I said to myself I’d give her the time to move out on her own, but it’s been well over a week since I last saw her and I’m going out of my mind.
I called her on Monday like I said I would—no reply.
Tuesday came—no reply.
Every day after that has been the same.
I’ve called her twice already today and again—no reply.
I should take the hint that she’s not answering, but I can’t. I stare at my cell wondering if I should call her one last time before I have to go and pick Maya up from my parents’ place. She’s staying over while they’re jetting off on vacation. She’s getting to the age where going on vacation with your parents for the summer is “so uncool.” Her words, not mine.
I sigh, getting up and grabbing my car keys off the side unit, leaving my cell where it is on my coffee table and walking through my hallway and into the garage.
The drive to my parents doesn’t take long and I’m soon walking up the steps and opening up the blood-red front door.
“Maya, let’s go,” I call into the entryway. My parents have already left this afternoon so it’s just us two.
I hear a door opening before she shouts, “A hand with my bags would be nice!”
Normally I’d chuckle and come up with a witty comeback, but I’m not in a good mood tonight. I take the stairs two at a time, frowning at the large suitcase along with two duffel bags sitting outside her room. “How long are you staying for again?”
She appears in the doorway with another bag and her guitar case. “Hi to you, too.”
I smile at her, shouldering the two duffel bags and pulling up the handle on the suitcase. “Are you sure you’ve left anything at all in your closet?”
She rolls her eyes and saunters down the stairs before me. “I have a lot of bags, get over it already. Oh, and Mom made some meals. They’re on the counter in the kitchen.”
I hold back the sarcastic laugh I want to let out. “You might want to get those on account of me being loaded down with all these bags.”
She huffs but walks toward the kitchen as I get her luggage in the car and wait for her to lock up the house.
She climbs in the car and I motion for her to put her seatbelt on. Rolling her eyes she says, “I’m not two, Nate. I do know how to put my seatbelt on.”
“Then do it instead of staring at your phone.”
“What’s up your ass?”
“Don’t say ass,” I retort as I turn onto the street and begin the drive back to my place.
“Again I’ll remind you that I’m fifteen and not two.” She doesn’t stop her fingers flying over the screen of her cell as she answers and I find myself unnecessarily annoyed.
“I hope you’re not going to be on that thing all week.”
“I hope you’re not going to be in this mood all week,” she counters.
I sigh. “Sorry, Maybug. I need a beer and to fester on the couch. It’s been a long day.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything until near the turnoff of my road. “Can I go in the pool?”
“After you unpack, sure.” I press the fob on the steering wheel of the SUV and the garage door opens and closes behind us when we drive in. “I might join you. A swim sounds like fun.”
We get the car unpacked and Maya automatically takes the room by the pool: she always stays in there. While she unpacks I take the containers of food my mom made for us, rather unnecessarily since I’m a grown man and I can cook for myself, but it’s appreciated all the same. I put them in the refrigerator and open a beer, chugging back some as I walk through the main room. Just as I’m about to walk down the hallway, I hear the ping of my cell.
I walk over to it and I don’t know if I’m happy or pissed with the message on the screen.
AMELIA: I miss you.
I type back furiously.
NATE: Tell me where you live and I’ll come over.
The three dots signaling she’s typing pop up, taunting me as they suddenly stop and I get no reply. I take a pull on my beer, staring at the screen, but when no message pops up I message Tris for her address.
TRIS: Amelia’s address? Why?
Shit. I’d forgotten in my haste that we hadn’t told him about us yet—if there even is an us anymore.
I stare down at my screen, wracking my brain for an explanation, thinking I’m a genius as I message him back.
NATE: Maya is here for the week so I took it off work. I thought I could take the kids out for the day? Maybe take them to see Amelia.
TRIS: Sounds like a great idea, except I don’t know her address. She said she’d message me but I’ve not heard anything. I’m not happy about it but I’ve been letting her settle in.
That doesn’t make sense, they’re like her family. Why the radio silence?
NATE: I’ll find out what it is. How does Thursday sound for me to have the kids?
I want to give her the benefit of the doubt and a few more days before I go knocking.
We make the arrangements before I’m dialing a number I’ve desperately avoided calling, the ring tone reverberating through my nerves telling me I’m invading her privacy.
“Nate, what’s up? Thought you were off work for the week?”
“This isn’t about work, Holland.” I blow out a breath. “I need you to find out where someone lives.”
