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The brightness hit her first. The walls and curtains were a crisp white. She set her helmet on top of the weathered dresser to her right. The wrought-iron king bed with a navy comforter was the only dark color in the whole room. After setting the keys on one of the bedside tables next to a honeycomb ceramic lamp, she dropped her backpack on the floor. With it, the last of her energy drained from her. The events of the last twenty-four hours caught up to her. She walked over to the giant window overlooking the ocean, taking time to admire the crashing waves. One after another, they rose, washed up the beach, then receded, only to do it all over again. If that wasn’t the very definition of her life right now, she didn’t know what was. Going through the motions, getting the same results. Predictable. Stuck in a never-ending cycle.
Why even bother trying?
Emma sighed and shut the curtain before making her way over to the small mini fridge. She grabbed a water and downed it as she entered the large bathroom with the lighthouse-painted door. She should enjoy the large tub with the jets, but she was too tired. She’d probably fall asleep in it.
Shucking off her clothing, she let it fall into a pile. Next to come off were her bracelets. Her muscles ached from the long ride from Boston airport to Shattered Cove on her bike, and the events of last night. Link hadn’t been gentle—which was how she liked it. The fingerprint bruises on her hips were a painful reminder of both the best and most heartbreaking night of her life.
Swiveling to the mirror, she took herself in. Her hair was a wild mess from Link’s fingers, and the helmet hadn’t helped. Black eyeliner was smudged under her eyes, making her blue irises stand out. She ran a finger over her red chapped lips, both from being sucked and bitten by the man and the dehydration of drinking far too much. She never let go like that, not usually.
Just tonight. Link’s words echoed in her mind. Just one night of insanity.
Her hand smoothed over the bite marks on her neck, a torturous reminder of what couldn’t be. I thought he finally saw me.
She shook her head, the back of her eyes prickling. After turning the shower spray on, she waited until it was hot enough to climb under. Emma washed the lingering traces of his scent down the drain with the last of her hope.
Emma collapsed to her knees, letting the hot water pour over her face—unlike the tears she kept imprisoned inside. Here, Emma could let herself fall apart. She could cry for her father, for the mother who’d abandoned her, and for the man she loved and could never have. But they wouldn’t come—stuffed too far down, unable to break free. She slapped her hand hard against her thigh. The sting burned her nerve endings.
I need to let this out. Need the pain to stop.
Her hands traced the hidden scars on her upper thighs and then her wrist. She squinted her eyes closed. The urge to take some of the control back flooded over her.
Eyeing the shaver warily, she stumbled upright and shut off the water before grabbing her towel. She needed to get away from the temptation.
After quickly drying her hair and body, she slipped beneath the grey sheets and closed her eyes. Exhaustion, in every sense of the word, swallowed her up as she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
The phone ringing woke her. Emma jolted upright, the sheets falling to her waist. Confusion spun around her.
Where am I?
Right, Jasmine’s inn.
Ring!
Emma picked her phone out of the backpack on the floor before swiping it to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Miss Sterling?” an older gentleman asked.
“Yeah?”
“This is Mike Driscoll. I’m the estate lawyer of Solomon Owusu.”
Emma furrowed her brow. “I didn’t realize he had a lawyer.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Owusu was a very thorough man. I’m sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, I’m calling to let you know I have the paperwork with his wishes upon his death to go over with you and his son, Lincoln. I’d like to schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience.”
“He . . . um, in his culture, they do not speak about the arrangements for a full week after the . . . passing. We’ll have to wait until then.”
“Of course. I’ll get you on the schedule and send you over a date and time to see if that works for you?” he asked.
Emma nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Okay.”
