Chapter 15

Jace:

Driving had always been my reset button. Didn't matter if I was sixteen or twenty-seven. Didn't matter if I was winning races or running from them. If my hands were on a steering wheel and the road stretched out in front of me… The noise in my head usually got quieter. Founder's Bridge rose ahead, its long concrete arches glowing beneath the late morning sun.

With the windows dropped down, the humid air rushed inside, carrying the smell of saltwater and marsh grass. The Camaro climbed the bridge effortlessly. From the top, all of Calusa Cove unfolded beneath me. To my left, Riverside hugged the river, its weathered docks and tin roofs catching the morning light. Straight ahead sat Downtown, all mirrored buildings, glass condos, and looping interstate ramps weaving together like veins. Beyond that… The Atlantic. An endless sheet of blue stretching until it swallowed the horizon. God… I'd missed this place. No matter how much it hurt.

I eased off the bridge, letting the Camaro flow through downtown. The city was already alive. Office workers hurried across crosswalks with coffee cups in hand. Food trucks lined the waterfront. Construction cranes swung lazily over another luxury high-rise. Everything was growing. Changing. Moving forward. Except me. I still felt stuck two years ago. The interstate curved toward the coast. Palm trees replaced concrete. The air became heavier with salt. Soon the towering hotels gave way to colorful beach houses, surf shops, and seafood shacks painted in faded blues and yellows. North Calusa Beach. Exactly how I remembered it.

I pulled into the public parking lot. Killed the engine. Silence. Well… Beach silence. Waves. Seagulls. Kids laughing somewhere farther down the shore. I kicked off my Converse and walked barefoot through the warm sand. The grains slipped between my toes. The Atlantic rolled in slow, rhythmic breaths. I sat. Just beyond the dunes. Elbows resting on my knees. Watching the tide. People always thought the ocean was loud. It wasn't. Not really. It was patient. The same waves that crashed today had crashed here yesterday. And they'd still be crashing long after all of us were gone. I watched surfers paddle into swells. A little girl chased ghost crabs with a plastic bucket. An old couple walked hand in hand along the shoreline. Life. Simple. Steady.

I wondered what Camden would've been doing today. Probably surfing. Then trying to convince me to join him. Then laughing when I wiped out. A smile tugged at my lips. "Still would've beaten you back to shore." The wind carried the words away. Hours slipped by without me noticing. The sun climbed higher. Heat shimmered off the sand. Eventually I stood, brushing sand from my jeans. My head felt… Lighter. Not fixed. Nothing was fixed. But quieter. Like the ocean had taken some of the weight for a while. Instead of heading back through downtown, I turned inland. The back roads always felt more honest.

Two-lane highways wound through marshland and pine forests, weaving around cypress swamps that looked unchanged for hundreds of years. Spanish moss hung from ancient oaks. Egrets lifted lazily from roadside ditches as I passed. The air smelled earthy here. Mud. Pine needles. Standing water. Florida wasn't just beaches. It was wild. Untamed. Beautiful in a rough sort of way. Eventually the trees opened back into Riverside. The familiar dirt road leading to my shack came into view. Home. Sort of.

Mom's truck wasn't outside. Probably working. Or helping one of the neighbors. She couldn't sit still if you paid her. I parked beside the dock. The afternoon sun reflected off the river behind the house. Everything looked exactly how I'd left it. Quiet. Peaceful. Normal. I opened the front door. The old hinges groaned as I stepped inside. The living room sat exactly the same. Old couch. Fishing magazines. A faded family picture still hanging crooked over the fireplace. I reached over and flicked on the kitchen light. The room glowed warm.

Then… I stopped. Every instinct I had screamed. Something's wrong. Not obvious. Subtle. Enough that most people would've missed it. I stared at the kitchen table. The chair nearest the window. I'd left it pulled halfway out. Now it was tucked in neatly. I frowned. Maybe Mom had— No. My stomach tightened. Mom never came in here. She respected my space. Especially if she'd seen the crash files spread across the table. She wouldn't have touched them.

Slowly… I walked closer. The manila folders were still there. Mostly. I looked harder. The stack wasn't in the same order. The newspaper clippings sat underneath the witness statements instead of on top. The police report had been turned sideways. Someone had gone through them. Every muscle in my body tightened. "No..." I dropped into the chair. Started flipping through everything. Crash report. Insurance documents. Witness statements. Receipts. Tow yard inventory. Photographs— I froze. The folder felt… Thin. Way too thin. My fingers suddenly moved faster. One photo. Two. Five. Eight. Where— "No." I dumped the entire folder onto the table. Pictures scattered across the wood. Bent. Yellowed. Burned car. Skid marks. The river embankment. Debris field. But… The originals. The close-up photographs I'd paid a retired state trooper two thousand dollars for. The ones taken before anyone else arrived. Gone. 

I searched again. Every folder. Every pocket. The backpack. The floor. Kitchen counter. Trash can. Nothing. "No... no, no..." My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Those photographs weren't copies. They were the only originals outside the evidence locker. Photos that showed details the official reports never mentioned. The brake assembly. The underside of Camden's Camaro. The driver's-side suspension. The pictures I'd spent two years studying until every scratch and bolt was burned into my memory. Gone. Someone had known exactly what they were looking for. I looked around the shack. Nothing else had been touched. TV. Laptop. Wallet. Cash sitting in the ceramic bowl by the door. Untouched. This wasn't a burglary. This was targeted. Someone had come here… For those photographs. I slowly stood. Every hair on the back of my neck rose. They knew. Not just that I'd come back. Not just where I lived. They knew I was looking into Camden's crash. 

I walked to the window overlooking the river. Outside, everything looked peaceful. The dock swayed gently with the tide. A pelican landed on one of the posts. Normal. Too normal. Somewhere… Someone had been inside my house. Touching my things. Reading my files. Taking exactly what could expose the truth. I rested one hand against my chest, forcing myself to breathe. This wasn't paranoia anymore. It wasn't grief making me see patterns where there weren't any. Someone had just made the first move. And for the first time in two years… Jace Maddox knew with absolute certainty… Camden's death wasn't a secret buried by time. It was a secret someone was still willing to protect.