“Not for work?”
“No. And I need you to be discreet.”
There’s a long pause before his gravelly voice says, “Alright, but only because it’s you and I know you’re not a creep.”
I chuckle. “Gee, thanks.”
“Nate!” Maya shouts from down the hallway.
“Be there in a sec,” I reply, holding my hand over the phone before returning to the conversation with Holland. “It’s Amelia, she moved and I know she’s having problems so I want to help.”
“Your girlfriend?” My stomach drops because I don’t even know if that’s what she is anymore. “How do you not know where your girlfriend lives?”
I sigh, not having the patience to explain everything to him, so I give him a half truth. “We had a fight before she moved, nothing serious but I’m worried about her.”
“You do realize that stalking is illegal,” he jokes.
I laugh. “And you do realize part of your job is to stalk.”
“I’m a private investigator, not a stalker. But I’ll do it. What do you know?”
“Her last name is Rivers and I know she still lives in my town, but look on the north side. She said she was moving there.” I think of anything else I could tell him. “Oh, and to narrow it down look for somewhere that was empty until last Saturday.”
“Got it, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks, Holland. I owe you.”
I hang up and go to change into my board shorts, walking into the pool room and seeing Maya hanging over the side of the pool with her cell in her hands.
“What took you so long?”
I dive in and swim up beside her. “Had to make a quick call.”
She wraps her cell in a towel and slides it away from the edge of the pool. “Girlfriend?”
“Something like that,” I murmur before changing the subject. “Race?”
“You’re on, old man!” she shouts, pushing off the side and getting a head start.
After a few races, I concede, leaning against the side of the pool.
“What’s up with you today? You’re no fun.” She swims up beside me.
“I’ve just raced you a few times like a big kid, I’m a barrel of fun.” I run my fingers through my hair, dispelling the water droplets from it.
She turns around and kicks her legs while still holding onto the side. “If you say so.”
I’ll dig my mind out of the gutter and try and get Amelia out of my head until Thursday, but it’s proving difficult.
“Erm, Nate?” I turn my head toward Maya who has somehow got out of the pool without me noticing and is sitting on the side.
“Yeah.”
She looks up at the wooden beams and black ceiling with tiny dotted lights to make it look like the night sky before answering me. “Do you think I could have a few friends over this week?”
“Here?”
She looks down at me and smiles. “Well, duh.”
I chuckle while I think of an appropriate response. “To do what?”
She shrugs while saying, “Hang out.”
I lift myself out of the pool and sit next to her. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable having a load of teenage girls in my house, Maya.”
She raises a brow at me. “There’ll be boys, too.”
“Hell. No.”
“Come onnn. Lacey’s dad always lets her have parties,” she whines with a pout.
“Whoa, you never mentioned anything about a party.” I stand and walk over to the shelves behind us that have towels lining them
Just the thought of a bunch of rowdy teenagers in my house possibly trashing the place makes me cringe.
“I thought that was obvious with the whole ‘can I have a few friends over.’”
I throw her a towel and she catches it and stands up, wrapping it around herself. “No party.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, holding her towel in place. “Fine, no party, but what about having a few friends over to chill by the lake or use the four-wheelers?”
“No four-wheelers, those things cost money and I’m not being sued if one of your friends decides to injure themselves by being idiots.”
Her face lights up. “So I can have some friends over to the lake?”
I sigh but reluctantly answer, “Yes, but a few, not everyone in your class.”
She throws her arms around me. “You’re the best!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble with a grin on my face as I push her backward, watching as she careens into the pool with a huge splash.
I laugh as she splutters, her gaze pointed at me.
“I take that back,” she yells as I walk out of the room with extra swagger in my step to get changed.
I chuckle to myself as I grab a shower and pull on some sweatpants and head toward the kitchen, but my mood starts to turn sour the longer I’m left alone. My mind is never far away from Amelia and wondering what she’s doing right at this moment.
Why would she text me saying she missed me if she wasn’t going to reply? And if she misses me so much, why the hell won’t she take my calls?
Putting a bag of popcorn in the microwave, I turn when Maya walks in, her hair still slightly damp. “I’ll get you back for that,” she says, opening the fridge and peering inside. “Water, water, water… why haven’t you got any soda?”
I pull out the popcorn bag, opening it up before I empty it into a bowl. “I don’t drink that crap.”
