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Emma opened her eyes as Link shifted the car into neutral and pulled on the parking brake. It had been easier to pretend she was sleeping the last two hours of their journey than face the heavy silence of Link’s guilt that permeated the inside of the car, tainting every breath she took.
The familiar weathered wooden sign for Shattered Cove Garage and Repair shop snagged her attention. She swallowed, her eyes drifting to the door leading to her father’s apartment above the shop. Why were they here?
She sat, turning towards Link.
His eyes remained fixed ahead. “We have another meeting with the lawyer in a couple days. I figured we could start going through his stuff tomorrow if you’re up for it?”
A twinge pulled at her chest as she swallowed the emotion that rose in her throat like bile. “Okay.”
“I’ll get your bag. I had Reese bring your bike here from Remy’s.” He pulled the handle of the door.
She was supposed to stay here? Alone? Her hand shot out to stop him. “Can’t I stay at your place for the next few days?” She couldn’t sleep in their dad’s apartment without Solomon. It didn’t feel right.
Link’s jaw clenched, his eyes darting to his lap. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Rejection plowed through her. She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose to fight the sting in her eyes. Apparently, she had misread him the whole time. Emma exhaled and licked her lips. “I can’t stay here without him.” Her voice broke. She needed to get herself under control.
Shhh. Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound. We don’t want to make him mad. Don’t want to draw his attention to you. Her mother’s words swirled from the dark recesses of her mind. She swallowed down everything as she’d always done, hiding herself behind a stoic mask. She still needed to know he’d be in her life. But if he knew how she really felt, Link would run for the hills. He’d made it clear this really was just a fuck. He’d used her and now he was done. And I let myself be used, all for a scrap of temporary affection. God, I’m just like her.
“Em.” Link’s hand reached out to hers, making it halfway before he faltered, slamming his clenched fist into the black leather seat.
“I’ll get my bike.”
He nodded.
“Drop my stuff off to Jaz’s inn. I’ll stay there.” She pulled the handle and pushed open the door before walking towards one of the large bays. It was Sunday, so the garage was closed.
She punched in the number to the security pad and let herself in as the rumble from the engine revved and then faded as Link drove away, leaving her truly alone. She slammed her back to the door, shutting it with more effort than needed before crumpling to the ground. Heaviness threatened to suffocate her, descending on her chest. She sucked in a breath, again and again. Each inhale was tainted with motor oil and metallic notes that usually brought her comfort, reminding her of home.
She slapped her face hard, not once, but twice. The hot sting blossomed on her cheek, spreading down her neck.
Memories flooded over her, fighting for dominance in her mind. Her mother’s boyfriends beating her. Finding her mother passed out with a needle in her arm. The shady men her mother had allowed in the house. The drug dealers. The pain. The screams. The bruises. The excuses. And then, like a blinding light, Solomon’s face. He’d been so patient with her, drawing her out of her shell. Finally, she had been safe.
The last fight he’d had with her mom burst to the forefront of her mind.
“Marsha, where is the money?” Solomon asked.
“I spent it! Emma needed new shoes,” her mother replied angrily.
Emma peeked out from her bedroom door, peering through the crack. She hadn’t gotten new shoes, and from the disbelief in Solomon’s eyes, he knew it too.
“Where were you yesterday and last night?” Solomon pressed.
Oh no. He was going to kick them out. Emma would have to leave again. Her stomach flipped and twisted. Her stomach clenched, about to throw up.
Marsha stood straighter, a gleam in her eye. “You know what? I don’t need to answer to you. We’re not married. And as of now, we’re done. I’m taking my daughter and leaving.”
Solomon reached out, clasping her arm.
Emma gasped and closed the door, tears running down her face. No, Solomon wouldn’t hurt her mom. He wasn’t like the other men. Was he?
She listened, holding her breath as hot tears dripped down her cheeks, soaking the blanket she pulled up to her chin. After the initial raised voice, there was no yelling—only low, murmured tones. Minutes, or hours, for all she knew, later, there was a slamming door and then silence.
And when she’d woken the next morning, Solomon greeted her for breakfast with a sad smile.
“You’re my daughter now. You’ll stay here with me and my son as long as you want to.”
She’d waited day after day for her mother to return. She never had. Marsha Sterling had abandoned her daughter.
