Текст книги "Pocketful of Sand"
Автор книги: M. Leighton
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
TWENTY-SEVEN
Cole
I’M ON THE beach before daylight. I couldn’t sleep after I left Eden’s. I didn’t want to be in the house when Brooke got up. So I came here. This is the one place that’s brought me whatever comfort I’ve been able to find for the last three years.
Until Sunday.
I push back the snow until I see sand. I start this castle like I’ve started them all–building up the ground, laying the foundation. I bring up the mental image of Charity, picturing her face with so much clarity my chest hurts. I see every tiny detail–every freckle on her nose, every gold speck in her green eyes. I listen for her laugh.
Only it never comes.
I work a pile of sand into a tall turreted structure, right in the center of the mound and I wait for my daughter to arrive. I watch and I listen, glancing around the empty beach over and over again, but still there’s no Charity.
I sit back on my haunches, the snow no longer cold to my numb knees and hands, and I close my eyes, trying harder to see and hear my daughter. I mentally flip through a hundred different memories, losing myself in them. But the moment I open my eyes, she’s gone.
With a primal growl that the wind carries away, I destroy the castle tower with one brutal swipe of my hands, guilt and pain spewing from my gut like a volcanic eruption, burning in my chest, laying waste to everything it touches.
“Charity!” I yell, glancing up and down the beach in the last-ditch hope that I’ll see her, that I can make this right again.
But I don’t. I don’t see my little girl when my eyes are open. I don’t hear her voice when I’m not listening inside my head.
I flatten the cold, wet sand and I try again, smoothing the ground, building the mound, shaping the base of the tower again. I think harder of Charity, of my little girl, and I wait. And I wait. But still, she’s nowhere to be found.
Again.
I destroy the structure for the second time before I get to my feet and spin away from the ruins. I head for the hard-packed sand near the surf and I take off at a run parallel to the shoreline. As fast as I can, until my lungs burn and my legs ache, I run. Until I can no longer see or hear or think, I run. And when I can go no farther, I stop and hit my knees, closing my stinging eyes.
That’s when I see her. That’s when I hear her. That’s the only time I can see or hear her now–when I shut out the world around me and exist only inside my head. With her.
She’s holding out her arms for me to pick her up, which I do. She lays her head on my shoulder, something she used to do all the time when she was tired.
“Are you sleepy, baby?” I ask her in my mind.
“Yeah,” she murmurs heavily. “I think it’s time to take my pocketful of sand home, Daddy.”
“Don’t you want to build a castle today?”
“No, I think I’ve built enough.”
My heart slams to a stop. “But that’s your favorite.”
“But the other little girl needs you to build one with her.”
Oh, Jesus God! What is she saying?
I feel like what’s left of my world is collapsing, falling in on top of me. Drowning out sight and sound and air. I can’t breathe.
I can’t lose my daughter again. I can’t let her go again.
“I’ll always be with you, Daddy. You don’t have to look for me anymore. And you don’t have to be sorry. I promise.”
One cold tear slips from the corner of my eye to inch its way down my cheek. “But you’re the most important thing in the world to me, baby.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“Do you? Do you really know that?”
She lifts her head and fixes me with her sweet green eyes. “I do. You told me that all the time, remember?”
And I did. When I was with my daughter, I was really with her. She had my heart, my attention, my love. Always. I can only hope she knew how much I loved her. How much I’ll always love her.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“I didn’t forget either.” I won’t. I can’t.
“But you’re sad when you remember. And you don’t have to be. I don’t want you to be.”
“I can’t help it, honey.”
“Yes, you can. You have to try.”
“But that’s not fair to you.”
“You’ve stayed with me long enough. I’m happy, Daddy. Now you just have to be.”
“I don’t want to be happy without you. It’s…” It’s not right, I was going to say. Because it’s not.
“You won’t be happy without me. You’ll be happy with me, too. You don’t have to be alone to be with me.”
With a smile that lights up her whole face, she winds her arms around my neck and lays her head back on my shoulder.
And then she’s gone.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eden
AS PAINFUL AS the days are, I can tolerate them better than the nights. The nights are the worst. In the quiet, after Emmy has gone to bed, the loneliness sets in. The ache I feel for Cole is as visceral as it is emotional. For three nights, I tossed and turned, reliving every moment we spent together. Every smile we shared, every touch we exchanged. And the pain of loss seems only to be getting worse.