“I do.”
I shrug. “You’ll have to deal with it until we go to the grocery store.”
She walks over and grabs a handful of popcorn. “Fine, but I get to choose a movie.”
“I am not watching 22 Jump street or 13 going on 30 again.” As I pick up the bowl off the counter, I see a flash of something from the corner of my eye out the window. I hand Maya the popcorn and tell her to go ahead and pick a movie as I step out onto the patio, immediately feeling like someone is out there.
“If there’s someone out there you’re trespassing on private property, so I suggest you get going before I call the cops.” As soon as the words have left my mouth, I hear a car engine start from the direction of the front of the house and I turn to run toward it when Maya shouts, “Nate, are you coming?” from the main room.
I pull the front door open, watching the taillights at the end of the driveway. How did I not hear someone pull up?
I shake my head as I close the door. It must’ve just been some kids thinking they could make use of the lake. It’s not the first time I’ve caught them trying to sneak onto my land and I’m sure it won’t be the last, which reminds me, I really need to get some fences or something put up.
But a little voice in the back of my mind tells me that maybe, just maybe, it was Amelia. Had she come after she said she missed me and then got scared off because Maya is here? Is she worried how I’d react to her not answering my calls? Because I’m pissed and I want answers, but most of all I just want her back in my arms.
I collect my carry-on, shuffling along with the other passengers on the airplane before walking off it and through the tunnel into the main airport as I think about the last few days.
I’d been sitting inside my apartment for three days, surrounded by my boxes of stuff. I don’t intend to stay there long so I saw no point in unpacking.
It was only last night I was searching on the internet trying to find any little thing on them, but it’s like they disappeared off the face of the earth when I moved away. After hours of fruitless searching, I clicked the tab closed and typed in the website for the airline, booking a flight to come home.
The only way I felt like I could confront them was coming back to where it all began.
It’s a smaller airport than the one I flew out of, but the amount of passengers departing the plane is the same. I can tell who the tourists are, who the people are who are visiting home, and who are the ones here for business.
Ignoring all of them, I walk outside and into a waiting cab, reeling off the address of the house I grew up in.
Neither my mom nor dad know I’m coming home because I know what they would say if they knew—more specifically my dad.
As the airport gets smaller in the rearview mirror, a sense of ease washes over me. It’s been so long since I’ve been home, the last time I was here I was being driven to the airport not away from it.
I stare out of the window, hoping after being here for a few days it will solve everything. It’s wishful thinking, but the thought of not seeing Nate for much longer kills something inside of me.
It’s been seven days since I last saw him and I’ve thought about him for every single one of those. I’ve dreamed about turning up at his house, knocking on his door and letting him hold me close.
When I close my eyes I’m almost sure I can smell his cologne and feel his hands on my skin, his breath against my neck.
I can’t help wondering if I was wrong: maybe I should have told him everything the day he came to the pool house and saw the first box on the coffee table? I could have stopped all of this then—right at the start. Instead, I kept it inside and now I have to try and fix it.
I shake my head when I think about the message I stupidly sent him last night.
I should have left it well enough alone, at least until it’s all over.
Opening my eyes back up, I shake the thoughts from my head and look around at the familiar houses and streets. The nerves flow through me at higher speeds the closer I get to my childhood home.
My parents tried to do everything they could to help after “the incident.” My father being the sheriff and my mother a nurse, they knew things like that happened. But it didn’t matter what they said, I still blamed myself—I did then, and to an extent, I still do now.
Being from a small town made things even worse and I couldn’t get away from it—couldn’t escape it.
As the cab drives down my childhood road, the memories slam into me. The calls in the middle of the night, the name calling, the harassment, the prickling feeling that someone was watching me—just like I’ve been feeling since the first package came.
When he pulls up outside of the house, I can’t move as my gaze swings to the house opposite. I can see it all so clearly: the flashing lights of the ambulance in front of the house, the neighbors all gathered around. Hearing the gut-wrenching sobs that played as a soundtrack that night.
My hand flutters to my neck, moving as I swallow against the dryness. I’ll never forget it.
Tearing my gaze away from the house that’s encased in a dark cloud, I stare at my childhood home. The front yard is still the same: grassed with an apple tree sitting in the middle. The light-blue siding covering the whole outside is freshly painted, ready for the summer months ahead, the same as the white window frames.
