Page 52 of The Raven
A tear slid unbidden down my cheek. I hadn’t realized my eyes were filledwith water until the tangy taste of salt hit my lip.
“Please, Raven,”I begged, squeezing her hand again.“Please come back. Idon’t want to live another minute without you. Ican’tlive another minute wondering what could have been if I hadn’t left. You once told me you saw me with children and a wife, and I know,Ijustknow,thatthe only person I could ever marry and have children with is you. So, please. Find your way back to me so we can be together again.”
Nothing.
A sob broke free, and I jumped from my chair, storming over to the window,unable to look at the lifeless form of the love of my life any longer. Below, cars whizzed by, and people walked the streets without a care in the world.
The world continued to spin as my world crumbled.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, wiping away the few tearsthathad fallen,and spun back around, ready to beg Raven again.
I froze.
My heart leaped into my throat.
Piercing blue eyes stared back at me. Eyes I never thought I’d look intoagain. I bolted around the bed, her gaze tracking me as I grabbed her hand and hovered over her.“Raven?”
Disbelief pounded through me, and for a second, I wondered if my mind wasplaying tricks. Butthenshe slowly blinked, and her bottom lip moved several times as if she wanted to say something.
I knew I should have gone and gotten Carly; Raven needed a doctor to checkher over, but I didn’t dare move in case this was a daydream or she fell back into a coma in the time it would take me to fetch the doctor.
“Raven. Blackbird, can you hear me?”I said, keeping my voice low andholding back the overwhelming need to scoop her into my arms, hold her close, and smother her in kisses.
Her mouth opened and closed before the faintest whisper left her lips.“Mase?”
My heart swelled to three times its size at hearing my name come from her.Tears streamed down my cheeks, my words stuck in my throat.Her mouth opened and closed several times, and another whisper came out.
I lowered my head closer to hear her.“What, Blackbird? What are you tryingto tell me?”
She shut her eyes briefly, and when they opened again, determinationsparkled in her orbs.“I…”she started. I held my breath, waiting for her to say something else.
“I…dreamed…of…you.”
Ten Years Later
Raven
Aside from the Grandfatherclock ticking in the hallway, the house was incomplete silence. Not unusual for this time of day. I made my way to the kitchen, carrying the bouquet of roses I’d brought home with me from my shop, and found a vase, smiling as I gazed out the window.
Summer was almost over, but we were all making the most of the last fewdays of warmth by spending every possible minute on the beach our house overlooked.
When Mason and I viewed the house, we knew instantlythatit would be ourforever home due to its location. From the porchthatwrapped around the place, it was approximately fifty steps until our toes sank into the soft sand on the beach, and every morning, we woke to the gentle waves crashing against the shore.
It was our version of Heaven.
Filling the vase with water, I arranged the roses into a perfect display andcarried them into the living room, placing the vase on the shelf, and taking a step back to allow my eyes to roam over the picture frames surrounding the fresh bouquet.
Each frame was filled with pictures of happy memories. Mine and Mason’swedding day. The picture capturing the moment he held his son, Eric, for the first time. Another frame containing a photo of a two-year-old Eric holding his newborn sister, Robin. A photo of the four of us with my mom and Nathan when we holidayedin Orlando.
It took my mom a long time to forgive Mason for lying to her about my‘death,’but when Eric was born, she finally began to move on, acceptingthatthe reason he hadn’t told her was in my best interests.
My gaze landed on one of my favorite photos, a picture taken years ago ofEric before he was murdered. He was on stage, playing with his band, a guitar in his hands, and his head thrown back as he belted the lyrics to the song he’d written.
Ten years later, I still missed him. Mason and I kept his memory alive bytelling the kids all about him. How he was in a rock band. How he had been Mommy and Daddy’s friend. How he was part of the family,evenif they couldn’t see him.
Since waking from my coma, neither Mason nor I had returned to HadleighPeak, and so, we never visited Eric’s grave. But having his photo was our way of commemorating him.
The other photos were constant reminders of how lucky we were. How thestruggle to get through the few years after waking from the coma was worth it. There were days when I wanted to give up. Days when frustration at my body not working properly took over, and I’d fall into a depressive slump. Days when the traumatic memories would win, and I’d spend my therapy sessions either in floods of tears or screaming in rage at my therapist.
