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Cayden could continue this vicious cycle, but he stays silent because regardless of his strained relationship with Hazel, it’s clear his daughter’s welfare is all that matters to him. “I’m all right, Mommy. An angel saved me.”
My heart stops beating.
“An angel?” Hazel asks, peering up at Cayden for clarification. I too stare at him, hoping he can shed some light on what the hell is going on. But of course, he doesn’t.
“Someone pushed her out of harm’s way before it was too late.” I wait with bated breath for more, but there is no more. It’s clear that’s all I am to him. A someone—no one of importance.
“Where did she go? I want to thank her.” Hazel takes in her surroundings, and when she peers over her shoulder, I withdraw lightning-quick, hiding behind the safety of the wall.
“She’s gone now,” Cayden simply replies. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Once again the voyeur, I peek around the corner to see Cayden loop his fingers through Ellie’s as he attempts to lead her toward his truck, but Hazel stops him dead in his tracks.
“Never forget what you did, Cayden, because although I may be able to forgive, I’ll never forget.” Time stands still.
His shoulders rise and fall. His stance is menacing. I don’t know what I’m about to bear witness to, but I’m scared. Although his back is turned, his anger is palpable, and I hold my breath. “I’ll never forget. It’ll always be…she’ll always be…the biggest regret of my life.”
The air hisses out of me like a deflated balloon, and I know I’ll soon succumb to the demons. Before that happens, however, I hail a cab and tell the driver to take me home.
I wake, unsure of where I am.
It takes me a moment, but I soon realize I’m slouched in a weathered rocking chair on my balcony out back. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I sit upright, something tumbles with a thud to the rotted decking. Peering down at what made the noise, I see a white sketch pad. The intensity of its crispness contrasts with the weather-beaten decking. The distinct sound of a pencil rolling along the boards catches my eye. When it catches in the gap between the boards, I return my attention back to the open page because what stares back at me confounds me. It’s a sketch of the lake, and the centerpiece is, of course, the oak tree.
Did I draw this?
Bending forward, I pick up the pad and run my fingertip over the lines sketched with precision, sketched by an artist’s hand. Dividing my attention from the picture to real life, I’m overcome with my desire to remember, just like always.
Cayden’s admission rubs me raw, and I don’t know why. Who is she? Whoever she is, she has clearly pissed him off and is most likely the reason he’s such an asshole. But underneath his bitterness, I can’t overlook the ache in his tone. Whoever this person is, she undoubtedly hurt him. She got under his skin.
Thoughts of the mystery woman have me idly running my finger over the sketch. When I come to, I realize I have smudged the charcoal lines by applying too much pressure. My attention inadvertently focused on the swing and how the ribbon was tied with precision to the rope.
“Remember,” I whisper under my breath, but I never do. These shadows are certain to remain with me forever.
Frustrated, I stand, tempted to throw this drawing into the lake. But I don’t. It feels blasphemous, almost. Tucking it under my arm, I make my way into my bedroom, groaning because it looks worse than I remember.
Deciding to find my cell and call Lacey in hopes she’s home and can drop off some of the supplies we bought today, I search the room, unsure how exactly I made it in here on my own. The blackouts are normal, according to Dr. Martinez. He’s given me pills to take if ever they get too bad, but I refuse to live in a medicated haze.
Ambling down the hallway, I make my way into the kitchen and do a double take when I see shopping bags littering the floor. I can’t contain my little squeal because this is exactly the distraction I need.
Dropping to a squat, I hunt through the bags, thankful when I see the cleaning products. I decide to bleach every surface until it’s sparkling clean. Sleep isn’t in the cards for me tonight because I’m on edge. Not to mention, there isn’t really anywhere comfortable for me to sleep yet.
First things first. I decide to change into something a little more appropriate, which has me recalling my conversation with Lacey about the clothes I currently own. I’m tempted to light a bonfire out back, but as appealing as that sounds, I decide to donate my garments to Goodwill instead.
Settling on jean shorts and a tank, I slip my dress over my head, leaving me in nothing but my strapless bra and underwear. My reflection stares at me from the glass balcony door. Running a hand over my flat stomach, I’m hit once again with the emptiness I felt earlier when I first laid eyes on Ellie.
I’m twenty-seven years old. When I was younger, did I envision myself getting married? Or having children? Pushing out my belly, I’m overcome with happiness when I interlock my hands over the swollen bump. It surprises me, but I don’t fight it. I can’t.
I’m petite, and although I would waddle like a duck, the make-believe sight of being this heavily pregnant has me smiling like an idiot.
Unable to tear my eyes away, I turn from front to a side view, tilting my head and examining the vision before me. I imagine what my baby would look like. Would she have copper hair like me? Or would she resemble her father? What kind of a parent would I be? Nothing like Stella—that’s for sure.
However, my fantasy ends as quickly as it began because I don’t even know who her father would be. Would it be someone from my past? Or someone from my future? I suddenly don’t like this game.
“Oh, fuck, shit, sorry!” The string of profanity shatters my bubble because what I see—or, more accurately, who I see reflected in the glass—has me yelping and covering my near-naked form. “I knocked,” Cayden says, attempting to explain why he’s standing in my bedroom doorway.
Dread weighs me down. How much did he see? Could he read my most treasured and unexpected thoughts? Beyond embarrassed, I cover my body as best as I can, reddening from head to toe. “Why are you here?” I demand, making a beeline for my clothes. But I fail. Miserably.
In my attempts to protect my modesty, I manage to stub my toe on the corner of my suitcase and tumble forward. I would have face-planted had Cayden not rushed forward and caught me. We look beyond ridiculous, poised and ready to break into a waltz if the mood suits us.
But all thoughts of dancing are put on the back burner when my traitorous body focuses on the fact that I’m enfolded in Cayden’s arms. My heart begins to race, and it has nothing to do with my near miss.
Those mysterious eyes survey every inch of my face, leaving me with a stomach full of butterflies. I could lose myself in him, and that scares me because when these rare moments occur, I can almost pretend we don’t get under one another’s skin. I don’t know what it is about him, but I’m drawn to him. His mood swings give me whiplash, though, and I need to put out the fire before it burns out of control.
Sanity returns, and the Cayden fog clears, making way for the fact that I’m draped in his arms in only my underwear. I could freak out, but bashfulness exited the room the moment my breasts were mere inches from his face. “Unless you’re going to ask me to dance, can I please get dressed?”
My sassiness douses whatever electricity bounces between us, and he threatens to loosen his hold. I yelp, afraid he’s about to drop me on my ass because our half dip pose would mean I wouldn’t have far to fall. A lopsided smirk pulls at his lips, then he helps me to stand.