Nothing has changed; yet everything has. I’m not the same eighteen-year-old girl who just graduated from high school. Now I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman who wants answers and to confront her. The person who has destroyed everything I’ve built in the last six years.
Handing the cab driver a few bills, I push the door open and bring my bag with me, standing on the sidewalk as I continue to stare at the house.
My dad’s police cruiser is in the driveway with my mom’s car behind it. As I’m about to move forward, the front door opens and my dad appears, dressed in his uniform, the sheriff's badge attached to his chest.
He stalls when he glances my way and I’m staring into the same eyes I see in the mirror every morning. His salt-and-pepper hair is short on the sides and longer on top, more gray in it since the last time I saw him.
“What are you doing back?”
My breath escapes in a rush at the deep baritone of his voice. “Hey, Dad,” I manage to choke out, shuffling my feet on the ground.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he replies, stepping toward me and causing my stomach to drop. I knew he wouldn’t be happy I was home, but I didn’t think it would affect me as much as it is.
A lump grows in my throat and I can’t seem to form words as he closes his eyes. I watch as he shakes his head and when he opens his eyes back up, they’re glazed over.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He steps toward me, opening up his arms.
I don’t hesitate, walking toward him at a fast pace.
He wraps me up in a giant bear hug—a hug I’ve missed so much over the last six years—and my head lands on his chest. He always makes me feel like a small child, especially with him being six foot two. The smell of musk and chewing tobacco surrounds me and only one word comes to mind—home.
He rocks us side to side and I make a noise in the back of my throat as I try to keep my emotions at bay.
Pulling back, he frames my face with his large hands and kisses me on the forehead. “You look tired,” he comments.
I nod slowly, my bottom lip wobbling. I’ve kept it together these last few months, but being back home and in my dad’s arms has it all flooding to the forefront.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “What’s the matter?”
“I—”
Footsteps sound near us and I cut myself off. The wooden stairs creak and I prepare myself to see my mother. She was always the one person who I could talk to—always there no matter what. But after that day, something between us changed. I don’t know whether it was me or her, or maybe a combination of both.
When her light-blue eyes connect with mine, all I see is relief and love staring back at me and not the pain that used to be reflected in them.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, cupping her hands over her mouth and staggering down the last couple of steps toward me.
“Hey, Mom,” I finally manage to say when she stands next to Dad.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
I smile tightly, not really knowing how to feel as she pulls me away from Dad and wraps her thin arms around me, her blond hair moving and wafting us with the smell of the same shampoo I used to use—watermelon.
Closing my eyes, I feel like the same eighteen-year-old girl who didn’t know what to do or how to cope. Not even my mother's hugs could make me feel safe back then.
It was part of the plan for me to have minimal contact, at least until I was settled. But a year after I had lived with Tris, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to my mom and dad properly. It’s not their fault that we lost touch. For years they tried to contact me, but other than very brief phone calls, I haven’t talked to them much which I now regret.
It’s funny how I ran away from here but when I’m feeling at my most insecure, not knowing which way to turn or what road will lead me to the best place, I come back home.
Home will always be home, and my mom and dad will always make me feel safe. There’s only one other person that makes me feel like that... Nate.
I bat away the image of his grinning face and sparkling green eyes as soon as it comes into my mind. I can’t think about him now. I made the choice to pull away so I need to stick to it—for his protection.
Mom pulls away and leads me into the house, Dad bringing up the rear as we walk up the stairs. My gaze flicks around the small hallway that leads into the home I grew up in, not a thing changed.
The walls are still a beige color with family photographs and artwork adorning them, and the dark wood floor is still covered with the same rug that I used to sit on and build all my Lego.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie, but I have a long shift and your dad was just about to go to work, too.”
“That’s okay,” I tell Mom. “I’ll chill out here today and then maybe I could cook something for dinner?”
Mom tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as Dad pushes his thumbs into the belt he wears around his waist containing his cuffs and other sheriff… things.
“Something’s wrong.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she turns to Dad. “Something’s wrong, Carl.”
He stares at me, his eyes narrowing as he steps forward. “Sweetheart, if you need—” The sound of his cell blasting through the hallway has him cursing under his breath and when he pulls it out, his eyes flutter closed. “I’ve got to get to the station.”
Smiling, I hitch up one shoulder in a half shrug. “That’s okay, we’ll talk later.”
