Always a Secret

She just wants her family to heal… …He needs her to see he’s a part of that family too.

The two people closest to Arya James ran years ago, leaving the town of Gulf City behind. They were her best friends, her sister and Max, the boy she loved.

Life moved on and she tried to forget, tried not to imagine them together somewhere far from home. Now, her sister is gone.

She didn’t live to see Arya open her own business, didn’t stick around to watch her family fall apart.

When Max returns, Arya can’t face him or the memories. She can’t hear his voice without missing her sister. But he hasn’t come home alone. For years, he’s kept his secrets close.

Now, the biggest one is out for the world to see. His daughter. A little girl with strikingly familiar eyes.

I wasn’t meant to live my dream. It was something I had to come to terms with a few years ago, something I told myself was okay. Not everyone got to become the person they envisioned when they were ten years old. That was life. 

But if I couldn’t be a writer, if I didn’t have it in me to sit in front of a computer and craft stories—something I learned the hard way I had no skills for—at least I still worked around books all day. 

“Arya, I think it’s clean enough.” My oldest sister, Angelina, tapped her foot against the linoleum floor, and I knew without looking up she had her arms crossed over her chest. “What’s with you today?”

I paused where I was dusting the shelf of books for the tenth time. “What?” 

I hadn’t heard her walk up, lost in my own world as usual. When I was a kid, my family referred to me as the astronaut, always in space. Maybe they were right. I was always too busy thinking of the last book I read or crafting a new story in my head to take notice of the world around me. 

Some business owner I was. 

Angelina heaved one of those big sister sighs that was equal parts adoration and annoyance. It was a talent they had. I should know, having four older sisters and an older brother.

“You need a day off.” Angelina snatched the dust rag from my hand. “Or some psychological help.” 

A small smile tilted my lips, and I wiped my hands on my “I fall in love with fictional characters” t-shirt. “I don’t need a day off.”

She followed me to the front door, where I flipped the sign to open. “I’m just looking out for you, kid.” 

At twenty-five years old, I wasn’t a kid, but I’d learned a long time ago that none of my siblings would ever stop seeing me as such. I didn’t really care. Caring took too much effort, so I indulged them. “I know you are.” 

I surveyed my shop. Dark wooden bookcases lined the walls, not a spare inch to be found. There were too many good books to introduce readers to, and I couldn’t waste a bit of space. 

Directly in the center of the room was the new Trinity display I set up yesterday. She recently launched a new book and was probably the hottest author in romance right now. 

I wasn’t much for romance myself, but my customers couldn’t get enough. 

“What are you doing here so early anyway?” The other half of the shop was a brewery. Angelina and I owned the place together. I ran the bookshop, and she handled the brewery. 

She sighed. “Aidan told me to check on you.” 

Our brother, the only boy in a family with five girls, tended to go the undercover overprotective route. He wanted to know we were all okay, but he went about it indirectly. 

“Tell Aidan you saw me and I’m not standing around here moping, that the Cracked Spine and Brew is alive and well with me at the helm.” 

“You’d never mope.” She trailed me to the register, not letting up. “You’re more of the overly cheery type when dealing with grief. Or the emotionless robot.” 

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “I’m not grieving. Michael broke up with me. People end relationships every day.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your prerogative.” I wasn’t lying to her. The moment my boyfriend of two years said we’d grown too far apart, that I wasn’t present enough for him, I knew it was true. We were only staying together because it was comfortable. 

“Arya, sometimes, I get the impression you don’t even feel things.” 

“What am I supposed to say?” I looked away, not wanting her to know I’d wondered the same thing about myself. I’d never gotten upset or heartbroken when relationships ended. As our parents constantly chose everything else over their own children, I didn’t hate them as much as Angelina did. When our sister, Ann, died last month, I didn’t cry. Who doesn’t cry when their sister dies? 

I missed her with every fiber of my being, but the tears never came. 

Angelina let out an exasperated breath. “Rage, get mad. Make a plan to go key his car or pee in his pool.” 

A laugh burst out of me. “Do people actually do those things?” It seemed mean, and that was one thing I refused to be. 

“Well, no, but that’s not the point.” She slapped a palm against the checkout counter, making me jump. “People plan to act. It doesn’t matter if they actually do. Just thinking about it is therapy enough.” 

“I don’t need therapy.” I stopped, turning to her. “Plus, thinking of doing anything so mean as keying his car would just give me an anxiety attack.” 

She slapped a palm against her forehead. “How did I end up with such a nice sister?” 

That was a good question. Anyone looking at the two of us wouldn’t imagine we came from the same upbringing. Angelina wore ripped, weathered jeans, a black tank top, and black converse sneakers. Her long golden hair hung in waves down her back. She was tall, the tallest James sibling—including our brother. 

Me, I was different. Standing at only five feet and three inches, she towered over me. Today, I had on my usual outfit of cuffed jean shorts and a bookish t-shirt. My hair, the same color as hers, stopped at my chin. I was the good sister, the one who could do no wrong. 

Even my illustrious mother thought so. 

“You know I’m just looking out for you, right?” Angelina wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into her. “For her.” 

I rested my head on her shoulder. “You didn’t fail her, Angie.” For the last month, Angelina had done nothing but check up on her siblings. Between her and Aidan, there was enough guilt to last a lifetime in our family. “Ann made her own decisions.” 

Ann was the closest sibling to me in age, and we grew up rarely leaving each other’s sides. Not until she walked out on the family at eighteen and we didn’t see her until right before she died. 

Angelina edged away from me. “Fine, I trust you’re surviving that douchebag’s decision. I’ll be back before the brewery opens at three.”

I waved to her, releasing a relieved sigh when the door shut behind her, and it was just me and my books. That was how I liked it. If I couldn’t write them, I’d sniff them all day long. That was weird, but I’d never feared being a weirdo. 

My phone buzzed where I’d left it underneath the counter. I picked it up to see Mom’s name flashing across the screen, but I couldn’t deal with her destroying my peace today. 

Reaching into my oversized purse, I pulled out the book I’d kept with me for the last month, reading it over and over again. Don’t Forget Me. I found it with Ann’s belongings, the pages well-worn. It helped me feel closer to her, to remember a time when we were just two teenagers lying under the stars with our mutual best friend and arguing over books. 

As I ran a finger over a note she left in the margin, the tears still didn’t come. 

Arabella smiled for the first time while I read this page. 

There were more notes about the mysterious Arabella. Flipping through the pages, I came to the one that had hit me hard the first time I saw it. 

Arya would love this book. 

She was right; I did. It proved that, even while she was gone after she abandoned us, she thought of me. 

But who on earth was Arabella?