“Sara?”

My breath caught. I knew that voice.

I spun and stared at the friend I hadn’t seen in months. “Greg?”

Chapter 6

Before I knew what was happening, Greg pulled me into his arms and swung me around as if I weighed nothing. The bag of food slipped from my hands and hit the ground as my arms went around his neck to hug him back.

“I can’t believe it’s you. What on earth are you doing in LA?” he asked when he finally set me back on my feet.

“I could ask the same of you.” I stared at him, reeling from the fact that he was standing in front of me. Greg was the last person I’d expected to run into in California. I hadn’t seen him since he’d graduated from school last spring, and he hadn’t changed much in that time. His dark blond hair hung in long, careless waves to his shoulders, and his brown eyes still had that intensity that used to make the boys back home give him a wide berth. He wore jeans and his old leather jacket on his six-foot frame, and he looked like he’d been working out more since he moved to Philly last spring. I looked around and sure enough, his motorcycle was a few feet away.

A few days after I got to Westhorne, I’d called Greg to let him know I wasn’t dead like the rest of the world believed I was. It had been a huge shock for him, especially after attending my memorial service two weeks before. We’d talked for an hour and I’d planned to tell him everything, but he’d been too shaken up to have all of that laid on him at once. So I told him I’d explain it all the next time we talked, and he’d sounded okay with that. I’d figured I could ease him into it over time. But he’d never called me back, and he’d stopped answering his phone and emails.

“What happened to you, Greg? We talked and then I didn’t hear from you again.” I fought to keep the hurt out of my voice.

He ran a hand through his hair and stared like he still couldn’t believe it was me. “Ah shit, I’m sorry, Sara. Things have been kind of crazy. My uncle Leo passed away last month, and I came out here to take care of things for my aunt and cousin.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was he the musician?” I remembered Greg talking about him a few times.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Greg?” Roland said from behind me.

“I should have known you two would be with her. What the hell brings you all to LA?” Greg frowned at me. “You told me you had to hide and pretend to be dead because someone was after you. What is going on, Sara?”

“It’s a long story.” One I wasn’t sure he was ready to hear.

“I have time if you do. In fact, why don’t you come back to –?” He stared at something behind me, and I looked back at Jordan who had joined us, still wearing her bloodstained clothes.

“Um...” I fumbled for something to say.

Greg fixed me with a hard stare. “Let me guess, long story?”

“Yes.” I waved at Jordan. “Greg, this is Jordan. Jordan, Greg is my friend from back home.”

He bent and picked up the greasy paper bag, handing it to me. “My uncle’s place is not far from here. Why don’t you guys come over and we’ll catch up there? Something tells me this is not the place for that talk.”

I looked at the others. Roland and Peter nodded and Jordan lifted a shoulder. “All right. We’ll follow you.”

Greg’s uncle’s place turned out to be a remodeled firehouse. The lower floor was used for storage and parking, and the upper floor had been converted into a very spacious and comfortable apartment. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small recording studio, and an open area that served as the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Large windows gave us a great view of the busy city lights.

Greg offered Jordan a clean T-shirt so she could change out of her bloody top. Then he and I sat facing each other on the couch while the others ate their burgers in the kitchen.

“Talk,” he said in his gruff, no-nonsense tone.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

I hesitated. This would have been so much easier over the phone.

He folded his arms. “Sara.”

“Okay, but I have to warn you, this is going to sound crazy. You probably won’t believe me.”

A shadow passed over his face. “You’d be amazed at what I’d believe.”

I took a deep breath. “It all started when my dad died.” As soon as the words began to pour from me, I couldn’t stop. I told him how my dad had really died, about my healing ability, and all the things I’d kept hidden from Nate and my friends for so many years. Shock registered on his face more than once, but he didn’t interrupt me. I was grateful for that because I was afraid if I stopped, I wouldn’t know how to continue.

The others joined us in the living room when I started to talk about the last few months, beginning with that fateful night in Portland. I paused when I remembered I couldn’t tell Greg the truth about Roland and Peter. It wasn’t my place to reveal their secret to anyone, even to someone I trusted as much as I did Greg.

I looked at Roland and he nodded. So I told Greg the story of that night, including the boys’ part in it. Roland and Peter joined in, helping me relate the rest of the events that had happened in Maine. I tried to gauge Greg’s thoughts as he listened to our story, but he had always been hard to read. He nodded grimly at times and said little. He had never been one to speak much, even when we used to sit together at lunch. Neither had I. It was probably one of the reasons we’d gotten along so well.