Page 154 of Mine Again
Doubt claws at my ribs. I shake my head, pain settling deep.
“I don’t know, Luca,” I whisper. “It feels like I don’t know anything anymore.”
I take a step back. Then another.
And I walk out.
Not because I don’t love him.
But because I need to figure out whether that love was ever truly mine.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Isabella
Imake a beeline for the front door. My eyes burn from crying, and my skin is flushed from everything that just happened.
At the cupboard, I grab the jacket, hat, and shoes Luca placed there for me. He’s always so prepared, as if he knows when I’ll need to run.
I pull them on quickly, wincing as the stiff leather scrapes against the blisters I earned yesterday from walking too far in shoes that didn’t fit. But I ignore the discomfort. It’s just one more pain layered over others that cut much deeper.
My fingers tremble as I press my hand to the scanner beside the door. The lock clicks open, and I step outside.
The February air hits me like ice water. I welcome the sting.
At least this is real. Cold and biting, honest in a way nothing else seems to be right now.
The wind pulls at my hair. The sunlight brushes my cheekbones with faint warmth. These things don’t lie. They can’t be manipulated.
Without hesitating, I take the path I found yesterday, each step pounding with frustration, confusion, and hurt.
Not even an hour ago, I was in the shower, beginning to understand Luca. And in the gym, I felt the weight of his pain.
We started talking about butterflies, and then I was falling apart. Again.
How did I go from tracing his tattoos, feeling warm and more than a little turned on, to this tangled mess in my chest?
I can’t keep up.
I’m almost afraid to have another conversation with Luca. Every time we speak, more truths emerge. How much more can there be?
And more importantly, how much more can I take?
I reach the archery range I discovered yesterday on my second loop around the island.
It’s hard to believe it’s only been twenty-four hours since I last ran out of that house needing space. The soreness in my legs and the blisters on my heels won’t let me forget it, though.
Too tired for another aimless walk, I head to the bench at the opening of the range and sit down.
I stare at the empty target ahead, wishing I had a bow in my hand and arrows to fire. Not to hit the center, though I’m pretty good at it these days, but more to aim at something outside my own thoughts.
Archery was the one thing I kept doing after Luca disappeared, the only thing Father didn’t object to. It helped me breathe when everything else seemed to be closing in. It brought me back to the present when my mind tried to drag me under.
I draw my knees up onto the bench, wrap my arms around them, and rest my chin on them. My gaze drifts across the clearing, really taking it in for the first time.
The open stretch of grass. A set of three targets at the far end. The hush of the forest pressing in around the space.
To the right of the target, half-concealed beneath the wide canopy of a large tree, I spot a statue.
