Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

Jackson Brews. The words niggle at my memory. Does the name seem familiar because I remember it from my time living there, or because I’ve heard of the brewery before?

I pick up the envelope to return the invitation, and a folded piece of paper slides out. I unfold it and see a handwritten note.

Dear Ellie,

Ava doesn’t know I’m doing this. When I agreed to help her with invitations, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to slip you a note. I mailed a card to your mom’s house, but since your family wouldn’t let us see you, I’m guessing you didn’t get it. The plan is to hand-deliver this one, so here’s hoping.

We all miss you. Girls’ night isn’t the same without your quirky sense of humor, and Ava isn’t the same without her best girlfriend. I’ve been able to have my sister by my side as I plan my wedding, but Ava’s doing it without you. She wants to let you heal. She wants to respect your request for distance. Are you sure this is what you want?

Know that we all love you, and you’ll always have a home here, whether you want to return to it now, next month, or in a few years.

I hope to see you at Ava and Jake’s wedding, or as soon as you’re ready. We can be patient.

All my love,

Nic

My request for distance? When did I ask them to stay away? And why?

When my mom and sister talk about my life in Jackson Harbor, they make it sound like I was running drugs, and days from living under a bridge. Girls’ night and a best friend who wants me to help plan her wedding don’t fit into the picture they’ve painted of that world.

Nic said she mailed a card here, but I never got it. Is Mom hiding my mail? I was too busy being afraid of Jackson Harbor to consider that my friends there might have reached out to me.

I check the hallway and see Mom and Brittany’s lights are off. After slipping off my shoes, I pad down the dark hallway to the stairs and into the kitchen. Mom keeps the mail on the counter in the corner nook. I thumb through it and don’t find anything but bills and advertisements.

This morning, I wanted nothi

ng to do with my old life. But the life I’m imagining from Nic’s note and from the words of the man at the bar? A life where people send me cards and make special trips to hand-deliver wedding invitations? That’s one I need to understand before I can walk away.

I grab an old notebook and take it to the kitchen table, prepared to make a list of all the names I’m connecting with that old life.

Colton McKinley – my fiancé, maybe missing, maybe dead?

I stare at the word dead and wait to feel something. I was going to marry the man, and I can’t muster a single image of him beyond the ones I’ve been shown—photographs with accompanying instructions of “Call the police if you see this man.” But I must have loved him, so why can’t I feel anything?

Taking a breath, I continue to write what I know.

Ava McKinley – my best friend, engaged to Jacob Jackson—Jake? Why did I ask her to stay away? Is she Colton’s sister?

Jacob Jackson – Ava’s fiancé, stranger’s brother?

Nic – friend from girls’ nights? Also planning a wedding? To whom?

Closing my eyes, I try to recall my conversation with the stranger. Who else had he mentioned? There was a Mandy? No, Molly. He mentioned her twice, so I add her name to the list.

Molly – secret kid, connection to Colton? Who is she? What does the kid have to do with anything?

I stare at the list and tap my pen against the notebook. I felt like I was flooded with information at the bar, but now that I see it on the page, it seems like nothing at all. What about the sexy stranger? What about my new memories? Were those memories?

Tattooed stranger – friend of Ava’s? My former lover???

The words mock me from the page, and I close my eyes, remembering the heat of his breath against my ear. “I never stopped loving you. Even when you told me to. Even when you chose him.”

I go to the living room to find Mom’s laptop. I sink into her recliner and open up Facebook. My fingers type the password before I can even question if I should know it, and when I realize what I’ve done, I give a little prayer of thanks to muscle memory.

My account opens, and I scroll through my feed. I recognize some names and faces from high school and college. Every time I see a face I don’t recognize, I stare at the avatar and wait for blips of memories like the ones I got earlier. Nothing.

I go to my friends list and scroll through the five-hundred-some faces, looking for the man I saw at the bar and the woman who was with him this morning.