It doesn’t help that every night I’ve heard a soft knock at the front door. It’s always later, after Emmy has been asleep for a while. It melts my heart that he considers her in this small way. He never knocks loudly or more than once. It’s as though he’s giving me every chance to forgive him. Yet I don’t.
I can’t. At least not enough to let him back into my life. Emmy doesn’t need the kind of heartache a man like that could bring. I’d have seen that sooner if I’d known he was married.
But today is another day. And I’m hoping with it will come some peace. Finally some peace.
“Do you like it here, Emmy?” I ask as she sits sprawled in front of her bookcase, deciding which book she wants to read to me later this evening.
“Uh-huh,” she mumbles with a nod. She’s distracted.
“Would you be happy if we stayed here?”
I don’t know what I want her to say. Either answer will hurt, but a “no” might make it easier on me in the long run. I can look back and know that leaving was what I did for my daughter’s happiness and wellbeing, that getting away from Cole wasn’t an act of cowardice, but a byproduct of doing what’s best for my child.
“Yeah. Would you?” She turns to look at me, her eyes finding mine. She’s definitely not distracted now.
“I’m happy when you’re happy.”
“You always say that, but you’re happy when Mr. Danzer’s around, too.” Her lips spread into a mischievous grin that brings out her dimples. “I can tell.”
“You can? And just how do you think you can tell, Smartypants?”
“You look at him funny.”
“Funny how?”
She giggles. “I don’t know. Like you want him to hold your hand.”
“I do?”
She nods, still smiling.
“Well, we weren’t talking about me, now were we?”
She turns back to her search. I’m content to let the subject drop. Maybe it’s not the right time to ask.
“Why did he stop coming over?”
She doesn’t turn back around when she asks, which I’m grateful for. I don’t want to have to worry about my expression.
“Some of his family came to town. He’s busy with them.”
“Will he come back when they leave?”
“I don’t know,” I hedge, hating to lie to my daughter. Although I can’t be absolutely positively certain that he won’t. So it’s not really a lie.
“Do you want him to?”
“Yes.” My answer is reflexive. I want him to more than anything. But he can’t. And I can’t let him. That’s all that matters.
“When are you taking me to see Santa?” she asks, giving me a way out of this suddenly uncomfortable subject.
“How about tonight? Jordan said he’d be at Bailey’s all week.”
Within seconds, Emmy is up on her feet, dancing her way over to where I sit in the chair. She throws her body against mine, winding her arms around my neck and squeezing as hard as she can. “You’re the best momma in the world!”
“Only because you’re the best daughter in the world,” I reply, pressing my face into her shampoo-scented hair.
Emmy pulls back enough to look at me, her nose less than two inches from mine. “I’m glad I’m not the only one that makes you happy anymore. That made me worry.”
That made her worry?
She’s so mature for her age sometimes that it makes me worry.
“You don’t ever need to worry about me, babydoll. Ever.”
She nods and smiles, but I can tell my words don’t affect her at all. Whatever the reason she’s been so focused on my happiness lately is still plaguing her. I can see it in the sad way she watches me.
“I love you, Emmaline,” I whisper, rubbing my nose against hers.
“Love you, too, Momma.” She hops off my lap as quickly as she hopped on. “When can we leave?”
“How about right after supper? I’ll call Jordan just to make sure he’ll be there.”
She bounces and twirls away, singing something about seeing Santa Claus and getting all her wishes this year. Hopefully at least one of us will get all her wishes this year. I’m pretty sure mine are too far gone.
⌘⌘⌘⌘
Emmy wanted to stand in line by herself, just her and the other kids. She isn’t sucking her thumb, but of course she hasn’t said a word to anyone either.
She’s had her list made out to Santa for a week. She brought it with her so that she won’t have to tell him if she doesn’t feel like talking, which we both know she most likely won’t. That was her idea, not mine. She’s so self-aware sometimes, like she knows what’s better for her, how she’s feeling and progressing, than I do.
“She sure is a pretty little girl,” Jason says from my left. He hasn’t been more than arm’s length away since we got here. “And talkative, too.” He elbows me and laughs at his own joke. Before my bristling can make its way to my tongue and lash out in the form of a cutting remark, he recovers. Somewhat. “I’m just kidding. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s just so quiet.”
