After the End Read online

  BOOKS BY NATASHA PRESTON

  SILENCE SERIES

  Silence

  Broken Silence

  Players, Bumps and Cocktail Sausages

  CHANCE SERIES

  Second Chance

  Our Chance

  STAND-ALONES

  Save Me

  With the Band

  Reliving Fate

  Lie to Me

  After the End

  YOUNG ADULT THRILLERS

  The Cellar

  Awake

  The Cabin

  You Will Be Mine

  Copyright © 2018 by Natasha Preston

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.natashapreston.com

  Cover Designer: Sofie Hartley, Hart & Bailey Design Company, www.hartandbailey.com

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1726418393

  This one is for my husband.

  Actually, this is the second book dedicated to him because of the offended look he gets every time he’s not mentioned.

  There, Joe. Now, stop pestering!

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Tilly

  I have been stuck inside two alternating nightmares for the last four years. Today, one of them is going to come true. Today, Lincoln Reid is moving home.

  Four years after Lincoln; his brother, Stanley; and my brother, Robbie, were in a car accident that resulted in Robbie’s death, he’s moving back.

  Even the thought of seeing Lincoln or Stanley again makes me break out into a cold sweat.

  Does Lincoln think that all is forgiven? That the town has forgotten what his brother did? What he and his parents did?

  When Robbie died, life as I had known it ended.

  You can’t come back from something like that.

  My family used to be happy. We would go on holidays, go camping, or spend nights watching movies or playing board games. Robbie was the one I went to with boy troubles because, although he was protective, he was also supportive, open-minded, and nonjudgmental. My friendship group was tight, close, and untouchable. Lincoln was part of that, flitting between hanging out with my circle and my brother’s.

  But, now, my family is empty and lifeless. My parents don’t want to do anything we used to do with Robbie anymore. I can’t blame them. I don’t really fancy sitting around, playing Monopoly either. And my friendship group now starts and ends with Hanna and Mel.

  Logically, I know it’s not his fault that Robbie is dead, no more than it’s Robbie’s fault anyway. Neither of them was behind the wheel, but Lincoln is alive, and my brother isn’t.

  “Has he arrived yet?” Mum asks, tugging on her sleeve. She’s sitting on the sofa, her knee bouncing up and down.

  Dad is at the window with framed pictures of Robbie on either side of him. “Not yet,” Dad replies gruffly.

  Mum’s back is to him, so she can’t see the way his hands are curled around the windowsill.

  Robbie’s death has gutted them—and me. He was my big brother by two years, and although we argued sometimes, we got along really well. He was my friend as much as he was family, and now, he’s gone. Mum is openly heartbroken, breaking down in tears often and refusing to move on. Dad hurts every second of every day, too, but he works so hard to show the world that he’s strong.

  This last week, since Martha Reid called to let us know that Lincoln was coming back, Mum has been on edge. She’s barely eaten, her nails have been bitten to the quick, and I’ve heard her crying herself to sleep more than once. Mum didn’t ask if Stanley was coming, too, but Martha definitely only mentioned Lincoln.

  I hope Stanley doesn’t come back. If he does, I’m going, and I don’t care where to. I can’t face my brother’s killer.

  Dad’s breath catches. I know what that means, and I can see anyway because, although I’m deeper in the room with Mum, I’m facing the window. The way I have been for the last thirty minutes. Waiting.

  My lungs deflate.

  “I can’t go out there,” Mum says.

  Dad turns around. “You don’t have to.”

  She doesn’t want to leave her home.

  Fire burns in my veins, so hot that I want to rip at my skin to relieve the pressure. We can’t lock ourselves away until he’s gone. We’re not prisoners here, and I won’t hide.

  I’ll go out there.

  I don’t really know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it, but my legs are moving, and I’m ignoring my parents calling my name. Something has taken me over. Am I possessed? I’m sure I’m running purely on adrenaline.

  I storm out of the house as Lincoln tugs on the hand brake like it’s wronged him.

  He cuts the engine and shoves the door open.

  The sight of him, inky-black hair tousled and messy in a short style and full lips turned down, stops me dead. He really came back. After everything that happened, he drives home like his drunk brother didn’t ruin my life.

  Lincoln looks over the roof of his car. His eyes meet mine, and every muscle in my body locks in place.

  Shit.

  Seeing his deep, dark blue eyes is like being punched in the gut. We were friends. He was the boy version of me. We both loved all things old horror and old rock. Lincoln used to joke that we were born in the wrong decade.

  He rounds the car. I’m catapulted back four years, and all I can see is him walking toward me at the hospital. Back then, he had blood on his face, cuts and bruises were everywhere, and his eyes were haunted and red.

