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“I told you about Ava, and how I’ve lived with the guilt of my failure every day. You honestly believe I wouldn’t have understood the need to protect family?”
I turn back to him, tears burning in my eyes. “My parents died when I was six. Paige and I were in and out of foster homes, group homes, and detention centers until I was beaten so badly that I almost died. I was fifteen when we ran away. I raised her. I kept her in school. In clean clothes. I dropped out, did anything I could to make money and give her the life she deserved.” I shake my head as the tears begin to fall. “You don’t understand. I’ve never had anyone to turn to. To trust. It’s always just been me and her against the world.” My voice shakes. “And now it’s just me.”
“Was it all a lie?” He asks. “Or is this?”
My eyes lock with his. “If you have to ask that, then you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Does he know who you really are? Is that why you keep going back to him?”
Lightning travels through the clouds above us, reaching down into the ocean just beyond the marina with a crash of thunder as rain begins to fall.
“It’s him, Zaden,” I confess, my heart pounding as the cool rain streams down my face. “Evan’s responsible for Rose’s death. I have proof, I just can’t get a confession. And every moment I’ve spent with him has been for that reason.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I nod resolutely. “That’s my problem. No one does.” I turn back to the motel, and climb the wooden steps to the catwalk. When I reach the gate for the pool deck, I look back at him. Rain slides down his face, dripping from the dark strands of his hair to pool where his arms cross his chest. Arms I need so desperately to wrap around me right now, more than I’ve ever needed anything before. “I wasn’t pretending with you. I was always Skye.”
I push through the gate, and climb the concrete stairs. As I pause at the doorway, a movement at the Sandbar catches my eye, and I glance over to see Chris standing on the employee deck. He faces me, his features unreadable, his hands balled at his sides. I don’t know how much he heard, but judging by the rigid posture of his stance, I just made an enemy.
I open the door and fall back onto the bed, wrapping my arms around myself and staring up at the dusty popcorn ceiling. I was right. I am leaving here today.
Alone.
Chapter 24
Skye
Cars fly down the wet streets beside me, splashing rivers of water onto the sidewalk that rise to my boot laces. I shove my hands deep into my pockets and continue forward as rain streams down my soaked body. When the squared concrete building of the Pelican Beach Police Department comes into view, I stride through the grass and over to the front doors.
A blast of frigid air attacks me the moment the doors slide open, and I fight the shiver that races through me. When the doors close back, silence overtakes the room, and I glance around the office. Water drips off my clothes and onto the pristine white tile floor beneath me, my boots squeaking as I follow the zigzagged path of rope barriers to the metal detectors.
“Did you swim here?” An officer asks from the other side of the rope as he hands me a plastic bucket for my belongings.
I raise my head to glare at him. “Left the windows down atthe car wash,” I reply sarcastically, dragging my necklace over my head. I toe off my boots, pull the fragile silver chain of yellow roses out of my pocket, and pile everything into the bucket before stepping through the metal detector. It beeps red, of fucking course.
“Step back, please,” he instructs, grabbing for his magic wand.
I roll my eyes, then reach under my shirt to pull the clasp on my bra, stripping it off and pulling it through the arm of my tank. I toss it into the bucket, and reach for the button on my shorts.
“Wait, wait,” he pleads, holding up a hand.
“I don’t really have time for this today,” I advise. “And I’m not afraid to get naked right here in the middle of your office.”
He waves his magic wand over me from head to toe, but my wet clothes don’t transform into a sparkly gown. I’ll never be ready for the ball at this rate.
He motions for me to pass through. When my bucket comes down the conveyor belt, I hastily pull my things back on and shove my bra into my pocket. With an eyebrow raised, he picks up the bucket and walks it to the trash, dumping half an inch of standing water into the bin.
“Do you know where you’re going?” He asks, reaching for a towel from beneath his table.
“Detective Phillips,” I answer, striding toward the stairs. “I’ve been there before.” He watches my departure carefully, then calls for a mop as I begin my ascent.
The second floor isn’t anywhere near as loud as it was the other day. I guess the storm has quelled criminal intentions, atleast for now. I wander down the hallway, pausing outside the shut door of 215. I see movement behind the frosted glass window, and knock.
“Come in,” he calls, glancing up from his desk. I push open the door, and his eyes narrow. “Ms. Matthews?” He’s in a suit like before, but there’s something off about him. He looks disheveled, his tie loosened and crooked, with obvious coffee stains on his blue button-up shirt. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.
“You said to come by and get my phone,” I answer. “Figured I’d save you the postage.”
“You… okay. Yeah, give me a moment,” he says, stumbling through his words as he fumbles with the papers on his desk. He picks up the receiver on his phone and dials an in-house line, but no one picks up. He frowns, tries again, and slams the receiver down.
