Chapter 5

Jace:

I used to think Riverside was quiet before sunrise. Turns out, it just whispered instead of shouted. My old Chevy rolled down River Road with the windows cracked, cool morning air replacing yesterday's suffocating humidity. The sky was still caught somewhere between navy blue and pale gray, the kind of dawn that made the whole city feel like it hadn't decided whether it wanted to wake up yet. Streetlights blinked off one by one. A shrimp boat eased toward the inlet. Someone was already casting a fishing line from the public dock. Life kept moving. Funny how it never bothered asking if you were ready. I rested one hand on the steering wheel while the other absentmindedly rolled my Zippo between my fingers. Click. Snap. Click. Snap.

The cemetery sat on a bluff overlooking the Calusa River, tucked behind a little white church that had somehow survived every hurricane the coast had thrown at it. We used to joke it'd outlive all of us. Camden would've laughed knowing he got the best view in town. I parked beneath an old live oak and killed the engine. Silence. Real silence. No engines. No music. Just birds waking up somewhere in the trees. I climbed out, grabbing the bouquet of white lilies from the passenger seat. His mom always bought sunflowers. Calla usually left fresh engine oil on the corner of the headstone. It was weird. Completely ridiculous. Perfectly Camden.

I walked the winding sidewalk between rows of polished granite. Names. Dates. Stories. Entire lives summarized by a dash. I hated cemeteries. Not because they were sad, because they were quiet. Camden had never been quiet a day in his life. I found him beneath the biggest oak on the property.

CAMDEN ELI VANCE

Beloved Son.

Loyal Friend.

Live Fast. Love Hard.

Forever Racing Ahead.

I stopped. The words hit me exactly like they had two years ago. Like someone had kicked the air out of my lungs. "You always were dramatic." My voice sounded strange. Too loud. I crouched, setting the flowers against the stone. "They picked the biggest tree." I smiled faintly. "You'd like that. Mr. Star of the Show." The river shimmered through the branches behind him. You could hear it from here. Gentle waves. Morning birds. The distant rumble of traffic crossing Founder's Bridge. He would've appreciated the soundtrack. I sat down in the grass cross-legged and twisted my hat back. Just like we used to sit in his dad's garage while arguing over engine swaps we'd never be able to afford.

"I saw your sister." The words came easier than I expected. "She's..." I laughed softly. "Still mean as a damn cotton-mouth." A breeze stirred the oak leaves overhead. "I deserved that one." I rubbed my thumb across the lighter in my hand. "She looked good." Healthier than she'd looked at the funeral, stronger, harder. Like she'd built armor out of every bad day she'd survived. I couldn't blame her. I'd probably helped forge it. "I don't think she smiled." Not at me. Maybe she didn't anymore. The thought sat heavier than I wanted it to. "You'd hate that." Camden had always made it his personal mission to keep Calla laughing. He used to say if she was smiling, everything else would figure itself out. Some brother. Some protector. Some idiot.

I looked down at the grass. "I miss you, man." There it was. The truth, the real truth, simple and ugly. "I miss arguing with you. I miss racing you. I miss you stealing food off my plate. I even miss you making fun of my taste in cars." The lump in my throat grew impossible to ignore. "You know what I don't miss?" I looked at his headstone. "You beating me." A chuckle escaped me. "You cheated." The wind answered with another rustle through the branches.

"Yeah." I smiled. "I know you'd say you didn't. But you absolutely did, every damn time." Silence settled again, comfortable, like sitting beside an old friend without needing to fill every second with conversation. Then my eyes drifted lower. Someone had left a small Hot Wheels car leaning against the headstone. A faded blue '69 Camaro. I picked it up carefully. The paint was chipped. One wheel was missing. Camden would've loved it. "Still got fans." I set it back exactly where I'd found it. My smile faded.

"I've replayed that night..." Every. Single. Fucking. Day. "I've looked at every corner. Every shift. Every second…” I couldn’t help but take in a ragged breath to keep my voice from cracking. “I know what I did. I know what you did. What I don't know..." I swallowed hard. "...is why you never even tapped the brakes." The words hung in the morning air, because that was the part nobody wanted to talk about. Camden didn't miss the corner. Camden didn't panic. Camden wasn't reckless. Camden Vance could drive blindfolded. His brakes failed. I knew it. He knew it. "I should've figured it out sooner." Guilt was funny. It never got lighter. You just got stronger carrying it.

"I left after you died." The confession tasted bitter. "I know why. I couldn't breathe here anymore. Every road reminded me of you. Every bridge. Every stoplight. Every damn gas station." I looked toward the river. "But leaving didn't fix the hole in my fucking heart, dude." It only made the questions louder. "I kept waiting for someone else to figure it out. No one did. So..." I stood, brushing dew from my jeans. "I guess it's my turn."

I rested my hand against the cool granite. "I don't know who's responsible. I don't know how deep this thing goes. Hell, I don't know if anybody will believe me." My fingers curled against the stone. "But I swear to you, Cam..." The words came from somewhere deeper than grief. Somewhere in the pit of my soul. The place friendship lived. "I'm not leaving again." Not until the truth had a name. Not until Camden's memory was more than whispers and rumors. Not until Calla knew what really happened. Even if she hated me afterward. "I owe you that."

 A church bell rang somewhere behind me. Six times. Morning had arrived. I took one last look at the headstone before turning toward the truck. Then I stopped. Without thinking, I reached back and tapped the top of the granite twice with my knuckles. An old habit. Before every race, Camden would knock twice on my hood and say, "For luck." I smiled despite myself. "For luck," I murmured. The breeze carried across the river. And for the first time since crossing back into Calusa Cove… The weight on my chest didn't feel quite so crushing. There was still grief, still guilt, still a city that thought it was me, that I bumped him. I would never. But now there was something else. Purpose. Someone had stolen my best friend from me. Someone had stolen a brother from Calla. Someone had stolen a son from Tom and Evelyn Vance. They'd also stolen the truth. Jace Maddox had come home to take it back.