Page 81 of Somewhere Without You
Howhadit gotten this bad?
Wasit my fault? Katherine’s?Hadour leavingfeltlike abandonment to her?Had she’dsimplygiven up when we left, allowing the garden to mirror the emptiness she must havefelt?
With a sudden urge of purpose I forced myself outside. Thiswasn’tjustabout the garden anymore. Itwasabout healing. About making something whole again.
The bags of soil and fertilizer Logan and Ihadboughtdays ago still sat on the porch, unopened. The potted plantswe’dpickedout togetherwerebeginning to wilt, now victims of my selfishness.
Not anymore.
I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed the first bag of soil, dragging it toward the garden beds at the back of the house. The earthwasdry and cracked beneath my shoes, buttherewasstill life underneath—Icouldfeelit. The sunhadfinallybroken through the cloudsthathadhungheavy the last few days, warming my shoulders as I worked.
With each weed I pulled, each thorn I clipped back, itwaslike Iwascutting through the ache inside me. The grief didn’t vanish—but for the first time, ithadsomewhere to go.
I dug my hands into the soil, bringing them away with dirt packed beneath my nails, and for the first time in days, I smiled. Gran used to saythatdirtwasgoodfor the soul—and shewasright.
Icouldalmost picture herthere, watching from the porch with a cup of tea in her hands, and a quiet smirk curling at the edge of her mouth. Not saying anything.Justnodding. Winston let out a soft bark beside me, tail wagging as if hecouldsense her too. Her unseen presence must have given him a jolt of energy, because moments later he took off running into the tall grass, chasing something only hecouldsee.
The potted plantswerestruggling, but not gone. A little water, a little care, and they might make it. I planted themgently, giving each one a place in the bedsthatused to overflow with color. Itwasn’tmuch yet, but itwasa start.
I turned to the fence and began tearing the boards loose with my hands. Some out of the lingering frustration still burning from Logan, others from a strength Ihadn’tfeltin a long time.
The day slipped by in a blur, and before Iknewit, the sunwasmelting into the horizon, casting a golden glow across the yard. Somewhere in the distance, Winston barkedexcitedly.Maybehe’dfoundsomething.Ormaybehejustfeltgoodrunning free.
I knelt to place the buddleia bush in the soil, my fingersgentlypressing its roots into the earth, when a rough voice snuck up behind me.
“Hey, Emily. . .”
My blood turned to ice. A chill swept down my spine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I turnedslowly, hoping for a ghost.Butwhat Isawfrightened me more.
Standingthere, hands in his pockets, wearingthatsame, self-assured grin. . .wasJackson.
Forty Four
Jackson’sblondehairwasmatted, darkened with dirt and grime. His navy button-down clung to him in wrinkles, and his gray slacks were torn at the knee. The bright blue of his eyes were dulled with exhaustion, and his once-flawless skin had been scorched by the sun. He looked like he’d been surviving in the wild for weeks.
“Jackson. . .”His name scratched the back of my throat, and Iinstinctivelytook a step back.“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What a strange question to ask your husband,”he said, inching closer.
I raised the spadeI’dbeen using in my hand, gripping it tight like a shield.“Stay the fuck away from me.”
“Emily,really?”he tsked.“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
My eyes darted across the field, scanning for Winston, but hewasnowhere in sight.
“How did youknowIwashere?”
Jackson let out a short laugh.“Youactuallythought youcouldhide from me and I wouldn’t find you?”
I thought of the rock—the flat tire, the wordSLUTcarved into my car. Of course heknew.He’dknownall along while he lurked in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Biding his time for the perfect moment to strike.
He stepped closer, and Iimmediatelybacked away—my foot catching on a root. I tumbled backward into a tangle of thistles, the thorns clawing at my skin. The stingbarelyregistered. My heart thundered as I glared up at him, eyes fixed on his every move.
Jackson loomed above me, casting a long shadow in the fading light.
“Youlookscared,”he said, crouching so wewereeye-level.“That’s not how I want you tofeel, Emily.”
I scrambled backward, the thorns biting deeper as I clawed through the bush. Blood warmed my skin in thin trails, but I didn’t care. Ijustneeded to put space between us.