  This time, he’s pale, and he looks like he’s walking into the lion’s den.

  His super-dark hair is actually a little longer than he used to wear it, but it’s still styled well, leaning more toward surfer than hipster. He must have spent most of the four years working out because his body has changed a lot.

  “Tilly,” he whispers, his chest expanding in a deep breath.

  I swallow the football-sized lump in my throat. “What are you doing here, Linc?”

  Wait, don’t use his nickname!

  “I’m here for the house, I swear. Someone had to come back and sort it out. Figured it would be better, being me.”
r />   Over Stanley? For sure.

  “What are you doing to the house? Are you moving home permanently?”

  He raises his eyes to the sky. “That’s what my mum wants.” With a sigh, he looks back at me. “But no. I’m renovating it, so my parents can sell.”

  “Why do you have to do it?”

  They could have hired someone.

  “Finance,” he replies. “How are you?”

  I dig my nails into my palms. “Fine,” I lie.

  Even though it’s been four years since Robbie died, I’m not over his death the way some people think I should be. My friends, Hanna and Mel, think that, at twenty-one, I should move out and move on. But I can’t do that yet. My parents are still so broken. How can I leave the house and leave them with nothing but silence?

  Unhealthy to live my life purely to make theirs easier, yes.

  “I’ve missed …” He presses his lips together, and his shoulders sag with the weight of the world.

  He’s missed me? Is that what he was about to say?

  I used to miss him. Well, his company. When he was with my friends and me, we got on so well. We liked the same movies and music, walking along the beach, and getting lost in the forest. Okay, not lost, lost, but walking around aimlessly for hours.

  Those times were special to me, but the night he got into a car with his drunk brother and my drunk brother marked the end of our friendship.

  I’ve stopped missing him because he reminds me of what I’ve lost.

  Three of them got into that car, and not one of them thought it was a bad idea for Stanley to drive when he was over the limit.

  “Look, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, if that’s what you want?”

  “That’s what I want,” I confirm. “It’s what my parents want, too.”

  That much is one hundred percent true. My parents would rather never see Lincoln, Stanley, or any other member of the Reid family ever again.

  “Of course,” he breathes. “I didn’t come back here to intentionally hurt anyone, Tilly.”

  “Then, what did you think coming back here would do? Stanley is the reason Robbie is dead.”

  We both fall silent, and Lincoln squeezes his eyelids shut.

  What did he expect?

  Sighing, I run my hands over my face. “Look, I didn’t come out here to argue.”

  “Why did you come out?”

  Dropping my arms, I reply, “It doesn’t matter.”

  I came because I was angry that my mum wanted to hide from him, but I don’t have a goal here. Lincoln has never been a malicious person, so I know he will keep his distance. I invited this little meeting.

  Can I blame the adrenaline?

  “I know you can’t forgive me for what happened, but believe me, I can’t forgive myself either. There are so many things I wish I’d done differently that night—”

  “Don’t.” I hold my hand up, and he clenches his jaw. Maybe I’m just not ready to talk to him, but I so don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want his excuses or apologies. “There’s nothing you can say, so save it.”

  Raising his palms, he backs up a step. “Okay. I get it, Tilly. I’ll keep away.”

  He turns away and walks to his house with his shoulders hunched and head low.

  The house has been vacant for four years. They moved away shortly after Robbie’s funeral. I don’t like mob mentality, but most of our tight-knit town turned on them. Martha and Cliff fought hard and spent a lot of money on a lawyer who could keep Stanley out of prison.

  That didn’t sit right with anyone. Stanley had chosen to drink and drive, and as a result, someone had died.

  My someone had died.

  They weren’t exactly run out of town with pitchforks, but there weren’t many places they were welcome anymore. So, they chose to leave.

  I think we could have gotten past things a whole lot easier if Stanley had been forced to take responsibility. He blamed everyone but himself. Lincoln and Robbie certainly weren’t innocent, but Robbie is dead, and Lincoln held his hands up to his part in it.

  I’m planted to the floor, my feet unmoving, watching him as he walks into the house with two shopping bags and slams the door shut.

  Breathing heavily, I double over at the stinging in my stomach.

  Jesus.

  “Tilly!”

  Shit.

  I turn.

  Greg, an old friend, is jogging toward me, his car parked on the road outside my house. “Are you okay? Lincoln is back already?”

  Standing straight, I nod. “I’m fine, Greg. He just got back now.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my parents standing at the front door, huddled together like they’re waiting for a child to come home from war.

  “What did he say?” Greg asks, firing bullets from his eyes into Lincoln’s house.

  Greg has kind of taken it upon himself to be my knight in shining armour. Unfortunately for him, I’m not a damsel in distress.

