Erasing Faith(83)

Shaking it off, I stumbled blindly away from him until the back of my legs hit the bed and I collapsed onto it. I stared down at my hands as tears tracked down my cheeks, refusing to face him in this moment of indisputable weakness.

“Red—” His voice was close, scant feet away, but I didn’t look up.

“Just go away,” I gasped out in a broken voice. “Just leave me alone.”

A few seconds later, I heard the creaky screen door swing closed at his back as he followed my orders and disappeared outside.

It was the loneliest sound I’d ever heard.

***

The cabin was pitch black when I opened my eyes.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but considering it was the middle of the night and I still felt like I’d been hit by an eighteen-wheeler, I knew it hadn’t been too long. My eyes swept the cabin, struggling to adjust to the dark as they took in the space fully for the first time.

Earlier, I’d been in such a cloud of exhaustion and grief, I hadn’t even bothered to look around. Now, I saw the single-room dwelling had stacked-log walls, a tiny kitchenette, and a curtained off bathroom area. To call the space rustic would be generous.

The “shower” consisted of a large copper tub with a wall spigot. Judging by the ache in my back, the mattress hadn’t been updated for at least twenty years. There was a single burner on the wood stove, an icebox smaller than the mini-fridge I’d kept in my college dorm, and a lumpy red crocheted carpet spread across the hardwood floor.

The cottage wasn’t entirely without its charms, though — even my city-dwelling eyes could appreciate the simple beauty of the place.

One wall was taken up entirely by an imposing stone fireplace, its mantle covered with more than a dozen wide, white pillar candles. The bed, uncomfortable as it may be, was covered with a soft down comforter and a warm quilt of so many shades of green, it looked more like the forest floor than a blanket. Thick wooden beams supported a high, peaked ceiling.

It was quietly romantic, its simplicity lending a homey, lived-in feeling that put me at ease.

I could’ve lived without all the dust, though.

A colossal sneeze erupted from my nose, fracturing the quiet. Not ten seconds later, I heard the screen swing open.

Wes hovered in the doorway and our eyes instantly met in the darkness. Seconds dragged into minutes as we stared at one another silently, each daring the other to speak first. And in that moment, as the air around us charged with memories of broken promises and betrayals, I could still feel them — those invisible strings between us, binding us together. Tying our souls in unbreakable knots. They were there, even after all these years. But this time, I saw them differently.

He wasn’t a marionette, like me.

He was the puppet master.

He’d controlled it all. Every decision he’d ever made had, with no more effort than the flick of a puppeteer’s wrist, changed my life. He’d pinched his fingers, tugged on a loose thread, and watched my whole damn world unravel. I’d had no more control than a doll on strings.

I curled myself into a ball and tried to fight off my shivers as the chilled air seeped into my bones — November nights were cold, this far north. Not as bad as New York, of course, but in jeans and a thin silk blouse, I soon found my teeth chattering.

He noticed.

With a sigh, he walked inside and headed for the fireplace. Barely a minute later, cheery flames were burning brightly in the hearth, filling the cabin with warmth. I tried not to be overly obvious as I edged closer to the fire and rubbed my hands together.

Circulation eventually returned to my frozen fingers. When I looked up, my eyes found him leaning against the wall beside the mantle, staring at me.

“What?” I snapped.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded toward the fire.

“You expect me to thank you?” I laughed — a bitter, brittle sound. “For what? Nearly getting me killed… again?”

His eyes narrowed. “How about for saving your life?”

“You never would have had to save my life in the first place, if you’d just left me the hell alone!”

“Trust me,” he drawled. “If I could go back in time and never cross your path, I would.”

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I jumped to my feet. “Trust you? That’s a funny joke.”

His stare turned to a glare.

“I don’t even know your real name! Whoever you are, you’re sure as shit not Wesley Adams, pharmaceutical researcher.” I heaved in a breath and took a step closer to him. “You lied to me then, you’re probably lying to me now. How do I know you aren’t the one in league with Szekely? How do I know you’re not the one who killed Margot?” Tears sprang to my eyes as I spat out the accusation.

He recoiled as though I’d slapped him.

“So, that’s your opinion of me,” he said, his eyes wide and his words carefully casual. “Thank you, for enlightening me so… enthusiastically.”

He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me a second longer.

I opened my mouth to apologize, then snapped it shut again, feeling uncomfortable as inexplicable remorse churned in the pit of my stomach. He reached the door and turned his head over his shoulder, as though he was about to say something else.

I waited, suddenly hopeful that he wouldn’t walk away, but after a few seconds he shook his head and shoved out the door without another word. I flinched when the screen smacked against its frame so loudly, I worried the hinges might snap.