A test of his willpower he wasn’t confident he could win.
Grabbing a blanket from the bottom drawer of the armoire, he stalked over to the couch and flopped down onto the cushions. Draping the blanket over his body, he reached for his phone. The hours ticked by in a blur as he scrolled mindlessly through news articles and social media videos, unable to sleep. Somewhere deep inside, he worried that if he fell asleep, Britt wouldn’t be here when he woke up. This dream would end. He’d be plunged back into the nightmare of life where Britt was actually gone. Lifting his phone, he activated the night mode camera option, then aimed the lens toward Britt. His finger hovered over the button to take a photo when his phone buzzed in his hand.
Fumbling the device, it fell to the floor. Lachlan looked down and saw a new text message … from Stacy Jackson. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then tapped the screen.
Stacy
I’m sorry. Losing someone you loved is hard. I shouldn’t have made it about me. I’m sorry. Call me. Please.
Lachlan sat up on the couch. He swallowed hard, his skin clammy as shame twisted his gut into knots. He’d almost been unfaithful to Britt. If he hadn’t called out her name, he and Stacy would have …
He lurched to his feet, clutching the phone as he walked toward the bed. Britt had been held captive, desperate to get free, while he was about to move on with another woman. How could he not have known that Britt was still alive? Felt her presence, even if it didn’t make sense?
Britt shifted in the bed, her arms twitching slightly as her head turned from one side to the other. A soft whimper escaped her lips as he stood over her.
Three years of grieving. Endless days of waking up, reaching for her, catching himself buying her favorite coffee, scrolling through pictures of her on his phone, listening to voice messages she’d left for him. He’d been unable and unwilling to let go of Britt until he’d seen the sadness in his daughter’s eyes, watching the other kids interacting with their mothers.
He confided in Stacy, telling her how it tore his heart to see Paloma struggling. She stepped in without him asking, with warm smiles, gentle understanding, and compassion for his daughter.
Stace had brought a light to Paloma’s eyes that a father couldn’t bring. Along the way, she’d tried to heal his broken heart, too. As they grew closer, he’d convinced himself it was time. Time to stop being faithful to a ghost.
Except Britt wasn't a ghost. She was flesh and blood and needed him. And that made his betrayal unforgivable, not just because he’d opened his heart and bed to another woman. But he’d used a good and kind friend as a bandage for a wound he knew couldn’t be healed.
He had no idea how to handle the mess he’d created. How to let Stace down easily. How to get Britt to remember his love for her. How to connect his daughter with the mother she thought she’d never have. Because he wouldn’t deprive his daughter of knowing her real mother. To forge a connection with Britt … just like Britt had done with Paloma in the park.
Another memory surfaced.
Britt swiped at the sweat covering her face, then swooped down, picking up Paloma as she patted a pile of dirt in the backyard. Her hand curved protectively around their giggling child, swatting away the few ants crawling on her little hand. “Only our child would try to play with an ant bed. I swear I can feel it when she needs me,” Britt said. “Is that crazy?”
Not crazy.
Britt had to be the woman Paloma had seen in the park. The one his little girl thought was Mommy’s angel who had come from heaven to protect her. Even without her memories, Britt had been drawn to her daughter. The mother’s instinct deep within had propelled Britt to risk her life to help Paloma hide.
Every day Britt was in St. Felipe, she remembered more of her life. Tiny fragments, disjointed pieces, but it was happening.
And he couldn’t help but think that being around him and Paloma at the same time could help her remember so much more. He could have Britt back sooner if she … came home to live with them.
Lachlan eased onto the bed next to Britt. She jerked in her sleep as sweat dotted her forehead. Incoherent words tumbledfrom her lips as her breath quickened. He leaned forward, reaching a hand toward her?—
A blood-curdling scream shattered the silence.
Chapter 20
The blast hit like a thunderclap, shattering glass and metal into deadly shrapnel. Heat punched through the car with brutal force, stealing the air from her lungs. Flames erupted, a roaring orange monster that devoured everything in its path.
She saw it coming in slow motion—a wall of fire racing toward her, the dashboard melting, the steering wheel warping. She lunged for the open door, desperate to get out of the car. The explosion propelled her from the vehicle. Her body tumbled and rolled across the rough ground, scraping and scratching her skin. The deafening roar echoed in her ears. The crystalline tinkle of glass rained down, stabbing her with thousands of tiny cuts. The screech of twisting metal was like a monster coming to life.
She couldn't breathe through the thick black smoke filling her lungs. Her screams tore from deep in her gut, an endless aria of agony as the heat intensified.
“Britt! Britt!”
Her skin roasted under the brutal heat. She struggled forward, desperate to live but knowing this was the end. She wouldn’t survive, not this time?—
“Britt! Wake up … you’re safe.”
She clenched her eyes shut as tears flowed down her cheeks.
“I’ve got you. Come on, Britt. Come back to me … please … come back to me …”