  “Nothing much,” I reply, standing tall despite feeling like I want to curl up and hide.

  “Let me take you inside, and we can talk about it.” He glances at my parents. “They want you inside, too, by the looks of it.”

  What I want is to run away, but Mum and Dad need me.

  “Okay,” I reply and let Greg lead me into my house. It’s not like I have a lot of choices anyway because Greg is not going to go away yet, so why waste energy in fighting it?

  I step over the threshold and clench my trembling hands. Greg closes the door behind us, my parents backing up but still cautiously watching me.

  Turning from the three of them, I head to the kitchen, passing pictures of Robbie staring at me.

  What would my brother think of Lincoln being back? Would he be as angry as I feel?

  Who am I kidding? Robbie would have forgiven him. He would have; I have no doubt about that.

  My brother forgave. He never held grudges and always saw the best in people, even when they didn’t show their best.

  I don’t know how he did. Lord knows, I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to follow through with the logic I tell myself. I can say that I’ve forgiven Lincoln for his part in my brother’s death, but deep down, I know I haven’t.

  “Are you okay?” Mum asks, pulling me into a hug.

  Resting my chin on her tense shoulder, I reply, “I’m fine. He said he would keep out of our way.”

  “Good,” she replies. I pull back, and she looks at me through tears. “I don’t want anyone from that family near you.”

  I gulp at the perfect mixture of despair and fury in her voice.

  “Don’t worry, Emma; I won’t let him near her,” Greg says, smiling and standing slightly taller, like he’s my protector.

  I don’t need protecting. I’m not scared of Lincoln. I’m sad because I miss my brother, but that doesn’t mean I’m some broken woman, unable to take care of myself. The sooner Greg realises that, the better.

  I look at him smiling like he’s won some prize.

  Trying to keep my irritation out of my voice, I reply, “If I see Linc again, I’ll deal with it.”

  Greg’s jaw clenches at the mention of Lincoln’s nickname, which, apparently, I’m using again. Greg has only just stopped using Linc’s full name when talking about him.

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” Dad says, sensing the tension. He squeezes my shoulder on the way past me.

  I follow him into the kitchen, stealing one last look at Lincoln’s house, my heart twisting in a tight knot.

  2

  Linc

  I don’t know exactly when I fell in love with Tilly Drake, but I didn’t even realise it until it was too late. I’d already moved away with my family, and she hated me.

  Every couple I know can tell me exactly when they fell for each other. I can only remember the moment that I realised I loved her. We had been in the new house, a hundred miles away, for four days, and I couldn’t shake the gripping ache in my chest. I knew I mis
sed her, but when I realised why I missed her so much, I could barely breathe.

  I stand in the study after bringing in some food I picked up on the way here, watching Tilly from the window. I’ve been here for the last thirty minutes while Greg has been in her house. She asked me to stay away, and I will, but I can’t help staring at her right now. For four years, all I’ve had is the memory of her and a few photos saved on my phone.

  Facebook stalking is one level I won’t sink to, and she deleted me soon after Robbie died.

  Greg is outside with her as she stuffs crap from her car into a plastic bag. Before I left, she’d recently passed her driving test, and I remember her using her car as a second bedroom. I don’t know why she’s cleaning out her car thirty minutes after going inside, but I think it’s because I’m back, and she wants to keep busy.

  I spend a long time cleaning and rearranging.

  Tilly’s long white-blonde hair is tied in a messy bun on the top of her head. A few wavy tendrils hang down either side of her neck. She was beautiful before, but now, she is something else. I have never seen anything so perfect.

  She stands up and straightens out her back. Slamming her door, she turns to the dickhead who’s staring more at her chest than her eyes. Greg is her age and has always had a thing for her. I see nothing has changed there. I have no idea if she didn’t realise or just didn’t care, but she never seemed to be into him.

  I don’t know if they’re a thing now, but I’m certain I don’t want to keep looking in case I find out they are.

  So, why can’t I stop watching?

  Because it’s been too long since I’ve been this close.

  My feet are glued to the floorboards, eyes pinned on Tilly’s face. I find it hard to look away from her, especially after only seeing her in photos these last four years, but if I see her with him, it’s going to hurt like fuck.

  One moment is all it took to make her hate me, to ruin any chance I ever had of asking her out. We’d always gotten along. Every time we had been together, it had been fun and easy. I think that maybe she could have felt something for me, too. I think, before Robbie died, I could have had a shot with her.

  Timing is a bitch.

  Greg says something, and she laughs. I want to crack the window to hear them, but that would probably draw attention to myself. I lay my palms against the wall and hold my breath as he gets a little too close.