Echo (Black Lotus #2)(34)
“Why would I—”
“Trust,” I say, cutting her off. “No questions because the more you know, the harder it is for me to protect you.”
“Protection from what? F-From who?”
Cupping her cheeks, I affirm, “No one will ever separate us, hurt us, destroy us. I need you to just stay put and lay low. Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to. But whatever you say, you do not know where I am.”
“W-When will you be back?”
Leaning in to rest my forehead against hers, I whisper, “I don’t know.”
She then begins to quietly weep with her hands on my cheeks.
“You love me, right?”
“Yes,” she responds.
“I need you to know that when I come back, we won’t be staying. We’ll have to leave the country. It’s not something that’s negotiable.”
“What about our life? Our family and friends?”
“There won’t be a life if we stay.”
Her body trembles while she clings to me, muffling her cries against my shoulder.
“I don’t have much time,” I tell her softly, trying not to upset her more.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m leaving now—tonight.”
She pulls away, and with broken, tear-filled eyes, she tells me, “You have to give me something. Some assurance that you’re going to be okay, that you’re going to come back.”
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for our family. I will always protect what’s mine. I will be back.”
And with that, she kisses me with urgency, pulling herself on top of my lap. She tastes like salt as she cries through her loving affection, gripping tightly on to me.
I band my arms around her, reminding, “I love this family more than life.”
“I’m so s-scared. I d-don’t even know what to think right now,” she whimpers, and I wipe her tears.
“I know, hun. I know, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to drag you into this. But I have to go.”
“No. Wait,” she clips out. “Maybe I can help you. If you just tell me whatever trouble you’re in, maybe there’s a way out. Something I can do to hel—”
“I promise you, I’ve calculated everything. Remember what I told you: we argued, and I left.”
We have one last kiss when I get the call on the untraceable cell I purchased, letting me know the car is here.
And then I’m gone as the car makes its way to the charter that will take me to Scotland, undetected and off the grid.
I’M A SELFISH woman for what I’m about to do, but I can’t stop myself. All my luggage is packed in the trunk, but before driving to the airport, I need to say goodbye. I know my words hurt him last night when he came to see me. The more I spoke, the angrier he became and eventually stormed out. But I can’t be left with that. I can’t have that be our last interaction. I know I’m only thinking of myself right now, but I simply have to see him one last time.
Pulling up to the gate, I push the call button.
“Go home, Nina,” his voice says.
“Declan, please. I’m going home. I’m heading to the airport now, I just want to say goodbye. Can you please give me that?”
There’s no response, only silence. I wait, and when I’m about to shift to reverse, the gates begin to open. Releasing a sigh of gratitude, I start the drive up the winding road. After I park the car, I take another long look at the house. I try not to think too much about the could-have-been’s because they’re just never-be’s. I still find it odd that the shrubs that line the house are scarce in areas. Big, gaping holes when everything else is pristine, even under all the snow.
“It’s freezing out here,” Declan calls out to me from the front door where he stands.
“The shrubs look sad,” I tell him.
“The shrubs?”
“You’re missing a lot of them. Did they die?”
“You could say that,” he responds. “Can we get out of the cold?”
Giving him a weak smile, I walk over and enter his home. Declan closes the door and moves past me, and I follow, but today he leads us into the kitchen.
“I was just making some coffee,” he says as he pulls the kettle off the stove. “I think the old housekeeper left some tea in the pantry if you’d like a cup.”
His politeness is unexpected, catching me off guard.
“Umm, okay. Yeah, that would be nice,” I say, stumbling nervously over my words.
I walk around the large center island, and take a seat on one of the barstools. I watch him move about the kitchen, pouring the boiling water into the French press, and then the rest in a teacup for me.
Looking around, I take in the surroundings. The kitchen is tucked away from the openness of the house. It’s an eat-in kitchen with a large, farm-style table that sits in front of three, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the beautiful grounds. The room is brightly lit from the snow outside, and the windows are slightly fogged over.
“Here you go,” he says, and I quickly turn back around to the cup of tea he’s set in front of me.
I stare down, watching the ribbons of steam float up and disappear. I’m reminded of the many mornings I would sit at the bar in Declan’s loft, sipping on tea while watching him cook breakfast. He always looked so sexy in his long pajama pants and white t-shirt that hugged his broad chest. I could watch this man infinitely and never tire.