Connected (Connections, #1)(81)
His legs were crossed, his back was against the headboard, and his arms were folded behind his head. Uncrossing his arms, he rolled sideways to face me. Resting his elbow on a pillow, he supported his head with his hand and responded with nothing but certainty. “You know you can.”
Looking into his powerful green eyes, I said, “Promise you won’t get mad?”
“You don’t even have to ask that, but I promise,” he said, taking his free hand and crossing his chest. I find it so adorable when he does that.
“I want to explain something to you,” I told him, caution clear in my voice.
He nodded and ran his free hand down my bare thigh. “Okay.”
Clenching his fist with both of my hands, I held his fingers in place as I explained that my house still had remnants of Ben everywhere. That I hadn’t really removed anything that belonged to him, only what I’d started to pack up before leaving for Las Vegas. I further explained my sad life over the last two years and how I’d just recently decided it was time to move. That I’d actually just put the house on the market.
He listened intently, acknowledging my words, but never interrupting until I said, “I just don’t want it to be weird for you, or me, if you come there and see pieces of my life with . . .”
Not letting me finish, he slightly lifted himself off the bed and pulled me down to him. Resting my head on a pillow, he caressed my cheek. Leaning in he kissed my nose, then slid his lips to my ear. “I understand, and I want to take you home.”
I left it at that and let him kiss me, stroke me, hold me, and love me for the rest of the night. But now, as we’re pulling up to my 1940’s Craftsmen style bungalow, I’m suddenly not sure this is a good idea. Looking at the purple wildflowers, which have taken over the yard, and the low-pitched gabled roof desperately in need of repair, I start to feel a little uneasy.
Turning the car off, he shifts to look at me and grins. “I never pictured you living in a yellow house with a white picket fence.”
“When you want to live close to the beach, you take what comes available on the market,” I smugly answer, feeling less nervous already after his smart-ass comment.
The rain is pouring down so hard, the visibility is close to zero. There are flood warnings and I wonder if the old roof on my house is leaking again. River pulls on his beanie as he opens the door. “Stay there, I’ll come around and get you.”
I love when he wears that hat; it always reminds me of the first time we met. He grabs my bags out of the trunk and comes around to my door. Of course neither of us has an umbrella, so as I attempt to use my purse for cover, he removes his leather jacket and tents it over my head. We both run quickly up the stone pathway to the covered front porch.
Wiping the drops from my face, I glance at the large arched front door. It is slightly ajar. Terror shoots through me as thoughts of a masked man engross my mind.
Pushing me back with his arm, he asks, “Were you expecting anyone to be here?”
My heart starts pounding out of my chest. “No,” is all I can manage.
He moves toward the door and I yell, “No! Don’t!” My whole body is trembling, and fear surges through me. My jaw is tightly clenched and I’m feeling slightly sweaty. Ignoring my plea, he continues toward the door kicking it completely open with his boot.
“You don’t have an alarm?”
“Alarm?” I ask with a quivering voice. Then realizing that wasn’t an answer I say, “No. No alarm.”
His sharp voice pierces through the open door, “Hello?”
He starts to move inside, and I grab his wrist. “Are you insane? We can’t go in there! Let’s go back to the car and call the police.”
Gently pulling his wrist free, he says, “Dahlia, I don’t think anyone’s still here. Let me just check it out. See if we even need to call the cops. You stay here.”
“No. You’re not going in there alone and leaving me out here,” I whisper in case someone is in there. I’m scared shitless and not sure why we’re even going in, but I follow him.
As we enter the house, my senses are on full alert. River takes small, cautious, steps as we enter the foyer and I hesitantly trail behind. Looking down I see Ben’s keychain on the tile floor next to the old key-shaped holder we bought when we first moved in.
Peeking over his shoulder I see the family room is a complete and utter mess. What had been packed in boxes is now strewn all over. The sofa cushions are torn and stuffing covers the hardwood floors, the TV hangs by cords from the wall, various electronics are smashed on the ground, ashes from the fireplace seem to dust everything, and glass lays shattered into a thousand tiny pieces on top of the hearth.
Running to the fireplace, I fall to the ground clutching one of the broken pictures. It’s a photograph of Ben and me at graduation. The frame is broken, but the photo is still intact. As I stare at the face of the man I once loved for so long, my eyes shift to the other items collapsed around the fireplace.
I assess the damage to my most cherished memories, and I realize they are all broken. My Purple Rain tickets mounted next to my father’s smiling face are ripped, but my dad’s big brown eyes seem to be looking back at me, trying to provide comfort. The picture of my parents and myself outside The Greek, proudly displaying our newly purchased concert wears, lays shattered on top of another photo. This snapshot is torn in half. It is of my aunt and uncle holding me as the priest baptizes me, branding them as my godparents. My aunt’s mother, Grammy, is standing next to them wearing her bounty of pearls.