Echo(97)

The medics offer to take Elizabeth to the hospital, but she refuses, fervent that nobody touches her. Before we go, the detective advises us that we may be called in for additional questioning. He hands us his card with his contact information and we leave.

Arriving at the SUV, we climb into the backseat and I pull her onto my lap, cradling her back in my arms.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I try assuring her, confident that we both just got away with our crimes.

She draws back from me, and I can tell she wants to speak, but she doesn’t. She simply stares at me, and I’m able to look beyond the blood, dirt, bruises, cuts, and tears to see what I fell in love with when I first saw her in my hotel back in the States. I’ll never forget how beautiful she looked at the grand opening of Lotus, standing across the room in a long, midnight-blue gown. She was confident, snarky, and so sure of herself, and in this very moment, I vow to give all those qualities back to her.

Running my hand around the back of her neck and up into her hair, my fingers graze over the scab that remains from when I pulled her hair out. I stop and she turns her head in shame away from me.

“Look at me.”

And when she does, I cup her face once again and swallow against the emotional knot in my throat, saying, “You’re safe with me,” and then move her head to rest against my chest, banding my arms around her.





SHAME AND EMBARRASSMENT only exist in things you value. I feel none of that as Lachlan drives us back to Galashiels. I know Declan assumes I’m feeling that way after finding me naked, raped, and covered in Richard’s blood from where I bit his dick, but I don’t. My body trembles and quakes in his arms as he holds me, but I tremble from fear. Declan told me everything I’ve been longing to hear, but who’s to say I can trust him? Who’s to say this won’t fail like everything else?

Life has taught me that heartache is inevitable, proving over and over that dreams are simply that—dreams. Imaginative figments of our subconscious. Why am I to believe this is anything different? I certainly don’t deserve it.

So here I sit with two options: die or trust.

Death seems the safest choice, but I’m also not ready to let go of what I’m starting to get back. Declan’s like my heroin; I get one small taste, and I’m stuck, feening for more. But I’m terrified of losing it, knowing I can’t survive without him—I don’t want to survive without him. So if this is undoubtedly doomed, I’d be smart to just end this all now.

Maybe my true home doesn’t really exist in the hills of Scotland, but instead, in the presence of all that was and is no more. They say death is the ultimate paradise, and the idea of being back with my father and Pike is beyond tempting. But I can’t deny how good Declan’s hands feel on me right now. Holding me and stroking my back. He smells like he always has, and I find comfort in the spicy notes of his cologne the same way I used to find comfort in Pike’s clove cigarettes.

So as the uncertainty wracks my body in unquestionable fear, I hold on tightly to the one thing I fear the most—Declan. He’s the one who holds all the power here. He could easily destroy me or make all my dreams come true, but in order for me to find out which, I have to let go of my control, something I’ve never done before. It terrifies me to hand all the parts of me over to him and trust that he’ll take care of them.

For now, I selfishly take the affection he’s offering me and nuzzle my head more deeply against his chest so that I can hear every sound his heart is making. Allowing its rapid beats to sing to me, I cling more tightly to him. The closer I get, the more senses I open up to him, the more I let the fear consume me. All I want is comfort, but I’m too scared of the pain I’ll have to endure when it’s gone—and it will, one day, be gone.

When we arrive at Brunswickhill, Declan helps me out of the SUV as I wince in pain. The long drive back gave my body time to dissipate the adrenaline, and now my muscles and bones scream angrily at me, causing me to hunch over. Bracing my hand on Declan’s arm to steady myself, he moves to pick me up and carries me inside.

Neither of us speaks as he takes me up the stairs, but instead of going into the guest room, he carries me into his. He sets me down on the edge of his bathtub, and I watch him as he wets a washcloth. When he kneels in front of me, he begins wiping my face, and my eyes focus on the terrycloth as it turns from white to pink to red, collecting Richard’s blood.

I’m a tomb, sitting in the palace, observing. I couldn’t move if I wanted to.