Page 30 of Chasing Wildflowers
I pick my wine back up and take a large swallow, giving myself a moment. “He wants to take me out again.”
“By the smile he was wearing when he left, I assume you said yes, so why do you sound so unsure?”
Her question hangs heavy. I’ve been debating this for weeks. I can’t give her Ceciley’s story, but I can give her Lane’s.
I straighten, steeling my spine. “I was married.”
The words taste like iron on my tongue, hanging heavy between us.
I take another gulp of my wine, this one for courage. I expect the words to get lodged in my throat, but the second I open my mouth they flow out like Kam was always meant to hear them. “He was abusive. Both mentally and physically. That’s why I don’t date. I’m afraid any man I let in will be the same, that they’ll trick me the way he did.”
The memories rush back sharp as broken glass. Slammed doors, his hand bruising my wrist, the sour taste of fear.
“He was everything I thought I wanted, until we got engaged. It was like a switch flipped. He started controlling what I wore, saying I dressed for other men. He told me what jobs I could take, what friends I could see, even what I should eat. Always with that twisted smile, like he was helping me become ‘better.’”
I drain the rest of my wine, trying to ease the burn in my throat. My chest feels like it's cracking open, but still I continue on, needing to get it all out. To purge it from my system.
“He didn’t start hitting me until after we were married.” Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “And I stayed. For years. I’m ashamed of that. Ashamed I let him strip me down to nothing before I finally left.”
I reach for the bottle, with a shaky hand, but Kam’s covers mine, stopping me. She gently pulls it from my hand and refills both of our glasses, not stopping until the liquid laps at the rim.
Kam’s eyes harden. “I want to kill him.” She grabs my hand, squeezing gently, her voice softening. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I’m sorry I pushed you to go out on dates. I would never have pushed you if I had known that. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, meeting her gaze. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be hiding. I’ve kept men at arm’s length, using hook-ups as armor. But I don’t want to live numb anymore.” My throat tightens, but I force the truth out. “I want Jameson. I want to try.”
Letting Jameson in terrifies me. Every instinct I’ve honed over the last five years screams to keep the walls up, to stay safe, to stay hidden.
But the thought of never letting him in, never giving myself a chance at something real, terrifies me even more.
The fear still lives there, warning my heart to tread carefully, but I want to let him in. I want to stop living in fear and cut the last thread Byron still has wrapped around my life.
Thirteen
Jameson
My phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m driving back to my motel after my date with Lane. Our kiss is still fresh in my mind and lingering on my lips. The way her body felt against mine is seared into my skin.
I dig it out and curse under my breath when I see Mile’s name flashing across the screen. Nausea gathers in the pit of my stomach, a warning.
I put it on speaker. “What’s up, man?” I ask, the words coming out tight.
He hesitates a beat. “DNA results are in. It’s a match. Lane and Ceciley are the same person.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut. Deep down, I knew the truth, but part of me held onto hope.
I scrub a hand over my face, drawing in a steadying breath. I haven’t told Miles about my theory, but I can’t avoid it anymore. Not if I want to keep her safe.He’s going to lose it at first, but once he hears me out, he’ll understand. He always does.
My hands tighten on the wheel, bracing for impact. “We can’t tell the client we found her.”
Silence stretches on the line, punctuated only by the hum of the engine. Then: “And why the fuck not?”
I swing into the parking lot, pulling into a spot close to my room, and throw it into park. I glance around, it's mostly empty, just like it is every day. Only two other cars join mine, one of them belonging to the lady at the front desk.
The flickering red-and-white “MOTEL” sign bathes the asphalt in uneven light. Shadows stretch across puddles from last night’s rain, distorted and trembling.
“I think killing him was her only option.”
Miles scoffs, his irritation clear. I can practically see him rolling his eyes. “What are you talking about? She killed him and started a new life. That’s premeditated.”
