Written with You (The Regret Duet #2)(62)

God, life was crazy sometimes.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, taking the officer’s proffered hand for a quick shake. “Is Detective Gains around? He’s been my contact for the last few days.”

My eyebrows popped. “Your contact? Why don’t I have a contact?”

He squinted one eye. “Did I say contact?”

“That’s what I heard?”

He bit his lip as he winked.

So damn sexy.

“Uh…you just missed him,” the young officer said, flicking his gaze between us. “We’ve finished up inside. Got several prints we matched to Aaron White. Big-time druggy. Small-time criminal. No one you have to worry about anymore. We just need you to take a look around and see what’s missing so we can put it on the report and then we’ll be out of your hair. Hopefully for good.” He shot me a grin and then lifted his chin to the other cop standing by the door. “Let ’em in.”

Caven’s grip on my hand tightened as we walked up the steps to the door. It was sweet that he was concerned. Unnecessary, but sweet.

“I’m okay. Really. It’s just stuff, remember?”

He nodded. “Maybe. But in case that changes, I’m gonna stay close.”

Gah! Sweet Caven was the best.

I leaned into his side as we walked inside. A smile broke across my face when we found my living room covered in fingerprint dust but otherwise untouched. Hadley’s paintings still hung on the walls, and after a few days of staying in Caven’s neutral-snoozfest house, the bright pops of colors seemed more intoxicating than ever.

“My house is so much prettier than yours,” I told him.

“I’m not sure pretty is the word. Loud may be more accurate.”

“It’s okay to be jealous. It’s a natural human emotion. I still love you.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

We went to the garage first. It was where I’d been storing all of Hadley’s boxes that she’d mailed to me in Puerto Rico. I hadn’t gone through them yet, but when I opened the door, it was clear someone had. They’d all been opened, dumped out, and strewn from one side to the other. It didn’t appear to be much more than a bunch of clothes and shoes, though I did catch sight of a few of her art supplies scattered around.

I was happy.

I was in love.

I had a big day planned with brunch, bear claws, and Rosalee.

The garage could wait.

“Yep, everything seems to be okay out there,” I said, shutting the door.

Caven eyed me warily, but I strategically ignored it. We had time to deal with that later.

Our next stop was my studio, and oh holy fuck. Paint was everywhere. Pictures that had once been stacked against the wall were broken and torn to shreds to the point where I couldn’t see the floor. I had insurance. I wouldn’t file it though. They were all just a bunch of junk. In a way, it was liberating to see them lying there. At least now I could stop trying to be someone I wasn’t.

No. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me.

“Damn,” I mumbled, pointing to the blank space on the wall where the picture of Rosalee had once hung. It had no doubt met its untimely demise and was hidden somewhere in the rubble.

“Don’t worry,” Caven said. “That one was just a bad reproduction. I bought the original.” He winked.

A loud bubble of laughter sprang from my throat. “Sure you did.”

We made our way up the stairs. It was strange the way everything was in its place, not even a crooked painting in the hallway. However, my bedroom was a disaster area. It was a lot like the garage with the exception that my clothes and shoes and jewelry were strewn everywhere. How they expected me to know if anything was missing was beyond me.

Though one thing caught my attention. The photo albums that had once been stacked on my dresser were now stacked on the floor.

Not thrown or ripped.

Stacked.

My stomach dropped as I waded into the wreckage. I’d told Caven that it was all just stuff, but those pictures were irreplaceable. I’d digitized everything over the years, but there was nothing like holding the very same image my mother or father had once held. Their invisible thumbprints still graced the corners, and I often held them without even looking at the photo just to feel close to them again.

“Babe?” Caven called as I sat down and cracked open the album on top.

A picture of my father sitting on the couch, reading Hadley and me a book, greeted me on the first page.

“It’s okay,” I said, blowing out a ragged breath and tracing my fingers over my sister’s smile.

That picture had been taken three days before my parents were killed. I’d found it on a roll of film still in my mother’s camera shortly after I’d been released from the hospital. I’d cried for hours when we’d gotten the pictures back from the photo lab because the majority of them were of Hadley and me playing outside. I’d had my sister. I hadn’t needed pictures of her. What I’d needed was for that roll of film to be filled with new images of my mother and my father. Seconds frozen in time of them laughing and smiling so I could lie to myself and pretend like they were still alive. A familiar coping mechanism for me.

I turned the page. More of Hadley. More of my father. More of me. One page at a time, I flipped to the end, making sure nothing had been damaged.