Ten Years Ago
John stood at the grill on the back porch of his house, flipping burgers and watching the smoke coil up into the dusky sky. The evening was warm, the kind of Southern spring night that hinted at summer just around the corner—fireflies already flickering near the treeline, and the hum of cicadas rising in waves.
Behind him, the screen door creaked open, followed by the unmistakable patter of boots.
"You overcooking those again?" came a voice that could only belong to Lilly—teasing, smug, and just a touch too loud.
John rolled his eyes. "You gonna stand there criticizing, or you gonna get the plates like I asked twenty minutes ago?"
"Already on the table, chef," she said, sauntering past him. "Maybe if you paid attention you'd see I do more than just look pretty."
"I've got several things to say to that," John muttered.
Lilly shot him a grin over her shoulder. She was wearing a sundress with a denim jacket, her long blond hair pulled into a loose braid. Always a little dramatic, always full of energy. She moved like the world belonged to her and dared anyone to tell her otherwise.
John had always admired that about her. Envied it, even.
Then he saw the guy walking behind her, and his stomach turned a little.
Tall, square-jawed, tan like he worked outside but with hands too clean for real labor. He had that smirking charm—the kind that reeked of practiced ease. Too polished. His eyes swept the yard with a quick, calculating flick before landing on John, and that smile widened.
"John," Lilly said, full of pride, "this is Mark."
Mark stuck out his hand. "Good to meet you, man. She's been talking about you nonstop."
John dried his hands on his jeans and shook it. Firm grip. Too firm. One of those guys who had to win a handshake.
"Yeah?" John said. "Hope it was all lies."
Lilly laughed, punching John lightly on the arm. "I told him you were a grump who still lives off Ramen and motor oil."
"She's not wrong," John said dryly, flipping a burger.
"I like her honesty," Mark said, giving Lilly a smile that was just a little too perfect. "It's refreshing."
Lilly beamed, clearly charmed. She grabbed a beer from the cooler and tossed it at John. "So? Be nice. He came all this way."
John caught the beer and popped the cap. "Just sayin' hi. Ain't thrown him off the porch yet."
Mark chuckled. "Glad to know the bar's that low."
But something in his voice set John on edge. There was something too slick about him. Not the words he used, but how he used them—every syllable measured, every pause deliberate. Like he was acting.
They all sat down at the patio table, plates full of food, the string lights overhead casting a soft glow. Lilly chattered nonstop, teasing John about his socks not matching, about the half-finished truck in his garage, about the way he still folded his napkins like their mom taught them.
"I swear," she said, poking her fork in his direction, "you're one breakup away from becoming a hermit."
"You're the one who dated that guy who thought tofu was a personality," John shot back.
"That was college," she said. "Experimental phase."
"You ate tree bark for three months."
"Whole30!" she corrected with mock indignation. "You could stand to detox, mister diesel-blood."
Mark laughed a little too loud. "You two always like this?"
"Pretty much," John said. "And she always wins."
Lilly leaned against Mark's shoulder and made a dramatic sigh. "He acts all gruff, but he's a softie inside. Just don't let him near a chainsaw after three beers."
"That was one time," John muttered.
But even as they joked, John was watching. Watching how Mark's hand lingered on Lilly's arm too long. How his smile didn't reach his eyes. How he never once asked Lilly a question—just sat back, nodding along like he was cataloguing her.
Something about it was wrong.
And Lilly—God, she was glowing. She looked so happy. That made it harder. He didn't want to ruin that. Didn't want to be the overprotective brother who chased every guy off just because he didn't like their haircut.
Still...
When dinner ended and Mark offered to help with the dishes, John waved him off. "I got it."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
John smiled. "Yeah. I've got my system. She'll tell you."
Mark looked at Lilly, kissed her on the cheek. "I'll wait in the truck."
When the door shut behind him, John turned. "You sure about this one?"
Lilly arched a brow. "You're doing it again."
"What?"
"The overprotective pitbull thing."
"I didn't growl."
"You scowled. Don't think I didn't see it."
John rinsed a plate slowly. "I don't know, Lil. He's too smooth. Feels off."
She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. "You just don't like him because he talks more than you do."
"No. I don't like him because he doesn't listen when you talk."
That stopped her, just a second. But she brushed it off. "He makes me feel safe, John. That's what matters."
He looked at her for a long moment, the water running in the sink, and finally just nodded. "Alright. Your call."
Lilly smiled, a little sad. "Thanks for not yelling."
John turned back to the dishes. "Just don't expect me to invite him to poker night."
"Pfft," she scoffed. "He'd cry the second he lost."
They both laughed, and for a moment, everything felt right again.
But deep down, John's gut twisted like rusted metal.
Present Day
The road outside was still dark. Rain tapping soft against the windows. The girl—Sarah—was asleep in the other room. Sarah's eyes haunted him. It's not Lilly he reminded himself. They are two different people, and yet the story was one he had seen before.
Mark.
He hadn't thought of that name in years. Not since the funeral. Not since the cops had shrugged their shoulders and said there wasn't enough evidence.
Lilly had been found face-down in the river three towns over. No witnesses. No signs of forced anything. Scattered bruises that could have been from anything. Just a "tragic accident."
Bullshit.
John had known the moment the deputy gave him the news. It was in his bones. Mark had done it. Maybe not with a gun or a knife, but with his hands. Or his words. Or his control.
And John hadn't done a damn thing.
He should've scared Mark off that night. Should've grabbed him by the collar and laid every warning on the table. You hurt her, I bury you. Should've trusted his gut.
But he'd let it go. For Lilly's sake. For her happiness.
And now she was gone.
He thought about Sarah. Bruised. Scared. Running.
A different girl. But the same storm.
John swallowed hard and whispered into the silence, "I won't screw it up again, Lil. I swear to God."
He rolled over in bed and tried to close his eyes but sleep would not come.
And John Harper sat in that darkness, alone with his regrets—and the unshakable resolve not to repeat them.