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“I won’t call you, Arran. I never want to see you again.”
Pausing from what he’s doing, he lifts his eyes to mine. In them, there’s something I’ve never seen before—an ache so deep, I instinctively want to reach out to him. To comfort him. But I don’t.
I extend my hand and ask for my phone back. He places it in my palm, his fingers grazing my skin. They linger there, burning me. Making me want to scream because I can’t move away.
Then, without warning, he drops to his knees, his head down. “Forgive me, Skye. Please. Please forgive me.”
A cry escapes me, and I look away from him. “Forgive you the way you forgave my dad when you believed he was behind Kate’s death?”
Shaking his head, he says, “I didn’t know. I… I didn’t know he was innocent. I would never have hurt an innocent man.”
“You knewIwas innocent, but you hurt me anyway!” I scream the last. “You mentally punished me every time you touched me. You made me hate myself for wanting you.”
“I didn’t touch you to hurt you, Skye! I touched you because Ineededto. Because from the moment I saw you, I wanted you.”
“And you’re not a man who will be denied,” I hiss. “Well, I’m denying you now. You don’t deserve me or my forgiveness.”
Lifting his gaze, he says, “I don’t deserve it. But I’m asking for it, nonetheless. I’m in love with you.”
It’s like a spear to the chest. An agony that can only come from hearing the words from the person I love beyond reason after discovering the true monster inside him.
“Shut up!” I cry out from the pain and stumble back as he reaches for me. “Don’t touch me!”
“Skye.”
I straighten my spine in spite of the fact that no man has ever hurt me this way. “Maisie and I are leaving. Do not follow us. If you love me the way you say you do, you will let me go. I never want to see you again.”
“Skye, forgive me,” he repeats, blinking up at me, seeming so lost and confused.
For a moment, it’s like I’m abandoning a lost puppy. I hesitate, my broken heart yearning for him too. “I’m sorry, Arran. I just don’t know how.”
* * *
The house is just like I remember. It’s been years since Daddy brought us to Vermont to visit the place he planned on buying with Momma. Only, she died before their dreams of a vacation spot on Lake Champlain ever came true.
With Harold Greene’s help, he eventually bought it. It’s listed under a completely different name, though. Someone who doesn’t exist, because the people in it aren’t supposed to exist either.
I tug the flannel blanket around my shoulders and sit on the swing facing the water. It’s serene. Surrounded by nature and clean, cool air. Far from the overwhelming sounds of the city and its glaring lights. Far from danger and men who want me dead.
Far from Arran.
That sharp ache in my chest returns full force, and I swallow down the sob that’s threatening to emerge. I refuse to let it go. There’s no point.
But something distracts me. A bird or a squirrel moving in the trees that surround us, and I forget to hold it in. So the cry comes out, pained and incredibly sad even to my own ears.
“Fuck!” I wipe angrily at my tears. How is it that even though I’m in this wonderful place, safe and sound, the man still hurts me?
I hate him. I hate Arran for what he did to my father. And I hate him more for making me love him. I hate myself too because even though I shouldn’t, I love him so much more than I hate him.
Misery loves company.
Turning away from the lovely sight of the lake, I peer through the French doors into the living room, where Maisie sleeps. I get up and go inside.
I sit on the floor beside the couch my sister is lying on and stare at her. Tears streak her cheeks too and sadness mars the space between her brows.
We arrived over a week ago in a Tahoe Carina gave us, and both of us are still feeling the effects of everything that happened. The things we left behind. The people.
At least she’s sketching again. I take the pencil dangling from her fingers and place it on the table.
