Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(18)
Because Wren had gotten her miracle. And when she healed and was whole, I did the only thing I could, the only right thing. I walked away so she could find someone worthy of her.
6
WREN
Pushing open one of the French doors, I stepped out onto the deck. My slippers padded against the wood boards as I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself, my hand trembling with the movement. Shadow moved quietly at my side, the silver in her Husky coloring catching the moonlight as she raised her head to sniff the air.
“Don’t go running after any critters.”
She let out a huff of air as if to say, “You never want me to have any fun.”
I lowered myself into the half-moon-style chair, slipping my feet out of my slippers and curling my legs under me. Shadow circled and then lay down on her dog bed as I wrapped my hands around my mug of tea.
Breathing deeply, I took in my little corner of the lake. It was remote. In winter, I had to plow the driveway if I had any hope of getting out, but it was peaceful—my small cabin built on a tiny piece of land that jutted into the water.
It made me feel as if I lived on my own private island. There were no prying eyes, no searching questions from nosy tourists. Cedar Ridge had always been known for its majestic landscapes and as the perfect escape. But after that night, it was known for a whole other reason.
Two guys had shown up last year, looking to get interviews for a podcast they were making for the tenth anniversary of the shootings. Anniversary. They weren’t the only ones to use the word, but I hated it. Anniversaries were for happy things, not darkness like that night.
The two guys in their early twenties had walked right up to my door and told me they were going to be the ones to figure out if there really was a third shooter. One who got away. All I had to do was rip open my traumatized psyche and tell them every detail about that night.
Just the memory had me gripping my mug tighter. Like I hadn’t tried to remember. I’d replayed those words—the last thing I’d heard before the world went dark—over and over in my head. “Where the hell is Holt? We need them both.” But it sounded different every time. Sometimes, male. Other times, female. Old, then young. Occasionally, it was Randy or Paul.
It was a special kind of torture when I heard it in the tones of people I knew—those I loved. I woke up at night in a cold sweat, shaking.
Most people thought I had imagined the third person. None of the other survivors had seen anyone else. Only Paul and Randy. And they had sworn they’d done it alone. That they’d been on a mission to make all those who had supposedly wronged them pay.
Some days, I wondered if the third person had only been in my mind. But those words were burned into my memory and haunted my dreams.
The cops had interviewed me, time and time again. The town had been on edge, thinking someone could strike at any moment. Parents didn’t let their children walk to school, didn’t leave them with babysitters. People only went out in groups.
But days turned to weeks, and nothing happened. Finally, one of the state police suggested that, in my altered state, I’d only thought someone else had been there. I’d fought it at first, but it wasn’t long before I gave in and agreed.
The town wanted to go back to normal. To pretend that the ugly business had never happened. That they were safe.
It wasn’t that easy for those of us marked by that night. We bore the scars in every way. We felt them every time we moved, from the ghosts haunting us to the need to be wary of everyone around us.
Only my ghost was still alive. He’d just vanished from my life.
Pain lanced my chest, that burning fire that a single bullet had started but was kept alive by the torture of missing the person I could never have.
Holt’s face flashed in my mind, torturing me just a little more. His hair was different. That same light brown shade but more closely cropped on the sides. I couldn’t help but wonder if that stray lock still swooped across his forehead.
I wanted it to. But maybe he’d found a way to tame it as he’d grown into a man. Nothing about the person I saw tonight read: boy. Broad shoulders and a muscular chest, defined arms and thighs that told me he was still running every day.
All it had taken was a single second for his image to burn itself into my mind—into my bones. To leave a scar just like so many others that ravaged me.
I’d never be able to clear it. My hand lifted of its own volition, slipping under my sweatshirt and finding the raised flesh. Some part of me had thought a bullet hole would be perfectly symmetrical, but mine certainly hadn’t healed that way—lopsided and with fraying edges.
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. The mountain air soothed the shattered parts of my body and soul. I reminded myself that this was evidence of just how strong I was. That I could make it through anything. Because I’d done it before.
My eyes opened, and I let my hand drop to Shadow’s head, scratching behind her ears. My life was good—better than good. I had a home to call mine, beauty all around me, and a job that kept the lights on and gave me a sense of purpose I hadn’t been sure I’d ever have. I also had a dog that stuck by my side, and friends who were family. It was why I would never leave Cedar Ridge, and why I hadn’t left even when I was at my worst.
I had an embarrassment of riches. And Holt wouldn’t make me lose sight of that just because I didn’t have him. He’d be here for a few days and then be off again to parts unknown. I wouldn’t hear his name on anyone’s lips for years to come.