Page 107 of A Curse On Black Lake
Eliana takes a stuttered breath and nods. “I can’t make out what they’re saying. It could be nothing. But it could be important for us to know.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her palms to her face.
I stand up from the sofa and pull her into a hug. This has been a hard day. A good day and a terrible one.
“Let’s get some sleep,” I tell her.
She buries her head in my chest and sniffles.
“Is it … safe though?” I ask her.
“Don’t listen to them. They might still be out there, but my Grams always tells me, pay them no mind, don’t give them a door to walk through, and they’ll give up eventually.”
“Eventually?” I parrot.
“They’re attracted to the emotionally vulnerable. So it’s probably me,” she whispers.
“Why?” I ask even though I know.
“Because I’m a walking, talking, gaping open wound. I’m easy bait,” she says.
I don’t know what to say other than, that makes sense because it’s probably me too, but I’m sure that won’t help. “Come on,” I tell her and grab the shotgun before tugging her up the stairs. I set the shotgun against the wall and guide her to her room.
She stands next to the bed as I pull the covers back. Eliana crawls under the sheets, and I tuck her in. I cup her cheek and press a kiss on her forehead.
“One day you’re going to heal. I have to believe that because that means I might too. Get some rest,” I tell her, rubbing my thumb over her cheekbone.
She nods, and I leave her room, closing the door behind me.
My hand stays on the knob, and I rest my forehead against her door. The shock of seeing what I thought was my mother sits heavy on my soul. I miss her, and it’s been years, but I have to believe it’s possible to heal, to move forward, and I hope that maybe Eliana and I can find a way to do that together.
Chapter thirty-six
Eliana
Bootedfeetclickdownthe stairs, waking me, and I sit up pushing hair out of my face. I slept soundly last night. The weight of yesterday returns to my chest, but a little part of me is lighter because Killian finally kissed me. He said what has been sitting on my heart for a while, and I’m giddy about it.
Wondering what Killian is up to, I roll out of bed and down the stairs.
He’s standing in front of the sink, dressed in nice jeans, a tucked shirt, and polished cowboy boots. His ear-length hair is brushed back from his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
He turns slowly with an empty mug in his hand, and a face full of heartbreak.
“I was going to go to church. You know Dad was the pastor, but I haven't been able to go for a year. I woke up this morning and felt like I should, but … I can’t get past a cup of coffee.” His voice breaks, and he rubs his face, as if he’s trying to hide his grief.
I need to make up my mind about where we stand, but I know he needs a hug. He’d never ask me for it, but my body isscreaming to comfort him. As we grow closer, it feels as if we are starting to sense the smallest things about each other. It’s at the same time a comfort to know someone sees you, and hazardous for my heart.
My feet brush the warm wood floor, and I wrap arms around his waist, resting my head on his chest. His arms hang out in the air, and I hear the mug clunk on the counter before his thick arms hug me back.
We stand there for a while, soaking each other in, and I hope it helps him. “I’ll go with you,” I whisper.
The thought of stepping foot in the last place I saw her face during her wake makes me want to vomit, but I will. I’ll do it for him, but for me too because it would make Grams happy to know I tried.
“You’d do that?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say and lean back to look him in the eye. “I used to go with Grams. We went more consistently before she got sick,” I tell him.
