Ember

My muscles are weak following that surge of adrenaline. I feel the cold recession of all strength from my limbs.

Dixie is abandoned at the apartment, and I’m in my mother’s town car, riding the very short distance to the house where I grew up. The lonely prison I stayed in for three years after Jackson left—until I was old enough to move into Aunt Agnes’s abandoned store.

“You rushed straight into his arms. No questions. No regard for your daughter’s safety…” My mother is relentless in her berating.

Thankfully, the car stops in the driveway, and I get out before she’s even finished speaking. Numb, I go slowly through the side entrance not even acknowledging the mountain of a storm trooper standing in the foyer, confusion lining his face.

Yes, I’m the same one you threw out of here four hours ago, asshole…

I continue straight up the familiar staircase down the creaky wooden floors of the hall to my daughter’s room. The room that once was mine. The room where I would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling dreaming of the boy who would sit outside in his car beckoning me with the noise of an engine.

Coco is curled in a little ball in the center of the queen-sized bed. She’s breathing just loud enough for me to hear, and I don’t even take off my dress. I slip between the sheets and slide across the cool mattress to curl my body around hers.

She makes a noise and moves toward me. I pull her closer against the twisting ache in my chest. Her sweet scent, her chubby hands, her soft hair, all these things soothe the pain and confusion. The words replay in my mind…

Is what she’s saying true?

Yes.

Go…

My eyes squeeze shut against the tears. It doesn’t make any sense—none of this makes sense. I’m hurt and exhausted. I’ve been from panic to anger to relief to devastation in the last eight hours, and I’m pretty sure I can’t take another thing. I sure as hell know I’m not up for another round with my mother.

Holding my phone, I stare at the face trying to decide if I even want to try. Of course, I want to try.

I don’t understand.

It doesn’t take long for his reply.

I’m working on it. Stay with Coco.

My arm drops and I thread my fingers through her silky hair.

“Mommy?” Her soft voice is full of sleep, and I’m not convinced she’s entirely awake.

“I’m here, baby.”

“What about Atlantia?”

My heart aches at how perfect our life was for one brief moment. One magical night I got a glimpse of what my life could be. If only…

“Don’t worry, baby. Jackson is watching over Atlantia. Everything is going to be okay. Sleep now.”

Her arm goes around my waist, and I kiss her head. She’s little, but she’s a powerful weapon.

---

“I can’t raise a child right now, Emberly.” Brandon Lancaster stands on my mother’s front porch in a light grey Armani suit with sky blue pinstripes.

His blue eyes are stern, and his blond hair is short—shaved around his head and just a little spikey where it fights against the product forcing it to behave.

For a second, I’m relieved. Five years later, and he’s just as handsome as he ever was. I feel less of a total slut for hooking up with him after only five hours of conversation.

The only problem is he’s the same self-centered asshole.

“I don’t want you to raise her!” I pace the painted wood porch in my bare feet.

I hadn’t expected him to arrive so early this morning. I’d been standing in the kitchen in cutoffs and a white tee, my dark hair swept up in a ponytail when the knocking started.

Thankfully, my mother is driving Coco to preschool—I’m not allowed to take my own daughter anywhere. I’m a flight risk.

“Well, what the fuck is going on?” The light beard on his chin doesn’t hide the lines around his mouth, making him appear even more impatient. “Your mother said you’re dating a sex offender? I’m not prepared to raise her, I’m sure as hell not going to let my daughter get hurt.”

Nice to know he has some shred of paternal feeling.

Anger rises in my chest. “Is that really what you think of me, Brandon? You think I’d let someone hurt my daughter?”

His voice rises to match mine. “I don’t know! You might recall we haven’t spent a lot of time together outside a bar.”

He’s got me there. The last time we spoke I’d given him a courtesy call to tell him I was pregnant. He’d held his breath waiting for me to say what I wanted to do about it… (His question.)

When I’d said I was keeping her, he exhaled heavily and asked if I expected him to marry me. I almost laughed in his face. (Or ear.)

I did not expect him to marry me.

“So who is this guy? What’s his story?”

“He’s…”

He’s my first love.

My last love.

My only love.

“He’s a guy I’ve grew up with. He used to live here.”

“Is what your mother said true? Is he a rapist?”

“No!” I hate this. “I don’t know what happened…”

Brandon exhales a groan, shoving his hand along the side of his neck. Lowering it, he inspects the chunky stainless-steel watch on his wrist. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to be back in the city by noon.”

“I just need a little more time.”

“The judge says you’ve got two more days.” He walks past me to the steps, to the grey Land Rover in the driveway. Just before he gets inside, he pauses, blue eyes running up and down my body. “Don’t make me do this, Ember.”

A knot twists in my throat, and I can’t speak. He gets inside, closes the door with a tight thump, and backs out, disappearing down the street as my mother pulls up in her large vehicle.

“Was that Brandon?” She gets out and hurries over to where I stand at the edge of the porch. “Why didn’t he wait for me?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you, Momma. He doesn’t want to deal with this.” I’m so angry with her, I have to clench my fists to avoid throwing things. “I can’t believe you’d give her to him, send her away, just to keep Jackson and me apart.”

Her back stiffens, and her face turns pious. “Sometimes God asks us to make sacrifices. He asked Abraham to kill Isaac—”

“We’re not living in the Bible!” I shout, turning and storming away from her, stopping at the porch swing. “What do you expect to happen, Momma?”

“Brandon Lancaster has no intention of raising that child,” she says, and I hate her superior tone. “I’ll talk to him, and we’ll work it out so that Coco lives here with me. Permanently.”

It’s now my turn to throw her words back in her face. “That will never happen.”

I’m off the steps walking fast into town. Pain twists in my chest, and with every step, I feel the fear rising. I believe Jackson when he says it’s a smokescreen, although I’m not sure what that means.

I wish my faith were stronger.

It’s so hard.

We haven’t had enough time…

André steps out the door as I pass the poboy shop. “Emberly!”

I stop and look up. A white apron is tied around his waist, and his dark face is lined with a frown. “I heard about what happened.”

“Of course,” I say quietly. “I’m sure Betty’s told everyone by now.”

What a perfect way for her to clear her grabber-son’s name.

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Heard it from Jackson—just before he left town.”

“Oh…” I look down the lane toward the cottage.

He’s gone again.

My stomach sinks.

“I haven’t known Jackson very long. Not nearly as long as you have.” He looks at me, dark eyes serious. “He’s a little reckless, playful. Still, it’s hard for me to believe he’d intentionally hurt someone who wasn’t asking for it.”

I take a deep breath, trying to ease the tension. “It’s hard for me to believe.”

“Then don’t.” His gaze moves from me up the lane, toward the old neighborhood where my mother’s house is located. “People see what they’re looking for. We don’t have the whole story. The truth might be real simple.”

Looking back the way I came, I don’t answer. I only nod.

He starts to go back inside the store, but he pauses. “I’ve been talking to Tabby. She’s got some good ideas for marketing—you and me working together, cross-promoting…”

I squint up at him. “I finally started paying her.”

That makes him chuckle. “I like her ideas. I think if we put our heads together we could bring more tourists up this way. Daisy has the antique shop. Count me in.”

“Okay,” I say, managing a small smile.

The ugliness of the situation hangs heavy over me. Even with Jackson gone, the court order locks me into staying at my mother’s house. Still, I have the slightest glimmer of hope. The faintest flicker of a dream.