McClanahan.

I looked off, past the Ferris wheel and toward Cold Point, seeing her in my head. The strapless pink dress that poofed out the way dresses in the fifties did, while young men wore suits.

“They say she came to cause trouble,” he told me, his soft, low voice drifting into my ear. “That the rival team sent her to sow discord. They say she taunted our whole team. Tried to get them to do things to her that night so she could play the victim the next day.”

Why was he telling me this?

“No one knows how they knew where to find the body, or if she even screamed, but she was found through the morning fog hours later, broken on the jagged rocks below,” he said, “her pink dress stained red and the waves plastering her hair to the stones as her dead eyes stared up at the cliff above. The last thing she saw was the person who pushed her.”

I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was too dry.

“They say the team was going to have to forfeit the season under all the media scrutiny and investigation.” He drew in a long breath and exhaled. “They say all the guys who didn’t come from wealthy families were going to have to forego their hopes of athletic scholarships because of it. They wouldn’t go to college.” He paused. “They say the coach would have to be fired and move his family, the prospects of finding another job after such a scandal not high.”

I didn’t know all that. I listened as he went on.

“All I know is,” he sighed, “a week later, Edward McClanahan left a confession on his parents’ kitchen table and then followed her over the cliff. The last line of the confession read ‘We want what we want.’”

I turned my eyes on him as sweat cooled my pores.

We want what we want.

“They say McClanahan sacrificed himself so the season could go on.”

Like he took the blame? He didn’t do it?

“That’s what they say, anyway,” he mused, a gleam hitting his eyes. “But the whispers tell of something else.”

A flutter hit my stomach, and I barely breathed, waiting for him to continue.

“They say she was caught between two best friends—McClanahan, who was in love with her, and A.P., her boyfriend. He wasn’t wealthy like McClanahan, but he was clever. And ambitious. Not someone to be underestimated.”

My interest piqued even more. A mystery.

I liked mysteries.

“They say she was pregnant,” he told me. “They say she jumped.” And then he looked at me again. “They say Edward… didn’t.”

Didn’t jump? So the rumors say Edward was pushed instead?

A smile played on his lips. “They say the note on the kitchen table was a confession, but not his.”

He took another breath and looked out the front windshield again. Everyone revered Edward because they thought he took the fall to save the team’s season. Save some kids their college scholarships and a coach his job.

I always thought it was moronic. Edward clearly didn’t understand all that life could throw at you. He had far bigger things to survive than a scandal.

But I liked the way Will told it. Like nothing was what it seemed, and there was a story waiting to be unearthed.

After all, no one really knew what happened out at the Point all those decades ago.

“I like it here,” he almost whispered. “I like mystery. Sometimes I’m dying to know what happened that night, and other times, I hope I never find out, because it’s more interesting this way. Reality always disappoints.” He turned to me. “I think that’s why I’ve always liked this time of day best. People hide in the dark. They quench their thirsts in the dark. They build their secrets in the dark. We’re more ourselves here than anywhere else. I get to be me...” he swallowed, staring at me, “when nightfall is coming.”

I gazed into his dark green eyes, his whole face enshadowed in the cab of the truck, and I wanted…

Every nerve on my lips hummed, feeling the weight between us like each end of a string tied around him and me, and it kept getting shorter.

I want…

“We want what we want,” he whispered.

I dropped my eyes to my lap, fisting my hands.

And then his voice came again, barely audible, “Come here,” he said.

My heart dipped into my belly, and I could feel him in my hands. I looked at him, seeing him grind the steering wheel under his fist and breathing hard

“Come here,” he said again.

I absently shook my head. “Why?”

“Because I’m your man.”

My heart cracked and splintered, aching with the warmth of those stupid words. Who the hell was he, huh? He didn’t get to decide that someone belonged to him just because it struck his fancy.

And that’s all I was. A passing fancy. He didn’t listen, and he didn’t take no for an answer.

If I let this happen—let him love me and protect me and all that shit he spewed—I’d just be trading one abuse for another.

He’d use me, dump me, and I’d be worse off for it.

I’d be shattered.

“Take me home,” I demanded.

He blinked, but didn’t move otherwise.

I unlocked my door, yanked the handle, and pushed my door open, jumping out.

I’d walk then. Fuck you.

Slamming the door, I heard his open on the other side, and he’d rounded the car and stopped me in my tracks before I even made it to the tailgate.

“Why are you afraid of me?” he barked, backing me up.

“Why did you tell me that story?” I retorted.

“Why do you think?”

“To prove again what I already know?” I yelled. “That Thunder Bay boys always get away with it.”

I stopped, and so did he. “You think Edward McClanahan got away with anything?” he fired back.

I didn’t give a shit about Edward McClanahan! I just… I just wanted… I just wanted to go home!

“I told you, because I like this place,” he finally answered. “I wanted you here with me, because…” He searched for words, his hand shooting to his hair and gripping it. “Because we want what we want, Em! Jesus!”

“Take me home.”

He inched in, his eyes on fire. “No.”

I chuckled once, aghast. Was he kidding?

“This isn’t happening,” I spat out, getting back in his face. “I’m not going to be the one all over you in the school hallways tomorrow in front of everyone. I’m something dirty you hide!”

“Speak for yourself,” he growled. “I think you’re the one ashamed of me. That you want me. That you want this.”

I laughed. “And who told you that? Your secret society of date rapists who advised that me walking away from you the last fifteen times was a ‘signal’.” And I held up my hands, doing air quotes.

He snarled and advanced on me, but then backed away and turned around. He ran his hands through his hair again, and I could see him breathing hard, the vein in his neck bulging.

“I would never stop touching you,” he said, his voice almost tired. “And I would touch only you.”

He turned and looked at me, and he was so beautiful I wanted to believe him.

Raindrops started to fall again, lightning flashing across the sky, followed by thunder cracking overhead.