They both hesitate, but after half a minute, they say their goodbyes and I watch out of the window next to the front door as they pull out of the driveway, leaving me alone.
Pulling in a deep breath, I step away and walk up the stairs. My stomach dips and memories of the last time I was here invade my mind. It feels like forever but at the same time just yesterday.
Turning left at the top of the stairs, I walk past two doors—an office and a bathroom—before I come to my bedroom door. The plaque with my name still sits in the middle of the white wood, and I run my fingers over it, whispering the word under my breath.
Pushing it open, I step inside, my Converse sinking into the plush mauve carpet as I travel back in time.
My bed is neatly made, the same way it was six years ago, and pictures hang off a board over the desk I used to sit at to do my homework.
The worn mattress groans as I sit on the edge, my gaze flitting around the cream walls which are covered in shelves that house all of my vinyl records. There has to be hundreds here, and I can’t help but pluck one off the shelf and walk over to my record player, putting it on and basking in the first notes of the music.
The small crackle over the speaker from the player brings a grin to my face before the soft voice starts to sing. There’s nothing like the smell of home and the comforts of the things you grew up with. It brings me a sense of peace, so when the record finishes, and my eyes open zoning in on the door across the street, that peace evaporates.
The dark-blue paint is peeling and the garden looks like it’s been left to grow for the whole year, no-one here to tend to it.
I can’t tear my eyes away as my fingertips tingle and my feet itch to go over there. But I don’t, I keep my Converse glued to the carpet.
I came here not only to draw them out but to also ask my dad for help. He was the person who helped me get out of this small town and away from them in the first place, but now I need his help to draw them out instead of escape them.
I finally managed to pull myself away from the window after what felt like minutes but was actually more like an hour. I needed something to take my mind off everything so I buried myself in Netflix on my tablet.
As the sky darkened and I knew the talk with my parents was coming closer, I headed downstairs to distract myself even more.
I’m just pulling out a batch of cookies from the oven when the front door bangs shut and footsteps near.
“I’ve missed that smell in this house,” Dad says as he walks into the kitchen.
I look at him over my shoulder, smiling as he leans against the doorframe.
“I made your favorite,” I tell him.
“Chocolate and pecan?”
I nod in reply and he pushes off the doorframe and plucks one right off the tray. He groans as he takes a bite, his eyes closing. “I’ve missed these.”
The door bangs shut again and Mom rolls her eyes when she comes into the kitchen. “I knew I’d find you in here, Carl.” She picks up a cookie and takes a bite. “I’ve missed these.”
“That’s what Dad said.”
She leans against the counter next to Dad, looking around the kitchen and blowing out a deep breath.
“Who wants takeout?” she asks.
“I’d kill for a pizza,” I say, joining in with them and eating a cookie. They’re delicious fresh out of the oven, all warm and gooey.
Dad orders us a couple of pizzas before him and Mom go upstairs to change out of their uniforms, and I wait in the kitchen, tapping my fingertips against the table. This is where I need to tell them everything that’s been going on. I should have done it sooner, when the first package arrived. I should have told at least Nate or Tris. I’ve been stupid to think I could handle this by myself. It’s escalated to a point where I can’t contain it any longer.
I know I need help, and the two people that will do that without a second thought are my parents.
The doorbell rings as Dad’s footsteps sound down the stairs. He pays the delivery guy and brings it into the kitchen, shouting for Mom as he places the pizza boxes on the table.
We all eat in silence until finally Dad says, his voice gruff, “Tell us what’s going on.”
Swallowing, I shuffle in my chair. “I…” My gaze flits between him and Mom, a lie on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t come out, instead I whisper, “I don’t know where to start.”
“How about what’s happened these last six years,” he replies, a frown on his face. “The deal was for you to settle down and then get back in touch. Not to cut contact altogether.”
“I know,” I say, my voice soft. “I was so far away from here I really thought I could be a different person—the one without the baggage.”
“How did that work out for you?” Mom asks, her tone light, and when I look up, I see the shine of tears over her eyes.
Leaning back against the chair, I start to tell them everything. How I ended up a few states away, found a job as a kind-of nanny. I tell them all about Tris and the kids, a smile pulling at my lips when I think about the family I was accepted into.
“Then a few months ago, Nate—his best friend—took me out for a drink and… and I…” Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I will the tears to stay at bay. “That’s around the time the first package came.”
