Page 74 of The Love You Fight For
I don’t know.
But if things don’t change, then how can I?
I turn to him on the boat ride back to the cabin and ask him a question that’s been plaguing me since that night in his house during the thunderstorm.
“What if I don’t have a true north?”
He tilts his head and looks me over as he considers my question.
“What do you mean?”
“Yours is your home. Your family,” I say, fiddling with the hem of the blanket. “But what if I don’t have one?”
Or worse, what if mine is cruel? What if it’s something I’m ashamed of?
He grows quiet for a while, and I wonder if he’s even going to answer, but then he speaks, and his tone is so encouraging, so full of hope, that it makes me want to cry.
“You have one, princess. You just have to let yourself find it.”
I wake leisurely,naked and tangled in bedsheets.
I stretch, noting the sun shining through the windows and the smell of bacon wafting into the room from the kitchen. I smile to myself. I’m alone now, but I wasn’t. I haven’t been all weekend, and from the warmth in the bed beside me, I’d say Chris only just woke up.
When I sit up, I find a piece of paper lying on the bed beside me next to a single white wildflower. My smile is so big, my cheeks hurt, and I pick up both the paper and the flower carefully. I bring the flower to my nose and inhale as I flip the paper over and read the familiar messy handwriting.
Under the single scrawled line of script is a crude drawing of an alligator that makes me giggle like a fool, then I immediately blush when I remember our nighttime swim in the lake. I drop my face into the pillow and squeal, then I sit up and take a deep breath.
I need to calm down. I’m acting like a preteen with a crush.
I give my head a shake, then stand and pull on Chris’s discarded T-shirt before tucking the note safely into my suitcase and threading the flower through my ponytail.
“Good morning,” Chris says when I stroll into the kitchen. “Perfect timing.”
He slides me a plate full of French toast and bacon, and my mouth waters.
“Good morning to you, too, and thank you.”
I cut a piece and put it in my mouth, and I immediately sigh with happiness. I don’t know how he’s so good at this. So far everything he’s made has been absolutely perfect.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says, and I pop my eyes open to find him leaning on the counter with his arms crossed and a smile on his face.
“I get breakfast and a surprise?” I take another bite and don’t even bother trying to tame my giddiness.
“Lennon should be here in”—he checks his watch—“fifteen minutes.”
“Really!” I dart to my feet, excited to see my best friend. “Okay, I’m going to go put on some clothes.” I hurriedly shove another bite of French toast in my mouth, then rush to the bedroom. “I’ll be right back,” I call behind me, and he chuckles to himself as I shut the door.
I slip on some shorts and a tank top. I dig through my toiletry bag for some lip balm but come up short, so I move to my handbag. As soon as I stick my hand in there, though, I freeze.
Fuck. My second phone.
I pull it out quickly and power it on. I’m supposed to check it twice daily—once in the morning and once in the evening—but I haven’t looked at it since Wednesday night. I tell myself it’s probablyfine, usually the messages are empty anyway, but then my heart falls to my feet.
I have five messages, all with varying degrees of urgency, and the final is demanding that I make a phone call as soon as possible.
Quietly, I sneak down the hall and out the back door, and I press call on the only number saved. It only rings once. When Agent Sexton answers, I can hear the fury in her voice.
“Ms. Harper, where the hell have you been?” she seethes, and I bristle at her tone.
