Green-bean casserole didn’t begin to sum up the beautiful soul that was Lynnie James. No one really could.
Kentucky didn’t begrudge them their grieving rituals or their terrible choices of potluck dishes. It was just that she didn’t belong. She never had. While the others could hug each other, remember the good times with the all-American girl who made life in small-town Winchester, Kansas, worth living, Kentucky didn’t have that.
Not with anyone but Lynnie.
Her best friend had been the only one who really saw her. Not just the party girl who liked fast boys and faster cars—the rebel without a cause. Lynnie had seen everything—the good, the bad, the ugly—and loved her unconditionally. Lynnie had always been on her side.
Kentucky missed her for all those reasons and more.
She caught Sean’s eye and watched as he extracted himself from the fray of she-wolves and headed straight for her. She could feel the women glaring hot enough to burn through to her bones. But that was the same way they’d looked at her in high school. It bothered her even less now than it did then. She knew who she was, knew her own worth.
He embraced her. “You look beautiful. I never thought I’d see you in a dress.”
She was suddenly aware of the black dress, the way it clung to her, and the knowledge that Sean’s eyes had been on her and liked it. She flushed, her face hot. Kentucky hated that she had this reaction. She felt like a first-class traitor having this reaction to Sean, here of all places.
“Well, it is Lynnie’s funeral. What else would I do?” She fumbled with her hands and then smoothed them down the sides of her dress. It was too tight, a lace prison that caged her breath so she could inhale only shallowly.
His brown eyes were full of some emotion that was more than grief but that she couldn’t name. “You know Lynnie wouldn’t have cared what you wore.”
It was then with the sadness etched on his face that she realized what was in the depths of his eyes: guilt. “Sean, what happened—” she paused, searching for the right thing to say “—it wasn’t your fault. The roads were icy. There’s nothing that you could’ve done. It was black ice.”
He looked away from her and for a moment it seemed as if he’d frozen in place. Then when he met her gaze again, she saw so much pain it was suffocating. “There’s so much you don’t know.”
She reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “I know all I need to know. I know that Lynnie loved you and I know that you loved her. That’s all that matters.”
She hated being here, enduring other people and their grief. Not Sean so much as the acquaintances who didn’t really know Lynnie. The acquaintances who knew only Lynnie James the former cheerleader who was going to be a kindergarten teacher and marry her high school sweetheart.
How Kentucky’s heart hurt for him. He seemed so lost, so broken and oh-so alone. She hugged him again. She wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to be lost. The gesture was meant to be comforting, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty for enjoying the sensation of being locked in his arms for just a moment.
She was supposed to be offering him support, but she took strength and safety from his embrace. It reminded her that even though Lynnie was gone, she wasn’t alone. Or maybe they were just alone together.
“She loved you, too, Kentucky. So much that I know she wouldn’t want you to stay here. She’d know you were ready to jump out of your own skin. She’d tell you to run and she’d probably even cover for you.” He released her from the hug and she reluctantly stepped back from him.
Lynnie had known her inside and out. She’d been the best of friends. Hell, how she missed her. Kentucky smiled softly. “But funerals aren’t really for the dead, though, are they? They’re for the living.” She looked at him pointedly.
“You don’t have to stay for me.” Sean scrubbed a hand over his face. “The sooner I can get out of here, the better. It’s just too much, you know?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I get it. I really do.”
Sean studied her for a moment. “I know you do.” He grabbed her and hugged her again, but this time it was hard and quick. “You meant the world to Lynnie.” He released her. “And you mean a lot to me. Don’t be a stranger.”
BUT THAT WAS exactly what she was: a stranger.
Kentucky didn’t see or hear anything from Sean Dryden until July, seven months after they said goodbye to the woman they loved.
He’d gone back to his assignment and didn’t email or answer her letters. Not even when she sent him the little notebook of poetry Lynnie had written about him in middle school.
She didn’t know what she expected from him. What was there to say?
Kentucky hoped he was okay, he was safe, and he was processing as best he could. Most important, she hoped he’d realized that Lynnie’s death wasn’t his fault.
She thought about them a lot. The group, the way they used to be. Herself, Lynnie, Sean, Eric and Rachel. But now Lynnie’s brother, Eric, was with Rachel. That wasn’t really a surprise either. They’d been best friends since they were in diapers. It was kind of a natural progression.
Kentucky was happy for them, but there was still an empty place inside her where Lynnie used to be.
And Sean, God, Sean.
She shook her head at her own train of thought, as if that would shake him out of the spot he occupied in her brain. He didn’t belong there, never had. Yet still, he had his own room in her head. He always had. She’d never wanted to take anything from Lynnie, but she couldn’t help the way she wanted Sean Dryden.
She’d dreamed about him the way little girls do members of boy bands. Until it had turned to something earthier in her teens. Something more carnal. He had been her ultimate fantasy. She’d played scenarios out in her head all the time then. Scenarios that involved meeting him under the bleachers after football practice to make out. Or playing Seven in Heaven or Truth or Dare at some party. But Seven in Heaven had been her favorite for a while. If they were locked in the dark together for seven minutes, they were expected to make out. He’d kiss her, touch her, and she’d get to touch him and it would all be okay because it was just a game.
She’d even dreamed that Lynnie would break it off with him and he’d come to her for solace. Sometimes that one made her hate herself because she was wishing to break something that could never be broken or should never be broken for her own gain.
Kentucky rationalized it by saying that it was only in her head. She never acted on it. Never actively wished for bad things. It was more of a passive sort of wishing. Not that it was any better, but it helped her sleep at night in those first years, when she’d wanted him so much she could taste it.
When they’d gotten engaged, Lynnie and Sean, she’d known the rightness of it. Accepted it. She’d managed to stop thinking about him every day. But sometimes she still felt that familiar tug in her belly, the tingle between her legs when his hand would brush hers, or she could feel the heat of his body when he sat next to her.
She knew it was pathetic, but that didn’t stop her.
Now Lynnie was gone, and in a way, she guessed Sean was, too.
It was late on a sticky July afternoon when Kentucky Lee was sure the moonshine cherries she’d been eating while hanging out on the deck of the Shooting Star Honky-Tonk had conjured a ghost.
Sean Dryden, looking as hollow and