“Package?” Mom leans forward, her hand covering mine.
Nodding, I lift my gaze to Dad’s. “It was her.”
He knows who I’m talking about, because she’s the whole reason I left. I couldn’t handle the constant phone calls in the middle of the night, or the way she would watch me from across the street. The things she would say when I stepped outside the front door. I couldn’t get away from any of it, no matter what my dad did and the restraining order he had put on her.
None of it mattered, because in her mind it was all my fault.
I killed her baby.
I focus on Dad as he asks, “She found you?”
“Yeah.” My nostrils flare as a tear escapes and slides down my cheek. “Each package was worse than the last, but the final one...” Taking a breath, I wrap my arms around my middle trying to hold myself together. “She followed me and threatened the kids and Nate.”
Mom stands up and comes to sit next to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Oh, sweetie.”
“Threatening how?” Dad asks, using his sheriff’s voice. I pull the photograph out of my pocket that I haven’t let out of my sight. Handing it over with shaking hands, Dad takes it from me, flipping it over to read the message. “What did Nate and Tristan say about this?”
“I haven’t told them.”
“What?” he thunders, bringing his gaze back up to mine.
I stare at the furious expression in my dad’s brown eyes, biting my bottom lip. “They don’t know about any of it, they think I moved out because I wanted to go down a different career path.” Dad stands up, the chair clattering behind him as Mom rubs my arm soothingly. “I was trying to keep them safe.”
Swiping his hand through his hair, he starts pacing, mumbling as he forms a plan. Finally, he turns back around, stopping a few feet away before he says, “We need to find her, ask her what she’s trying to achieve and then contact a lawyer.”
I don’t tell him that I could contact a lawyer without a problem, that this particular lawyer would have helped me and protected me had I told him what was happening, instead, I nod in agreement.
“That’s why I came home, I thought she might follow me back here.”
“And has she?” Mom asks, her voice soft and gentle.
“Not yet.”
“There’s still time,” Mom says. “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know. Dad?” I ask, knowing I can rely on him for a plan.
He pulls his cell out, holding his finger up, silently telling me to give him a minute as he brings it to his ear and walks into the hallway.
“She left a week after you did, sweetie.” I turn back to Mom. “From what I heard, she was put into rehab to help her grieving.” Rehab? I raise my brow at Mom when she flicks her gaze away. “That’s what they told people anyway, but I know she was placed on the mental health ward. Not long after that her and Ryan got a divorce.”
My eyes widen at what she’s said. Does this mean she’s unhinged? God, this makes everything so much worse. I’ve been letting a mad woman follow me. “So, it’s only her now?”
“Yeah… I should contact Ryan and tell him what’s going on.” She chews her bottom lip. “I’ll ask your dad and see what he says.”
If Ryan divorced her back then then I doubt he’ll be interested in what she’s doing now. I open my mouth to reply but Dad comes back in and sits down, resting his head in his hands. We all sit in silence for what feels like hours and when Dad looks back up, his face determined and his eyes shadowed with something I’ve never seen before, I realize he’ll do whatever he can to help me.
“You have to go back if you can’t draw her out,” he tells me.
“I know.”
“I’m coming with you.”
A breath leaves me in a whoosh and my shoulders droop almost as if all of the extra weight I’ve been carrying around has been lifted off me. “I’m scared,” I reply, letting them see it all—the pain, the fright.
He stands and pulls me up, crushing me to his chest. “If she hasn’t turned up by Monday, I’ll book flights for us to go back on Tuesday. I’ll help you find her; we’ll do it together.” Pulling back, he frames my face with his large hands. “I can’t get anyone to cover the station until then, but I’ll put some feelers out and find some more information, okay?”
“You don’t have to come back with me.” There’s no conviction to what I’m saying, but I feel like I have to say it.
“Yes, I do,” he growls. “I helped you escape once—let you run—but not again. We’re a team, and ain’t no way in hell will I have my little girl scared to go out of her own house again.”
All of the pain and fearfulness starts to wane as I stare into his eyes, knowing I won’t be alone again. The one man who always protected me will be there.
“It doesn’t matter how old you get, sweetheart.” He smiles softly. “You’ll always be my little girl.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and close my eyes, relishing in the protection of his arms.
Things can only get better from here. It may have taken me a long time to reach out to the people who will always love me, but it doesn’t matter because I’m here now and I know deep down everything will be alright.