And you’re just such an asshole, I add silently. I don’t know why I’m surprised that his teasing is mean. That seems to be the way he is with everyone except me. And I can imagine why I’m exempt. Something about the mystery that lies within my panties, I’m sure.
“She talks when she’s comfortable,” I explain mildly, not even glancing up at him. I’m afraid I won’t be able to fight the urge to slap his smug face.
“I’ll just have to come around more often so she can get comfortable with me then. Since Cole’s not coming around anymore,” he adds, slipping his arm around my waist and squeezing.
I grit my teeth and say nothing. I don’t know how he knows what’s going on between Cole and me, or if he’s just taking wild shots in the dark. But it doesn’t matter. It’s none of his business and I refuse to respond.
“I thought you were pretty fond of your arms,” comes an achingly familiar voice from behind us. Jason and I both turn at the same time to find Cole standing less than a foot away. His electric blue eyes are trained on Jason, his expression as cold as his tone.
“Didn’t see a ‘taken’ sign on her, Cole,” he says, unaffected.
“I didn’t see a ‘touch this’ sign on her either,” Cole replies steadily.
“She can speak for herself. If she doesn’t want me around, all she has to do is say so.”
“If you’d take the hint, she wouldn’t have to,” Cole growls.
“I think you’re overstepping your bounds a little here, brother,” Jason says, taking a step toward Cole.
Cole doesn’t budge, and I can see why. He’s so tall and he tops Jason by at least three inches. Probably outweighs him, too, by at least thirty pounds of sheer muscle.
I eat him up as I look at him. Just seeing him is like a cool compress to a fevered brow. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I’ll compare every man for the rest of my life to this one. To this one handsome, amazing man who walked away with my heart. And then crushed it with his lies.
I feel sadness creep into my chest and tug at my chin. I make my excuses and turn away before either man can see it tremble. “It’s almost Emmy’s turn,” I mutter by way of explanation.
I hurry away, not looking back. No matter how much I want to.
I haven’t seen Cole since the night he snuck into my room and poured out his heart beside my bed. Although I’ll never forget that night, his words and the emotion I could feel pouring off him, it doesn’t change anything. He’s married. So I dare not look back at him. It makes it a thousand times harder to hold onto my resolve when I can see his gorgeous face, when I can read his beautiful eyes.
I stand near the front of the line and I focus on my daughter. She looks so grown up, standing in line holding her list between her tiny hands. Outwardly, she looks like a normal, healthy little girl. Eyes can’t see the scars she bears. I just hope one day they’ll be so faded that she won’t know they’re there either.
Jordan makes me jump when she appears at my side and throws an arm over my shoulders, but thankfully she’s the only person who approaches me. I don’t look back toward either man. By the time Emmy takes her turn on Santa’s lap and we turn to leave afterward, both of them have disappeared.
I know before we even push through the doors that tonight will be particularly rough for me.
⌘⌘⌘⌘
A frown knits my brow when we pull into the driveway and I see a black SUV parked there. My first thought is of Brooke and dread pools in my stomach like acid. I get Emmy out, intending to ignore Brooke Danzer as we pass, but I notice that the vehicle is empty.
That’s odd, I note.
I wonder briefly if she got confused and thought she was at the house Cole’s working on. But if that’s the case, where is she? Did she just walk over there?
I unlock the door to our cottage and push it open to let Emmy inside. I step back out to the end of the porch and glance across the street to see if there are lights on. There aren’t. I move to follow my daughter inside. Before I can continue to wonder about what the hell Brooke is doing, I hear a voice that makes my blood run cold.
“Hey there, darlin’. It’s been a long time.”
My heart jumps up into my throat when I see Ryan. He’s squatting down at the edge of the living room, holding Emmy between his knees. Her face is pale as a ghost and her eyes are big and terrified.
“Momma,” she whispers in fright.
My throat closes. Oh God, that sound! To hear the fear in her little voice. The tremble. The plea.
“I’m right here, baby. Why don’t you come sit with me on the couch?”
She starts to move, but Ryan stops her. That’s when her eyes start to water. She’s a smart girl. She knows this isn’t good.
“Not so fast, little one. Let’s talk for a few minutes. I haven’t seen you in two years. You’ve grown. You’re such a beautiful girl now,” he says, stroking her hair, letting his hand linger a little too long on her back and butt as he continues his touch down her body to then drop away.
