENEE MICHAELS

SLEEP WELL, OUR DAUGHTER AND SISTER.

TAKE THY REST FOR GOD CALLED THEE HOME

SO YOUR PAIN AND OURS IS NO MORE.

1990–2011

“She had just turned twenty-one before she died,” I murmur, then bend to pluck a few weeds at the base of the granite stone, tossing them to the side.

“What happened?” Reeve asks softly.

I stand back up, feeling my knees pop, and turn to face him. “A drug overdose. Heroin.”

He brings a hand up to stroke my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Leaning into him, closing my eyes, I say, “Me, too. She was a good person, a kind woman. She just had demons that she couldn’t conquer.”

Stepping back, I take Reeve’s hand and pull him over to the stone bench. I bought this last year so Mom, Je

After we sit down, Reeve’s arm comes around my shoulder, and he pulls me in close. I lay my head on his shoulder and stare at Lauren’s grave.

“You asked me a few times why Je

“Yeah,” he says in a soft voice.

“She was Lauren’s best friend. They grew up together, were inseparable, really. Lauren and Je

“You would have been, what . . . twenty-three?” he asks.

“Yeah, just finishing up my last year at Stanford. Honestly, I was so busy with law school, I really didn’t pay too much attention to what was going on with Lauren. The five-year age difference ensured we weren’t overly close growing up. Mom kept me up-to-date on her. I knew she was partying. She was dancing to make a living, same as Je

“Nothing you could have done anyway,” Reeve says softly.

“Probably not. At least not while I was living out in California,” I agree. “But within a year, I was back in Raleigh. Je

“That’s exactly what you should have done.”

“I know. But maybe I could have done more. I tried to talk her into rehab, but did I really try hard enough? Should I have been more proactive? I was just starting out at Knight & Payne, and I was so consumed with my new career that I just didn’t give her a lot of thought and effort.”

Reeve stays silent but his arm tightens around me.

“Eventually, Je

“Je

“I feel an obligation to her,” I clarify. “She did things for Lauren, cared for her in ways that I never did. And in ways that my mom couldn’t. She tried hard to get Lauren straightened out, but it was all in vain. She loved Lauren like a sister. Was closer to her than I ever could have been. And I watch as Je

Reeve’s shoulders heave with a huge sigh. He tilts his head and kisses me on top of my head. “I get it now.”

Pulling out of his embrace, I turn to face him and step forward, pushing my way in between his knees. My hands go to his broad shoulders, and his come to my waist. He tilts his face up to me, and the first thing I do is ply him with a chastely sweet kiss.