Laiken

Watching Dominic sleep used to be like watching a volcano waiting for it to erupt. Something in him has changed. He's always been so explosive; a man who shuns predictability, while maintaining a consistency earned from years of hard work.

Now, though, there's  peacefulness in his breathing. His eyelids aren't twitching restlessly and his mouth is a smooth, half-open shape begging to be kissed.

When I think about how much he's been through, how much he's fought against being loved while desperately wanting me, wishing for me, my heart squeezes. I love him so much it scares me.

I was relieved to learn he hadn't murdered Bernard.

I'm worried that, even if he had, I might still love him.

In my relief to be free of the conflict, I let myself forget about my near drowning yesterday. I hadn't told Dominic that once, when I was five, I'd had a similar incident. It was spring, the river full and the air warm. I'd been confident I could jump the rocks like Kara always did. I wanted to be everything that she was.  Sometimes I ached to be better.

I'd fallen in and hit my head, bowling down the river until my sister caught up to me and yanked me out. I owed my life to Kara.

Now I owe my life to Dominic.

But when I think about them both, at the same time, it's like someone has mixed pickle juice and milk in my belly. The two people I love the most hate each other. Or, maybe Dominic doesn't hate Kara, but he doesn't get along with her. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.

“What's wrong?” he whispers, and I startle. He's staring at me from the pile of blankets and towels we fell asleep on. “You've got this pained look in your eyes.” He reaches over, stroking a fingertip across my brow, like he can soothe away whatever is haunting me.

Smiling, I snuggle against him. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is better than I hoped it could be.”

His arm wraps around my shoulders and belts me against him. I'm strapped in, naked chest to naked chest. I can see nothing but the tattoos that traverse his collarbone and those black feathers that spread like a dark angel's. My angel. That's what he is.

I think back to the day that the clouds split apart. How the sun teased over his upturned face, then shut away, as if it had denied him entry to Heaven. Now I know it's not that he doesn't belong up there, it's that he's needed here. I need him.

And he needs me.

****

THE NEXT MORNING, WE head back to the river.

Dominic is strong enough to wade under the bridge without being tossed into the rapids like I was. He spreads his legs, becoming stable as he aims his phone towards the wood overhead. He takes some photos.

Tucking the device away, he stands tall, gripping the handle of the knife. With a grunt, he rips it free. Quickly he strides out of the river, making his way up the slope. He spots me watching and comes my way. “Well?” I ask anxiously. “What was under there?”

With his lips in a severe line that pulls his handsome jaw tight, he turns his phone towards me. On the screen I see the pictures he took. They're all show the underside of the bridge that my father built.

In the planks are carved words that weren't there on the day I left six years ago.

Lolly,

Stop looking for me.

My stomach rolls in on itself painfully. It's like a cramp, but stronger and goes deeper than the muscles. All the hope, all the trust I had in my father, is leaving me so quickly that my body is collapsing in on the new gaps.

He wrote that message. And he couldn't be any clearer; he doesn't want to be found.

Not even by me.

“I'm sorry,” Dominic whispers.

Looking away from the phone, I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Don't be. I think part of me always expected this. He never had any plans to rescue me or Kara.” My father stole enough money to begin a brand new life with my mother and Dean. One not meant for my sister and me.

Dominic puts his phone in his jacket pocket. His wide hand settles on my shoulder, giving me some of his strength. I smile up at him, wanting him to know I'll be okay. But will I? I suddenly wonder. “Dominic, what will happen to Kara and me?”

His jaw moves like he's chewing. “I have some ideas. A lot depends on me talking sense into my parents. There's no reason for them to keep you two around as hostages to a man who doesn't care.”

I grimace at his frank words. “If they let us go, what will you do?” The question floats between us unsaid: Will you come with me? But I can't ask it.

“I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe,” he says, kissing my forehead. “That's all I care about.” Flipping the knife over, he offers it to me handle first. “Here, you said it was your father's, right? You should have it.”

Turning the slim blade between my palms, I push my thumb gently on the edge. I've held it before, used it to carve my name in the bridge, to cut fishing line during the many hours spent on the river together. Dad even taught me how to throw it so it would stick perfectly in a tree trunk. He always trusted me not to lose it.

Jamming the knife into the railing, I abandon it the way my father abandoned me.