“He’s never really cared for me.” I shrugged, well aware that he could hear me.

“You did throw someone through that window the last time you were here.” Gid motioned toward the glass that had long since been replaced. “Man, how long ago was that? Four years?”

“Six,” I answered automatically. Of the few things I remembered about that night, the date was still crystal clear.

“Six. Right.” Gideon’s expression fell—no doubt remembering why I’d been in Alba last.

Sullivan’s funeral.

Grief threatened to rise up and steal what was left of the oxygen in my lungs, but I beat it back for the millionth time since we put Sully in the ground.

God, I could still hear his laughter—

“You going to pay for these waters, Camden?” Mr. Williamson asked.

“Yes, sir,” I responded, thankful for the interruption, and turned back to the counter to finish the transaction. I didn’t miss the flash of surprise on Williamson’s face at my tone or when I thanked him as I took the bag and moved aside.

“That stuff will kill you,” I told Gideon as he purchased a six-pack of soda.

“You and Julie, man,” he muttered under his breath as he handed over his debit card. “Can’t a guy drink in peace?”

Funny. This was more than I’d smiled in the entire last month. “How are Julie and the kids?”

“Driving me to drink.” He lifted his soda in the air. “No, really, they’re great. Julie’s a nurse now, which you would know if you ever joined the social media world.”

“No, thank you. What’s the point?”

Gideon thanked Mr. Williamson, and we headed outside. “What’s the point? I don’t know. To keep in contact with your best friend?”

“No, that’s why we have email. Social media is for people who need to compare their lives. Their houses, their vacations, their accomplishments. I see no reason to stand on my front porch with a bullhorn to broadcast what I had for dinner, either.”

“Speaking of dinner, how long are you in town for?” he asked as we paused between my Jeep and his faded squad car. “I know Julie would love to have you over.”

“For good,” I replied before I could choke on the words.

He blinked.

“Yeah, it’s taking me a little time to process, too.” I glanced up at the mountains Alba slept between. Mountains I’d sworn I’d never see again.

“You got out? I figured you’d be career.”

So had I. Just another thing to mourn.

“Officer Malone?” a scratchy feminine voice called over the radio.

“Marilyn Lakewood still calls out dispatch? What is she, seventy?”

“Seventy-seven,” Gideon corrected. “And before you ask, Scott Malone is twenty-five and a giant pain in my ass.”

“What did you expect from the mayor’s kid?”

“Mayor’s kid? When’s the last time you talked to—”