Abbey watched Kyle carry his guitar over to the cluster of musicians. He’d come here to play tonight, but she knew, in this moment, he was running away from her. From her gratitude.
Her own head was reeling. If not for his investment in the cidery, they’d likely have lost their orchards entirely, and maybe the house as well. Her parents had never told her the bald numbers, but they’d been struggling for years because of what Kyle’s parents had done, everything they’d taken. It would have happened sooner, probably, if Kyle himself hadn’t found out and blown the whistle on the embezzlement. At thirteen, he’d chosen her family over his own, and his testimony had been the lynchpin in the case that sent his parents to prison. Despite that, he’d always had the notion that he was responsible for
