Resonating Souls (Bermuda Nights #1)(15)

My stomach roiled, twisted, and suddenly all I could see was Tanya, her hair nearly that same shade, sprawled in her own vomit. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy, unmoving. Her skin was cold … so cold …

I was on my feet, racing down the beach, my sandals pounding into the sand, tears streaming down my face. There was nothing but the pain coursing through me, the surf washing alongside me, and I was lost … lost …

A strong arm grabbed a hold of my hand, turned me, and pulled me in.


I collapsed against Evan’s chest, sobbing, and he held me against him. His hand came up to twine in my hair. “Shhhh, it’s all right, I’m here.”

It seemed that my pain would never end, that the ache within me was wider than any ocean. But at last the tears settled, and I blinked to look around. The campfire was nowhere in sight. We were alone on a stretch of sand. A grassy bank was to one side, and a thick stand of trees separated us from whatever lay beyond.

He walked me over to the grass, helping me to sit before joining me. His eyes were shadowed. “Amanda, I’m so sorry.”

I wiped at my face. “I’m the one who should apologize. I know people do these things. I just … I haven’t seen anyone using since that day. It brought everything back.” I drew in a breath. “I should be over it,” I insisted. “I should have forgotten all about it and moved on.”

“No,” he stated, “No, you don’t just move on.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I continued, “losing someone like that. It’s like a hole, gnawing, and …” I shook my head. “You can’t understand.”

He stilled and looked down the stretch of empty beach. He was silent for a long minute. Then he said, in a low voice, “I understand about loss.”

Something in his voice had me look up. “Oh?”

His gaze shadowed. “This needs to be private, between you and me.”

I nodded. “Of course, Evan.”

He took my hand. “I grew up in a working-class Irish family. My mom was a teacher, my dad a cop, and there were five of us kids stuffed into two bedrooms. Looking back I can see we were barely getting by, but at the time it just seemed the way things should be. My dad was larger than life, holding everything together, always there for us. Building ramps for our bikes, taking us fishing, you name it. He was the one thing in the messed-up world we could rely on.”

He twined his fingers into mine. “I was about fifteen when I was home with my mom, because she was taking me in for a check-up on my broken arm. My brother thought he was a MMA fighter and managed to snap my forearm doing a move on me. We were just arriving home and settling into the living room when the knock came on the door.”

His fingers tightened. “She knew. Somehow she knew, just from the knock, and she stared at the door, as if ignoring it would change the course of time. As if, if she didn’t go and answer it, everything would be all right. I stayed next to her, knowing something was wrong, and knowing the best I could do was be strong for her.”

He dipped his head. “They knocked again, and she finally went to open the door. And there the brass was, in their best suits, their hats in their hands.”

His voice grew tight. “My father had been shot in the line of duty. He wasn’t coming home again.”

My heart ached, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. “Evan, I’m so sorry.”

“My mother, and my little sister, Kate, were lost without my dad. My two younger brothers went different ways. The fighter got wilder; the fisherman became even more withdrawn. It was up to me and my older brother to hold things together, to keep the family going. We never had the luxury to grieve.”

He looked down at me. “But you never move on, Amanda. You never forget it. You might find ways of coping, you might find ways of coming to terms with what happened. But it’s always a part of you. It’s always a piece of what makes you you.”

I nodded to him. “But how do you do that?”

He drew his fingers down my cheek. “You find a way to honor their memory. You find something to do with your life that keeps what was important to them alive. Maybe you find a way to ensure their dream continues, or that your dream for them is realized.”

I drew in a breath. “Well, I’ve always wanted to write a poem for her, but I didn’t think it would be good enough.”

He brushed back my hair. “Amanda, I’m sure that she would have loved whatever you created for her.”

An idea came to me, and I looked up at him. “If I wrote it, would you put some music to it? Tanya adored music.”

A distant look came to his eyes, and he smiled. “I would be honored to help.”

I leaned up and pressed my lips against his.

I had meant for it to be a simple thank-you. A quick brush to show my appreciation for his offer. But when my lips touched his, glowing electricity shimmered out, down my neck, through my chest, and flowing out to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I moaned with pleasure.

His hands came down to my upper arms, holding me there, and he wavered. I couldn’t tell if he was preparing to push me away or to bring me in further.


Desire welled within me, rich, hot, coursing like liquid lava, and I opened my mouth to him.

He groaned, soul-deep, and I could feel him teetering on the edge.