Connecting (Lily Dale #3)(45)

But instead, the silhouette of a man stands squarely on the front steps, facing her.

This time, it’s no shadow ghost.

“Jacy,” she whispers, heart pounding, “there’s someone—”

“I know, shh, I see him.”

Him.

Calla knows who it is even before he walks down the steps and into the moonlight, where she can recognize him.

“Darrin Yates,” she breathes.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

She presses a trembling fist to her mouth.

After everything she’s been through, trying to find him, here he is, walking toward them.

It’s too good to be true . . .

Good?

Remembering that this man may have had something to do with her mother’s death, Calla instinctively moves closer to Jacy’s side and feels him slip a protective arm around her.

She shivers, noticing for the first time that the night air is cold, and leans into his solid warmth.

Darrin comes to a halt a few feet away. His eyes are wide.

“Stephanie?”

Her mother’s name on his lips catches Calla off guard.

She opens her mouth, but she can’t seem to find her voice.

“You’re so beautiful, baby . . . look at you.” He’s staring at Calla in wonder, shaking his head.

He thinks I’m her. He thinks I’m Mom, just like everyone who’s seen that snapshot tonight.

Only Darrin Yates isn’t comparing her to a picture. He’s comparing her to the real thing—his lost love, Stephanie.

And the way he’s looking at Calla, with utter reverence . . .

He’s still in love with her.

That much is clear.

That, and the fact that he thinks he’s seeing a ghost.

She glances at Jacy, who nods.

She clears her throat, manages to speak. “I’m not—”

“Stephanie, I’m so, so sorry.” Darrin Yates falls to his knees in front of her, stunning Calla into silence.

Darrin looks up, his face ravaged with remorse. “I’m so 170 sorry for what I did to you. You had everything to live for— a husband, a daughter, a house, a job . . . you had a life.”

Emotion clogs Calla’s throat; tears blind her eyes.

So he did do it. He killed her.

“If I hadn’t sent you that first e-mail, none of this would have happened. You’d still be alive. But—I don’t know . . . it was Valentine’s Day, and I was thinking of you, and . . . I just never meant to start anything. I never meant to hurt you. I never imagined where it would lead. Can you ever forgive me?”

He reaches toward her with trembling, pleading hands. She inches closer to Jacy, a shudder running down her spine.

“Darrin—”

“No! No, don’t call me that!”

“But—”

“It’s Tom, Stephanie. Tom Leolyn. Remember? You’ll get used to it. I did.”

Calla gulps, manages to say obediently, “Tom, you have to tell me what you did. You have to tell me why I should forgive you.”

She feels Jacy’s arm tensing up on her shoulder.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want her to go along with it, to let Tom think she’s her mother.

But somehow, she’s certain that the man kneeling before her isn’t going to hurt her. Not now.

He already has.

All he wants is forgiveness.

“You know what I did,” he tells her, his voice laced with despair. “I should have left it all alone. All those years . . . you never would have had to know. But it was eating away at me. I couldn’t let you go on thinking she was dead, when all along she was right here.”

“What? What are you talking about? Who was right here?” Calla asks, heart pounding, trying not to strangle on the lump of dread in her throat.

But he’s too far gone to even hear her. Words are pouring out of him, a heartfelt confession Calla knows she has no business hearing, and yet . . .

He blames himself for what happened to Mom.

He pushed her down those stairs. Why?

“I couldn’t carry that secret with me for the rest of my life, Steph. I couldn’t live with myself. I had to tell you, and I told myself I was willing to take the consequences. Now . . .

look at me. I’ve paid the price. But so have you.”

“What did you do, Tom?” Calla asks raggedly. “What did you do to me?”

“I never meant for it to happen. I’ve always loved you. There was never a day that went by that I didn’t miss you, and wonder about you, and need you.”

He’s sobbing now, reaching for her.

Jacy steps between them. “No. Don’t touch her.”

It’s as if Tom is noticing him for the first time, and his eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

“She’s not who you think she is. Calla, come on. Let’s go.”

“But—”

“We have to go. I don’t like this.”

Jacy grabs her arm and pulls her to the car, all but shoving her into the passenger’s seat before he jumps behind the wheel.

As they pull away, she looks back at Darrin, standing alone.

Then she turns on Jacy. “Why did you do that? He was telling us what he did to her!”