Archer's Voice (A Sign of Love Novel)(39)

I turned on the water and imagined it was the rain falling down around me, just like that night. Nothing happened.
I tried to stamp down the hope that blossomed in my chest–I had been hopeful in the recent past that the flashbacks had stopped, right before being cast into an attack.
I closed my eyes and thought about the night before, what Archer had said to me when I told him my deepest shame, that I had done nothing as my father was gunned down, as I was almost raped. He hadn't looked at me with disgust… but rather with understanding. Relief washed through my body again at the memory alone.
And I had cried more than I knew I could. I had cried a river of tears… for my dad, for the loss I felt everyday at losing my best friend, my person… for losing myself somewhere along the way, for running away…
I opened my eyes, biting my fingernail and worrying my brow. Is that what I had needed? Was that the purpose of the flashbacks all along? To force me to face what I was running from? That felt right. But it was only part of it. Maybe I needed to feel safe and accepted in my pain before I was set free from this daily misery. I had needed someone who would understand and hold me as I cried.
I had needed Archer.
I swung the bathroom door open and walked quickly through the house, calling to him. He wasn't inside. I ran outside and called for him. After a few minutes, he walked from the direction of the lake through the trees and stood there looking questioningly at me.
I didn't think you'd be up this early, he said.
I ran down the slope and stopped right in front of him, grinning broadly, my excitement bubbling out of me. I laughed, looking in his beautiful face. I still wasn't used to seeing all of it. Or most of it at least. He still desperately needed a haircut.
I didn't have a flashback this morning, I said, my hands moving quickly.
He frowned, looking at me confused.
I shook my head, laughing a small laugh. I guess I just can't believe it… I mean, I always have one. Every day. I've had one every single day for six months, I said, my hands moving quickly, my eyes filling with tears.
Archer kept looking at me, understanding coming into his eyes, a flash of compassion moving over his expression.
I have to go let Phoebe out and feed her, I said, swiping quickly at my tears. I took Archer in again, joy washing through my body. He had given me an incredible gift and I was giddy. I wanted to spend the day with him and I didn't care that I was always the one doing the asking. Can I come back later? I blurted out, looking at him expectantly.
His eyes moved over my face for a couple beats and then he nodded his head.
I grinned. "Okay," I breathed out. I stepped forward and his eyes widened slightly, but he didn't move. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly. He didn't wrap his arms around me, but he let me hug him.
After a minute, I stepped back and smiled at him again. I'll be back.
Okay.
Okay, I said again, grinning bigger.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he just nodded at me.
I turned around and ran up the wooded slope to his house and then up his driveway. My bike was leaning against the inside of his fence. I wheeled it through the gate and started for home. Here and there, I coasted down the dirt road with my head tilted up to the sky, feeling happy, feeling alive, feeling free.


CHAPTER 15

Bree

When I got home, I let Phoebe outside to do her business. I felt lighter, happier, as if I had shed the chains that had held me tied to the pain and grief of my loss for the last six months. As I stood in the bright sunshine waiting for Phoebe, a feeling of deep peace washed over me. I would never, ever forget my dad. He would be with me in everything I did for the rest of my life. Letting go of the chains of grief and guilt didn't mean letting go of him. My dad loved me, he would want me to be happy. The relief that flooded my body almost made me sob. I choked back the emotion and called to Phoebe, walking back inside.
After I'd fed her, I sat down and drank a cup of tea. I thought about my dad the whole time I sat there, remembering special moments we'd shared, reminiscing about the little quirks he had, picturing his face so clearly in my mind. I focused on what I had had, on what some people never got for even a minute. I had had him for twenty-one years. I was lucky–I had been blessed. When I stood up to put my dishes in the sink, I was smiling.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower and stripped off my clothes. My scratches looked a lot better. Apparently, the ointment that Archer had applied had worked.
Archer… I sighed, so many confusing emotions and feelings swirling through my body. A warm feeling filled my chest whenever I thought of him.
I wanted to know his story. I wanted to know everything about him. But instinctively, I knew that I shouldn't push the issue of what had happened the day his uncle shot him. The Chief of Police, his uncle, shot him. God, how did you wrap your mind around that? And what the hell had happened to bring that about?