“Ryan, let Emmy go to her room. You and I can talk out here.”
I don’t want to attack him and risk hurting Emmy. And I don’t want to say anything that might scare her even further. I’m doing my best to keep my tone and my expression as calm as possible, despite the panic that I can feel clawing at my insides. Panic and rage. The only thing that’s keeping me sane right now is the knowledge that whatever I do and say could worsen Emmy’s condition. She’s been hurt enough. I don’t want her to have to live with the vision of her mother killing a man right in front of her. Or maybe watch her mother die if that man gets the better of her.
That’s why I have to stay calm. For Emmy. For my sweet, precious daughter.
“She looks just like you,” he says, leaning around so he can see Emmy’s face. She stands perfectly still, her eyes fixed on mine. I smile at her, hoping to soothe her.
“Yes, she does. Emmy, you go play in your room. Shut the door and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?”
Please God, make him let her go. Please make him let her go.
I glance from Emmy to Ryan. I hold his darkly familiar gaze. “Uncle Ryan and I are going to talk for a while. All alone.” I emphasize the last, hoping he knows what that means. If I have to pretend to go along with another rape to get my daughter out of this room, I will. I’d do anything, say anything, withstand anything to keep her safe and unharmed.
Ryan watches me, his eyes narrowing on me then scanning me from head to toe. The slow trip they make back up my body, stopping between my legs and at my chest, makes my skin crawl. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome, that he could have practically any woman he wants. He’s nothing but a sick degenerate on the inside. A man who rapes children. There is no worse predator in my opinion, no more grotesque offense.
Finally, one side of his mouth pulls up into a leer. “Yes, why don’t you run along, little Emmy? Momma and I have a lot to talk about. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
When he stands, he rubs his crotch. My stomach turns.
My eyes fall to Emmy. “Don’t come out, baby. No matter what you hear, don’t come out until I come and get you.”
She nods and my body goes nearly limp with relief when she runs down the hall and slams the door to her room. I hear the knob rattle as she twists the lock and I think to myself, Good girl.
Now I just have to figure out what to do about Ryan.
“How did you find us?” I ask, moving the short distance to the couch.
“Did you really think Lucy would just let you disappear? You know she’s the type to keep her thumb on everyone and everything. Control. She has to have it.”
My heart sinks. “She had me followed?”
He nods once. “From the moment you left the house. I’m surprised you didn’t expect that. Maybe you’re not as smart as I always thought you were,” he says.
I guess I should’ve expected it. But I was so scared, so anxious to get away, to get Emmy away, that I just left. I didn’t look back. Not once. Not even to see if we were being followed.
Ryan comes to sit next to me on the couch. He’s so close his thigh brushes mine, rubbing suggestively as he leans back and crosses his arms over his flat stomach. His eyes are on mine and I hold them. I’m not afraid of him. Not for myself. I’m afraid for my daughter, though. If something happens to me, she’ll have no one to protect her. No one to defend her from men like this. She’ll go to live with them and she’ll be abused until she can get away. But by then it will be too late.
“Why wait so long to make your move then?” Please God don’t let him tell me that he was waiting for Emmy to get older. More to his liking.
My guts twist at the thought.
“She kept it well-hidden for a long time. But she’s not the only one who can manipulate. So here I am. To see you. And my daughter.”
My pulse speeds at the way he emphasizes that Emmy is his. She is biologically his offspring, but not in any way is she his daughter. Not in the ways that count. She will never be. Not as long as there’s breath left in me.
I turn toward Ryan, facing him fully, leaning in a little closer even. I hold his eyes. I speak slowly, clearly. “Do you really think that I wouldn’t fight you tooth and nail for her? Do you really think that you’ll ever be a part of her life?”
His smile is smug as he see-saws his head. “I figure my chances are pretty good.”
“And why would you think that? Have you lost your mind?”
“I can be quite…persuasive, Eden,” he says, reaching out to run his finger from my chin down to my cleavage. I want to grab it in my fist and break it. But I don’t move. Still, I hold his gaze. I won’t be backing down tonight. Tonight or any other night.
“I would rather spend my life on the run for killing you than give you five minutes with my daughter.” One smoothly-arched brow snaps up. “And if you don’t move that finger, you stand a good chance of losing it.”
Fire is pouring through me. Rage, built up over years of being an unwilling sex toy, bubbles within my veins. Bitterness that this man has the right to claim my daughter as his own burns inside me.
I feel at once powerful for standing up to him, angry for waiting so long and terrified that this won’t work out in my favor somehow.
But it has to.
I have to make it.
Ryan does nothing, says nothing for long seconds. He doesn’t move his finger, but he doesn’t advance it either.
But then he does.
He moves so quickly I yelp in surprise. He fists his fingers in my shirt and jerks me off the couch, rolling onto me as we both fall to the floor. The jarring impact knocks the breath out of me. I gasp in an effort to get it back, but it doesn’t come. With his unrelenting weight on me, my lungs can’t expand.
I start to kick and scratch at him, but he easily pins my arms to my sides. Like he used to.
That’s when fear settles in. For a few seconds, I’m a scared child again, at the mercy of someone older and stronger. My heart races and my chest burns with the need for oxygen. I tilt my chin up, trying desperately to get even one good breath. But it won’t come. Ryan presses down on me with his muscular upper body, making my head feel like it might explode.
I barely hear the knock at the door over the blood pumping behind my ears. But I do. I try to make some sound, but all that comes out is a raspy, wheezing sound. And then Ryan’s hand clamps down over my mouth, making it even harder to breathe. I wiggle the best that I can, anything to break free, to gain one inch of purchase with arm or leg, all to no avail. I’m too small. He’s too big. Too heavy.
My head starts to swim lightly from hypoxia. The only thing left I can think to do is to sink my teeth into the finger that rests over my lips. So I do. With every ounce of strength in my jaws, I bite down. I feel the give of flesh tearing away from bone. I taste the coppery tang of blood entering my mouth. I hear the satisfying growl of my captor.
And then I see Cole, a furious angel bearing down on Ryan. I see his big hands grab Ryan by the shoulders. I feel the weight lift when he slings him off. I breathe in relief when cool air rushes into my lungs.
I scramble away unsteadily, aware only of the crash of things breaking as I crawl frantically to the other side of the room. I lean into the corner near the door and I watch Cole silently, viciously beat the blood and breath out of Ryan.
He’s straddling him, pummeling him with first one fist and then the other. Back and forth, never stopping.
Blood starts to spatter the walls, Cole’s shirt and face. Ryan stopped moving several punches ago and his visage is completely unrecognizable. Some part of me relishes what’s happening in front of me, but there’s another part that realizes this won’t end well. As much as I’d like to know Ryan is gone, as little as he deserves to live, this can’t happen. It just can’t.
“Cole, stop,” I say in a hoarse croak. He doesn’t even pause. “Cole, stop!” I call louder.
This, he hears.
When he turns his head to look at me, it’s as though he’s still seeing Ryan. For just a second. Maybe two. He looks murderous. Confused, almost, that he’s seeing me. And then his expression softens. It softens into something that makes me want to cry and curl up in his arms and never move.
But then he looks away. Back to Ryan, who is unconscious beneath him. He climbs off him, kicking him once in the ribs for good measure, before he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling the police.”
And so he does.
As he speaks to the 911 operator, I stand to shaky legs and make my way to Emmy’s room. I knock on the door. “Emmy? Unlock the door, sweetpea. I want to come in.”
I wait, listening for rustling or crying, afraid of what I might find.
I hear nothing.
I knock again, a little harder this time.
“Emmy, open up, baby, it’s Momma.”
I wait. I listen. Nothing.
I try the knob. It won’t turn. It’s definitely locked.
“Emmy, you’re scaring me. Please open the door. You’re safe now. I promise. Cole is here.”
My heart picks up the pace again, my soul coming into the clutches of some nebulous fear. I knock again. Try the knob again.
“Emmy, please. Open the door.”
I sense Cole’s presence before his arm shoots out past me to try the knob.
“It’s locked,” I explain unnecessarily. “She locked it when I told her to stay in her room and not come out until I came to get her.”
“Emmy, can you open the door please?” he asks, pecking with his knuckles.
No response. I press my ear to the door. No sound. Not one.
“Ohgod ohgod ohgod,” I mutter, racing into the bathroom for a hairpin that I can use to pick the lock. When I return and bend to push it into the tumbler, Cole moves me back with one hand and kicks the door in, startling a shriek out of me.
The first thing I feel when the door flies open is cold air. That’s when I see her open window. And my whole world comes crumbling down around me.
