by Kelli Warner
I get my answer. A sharp, ear-shattering crack jolts me back into the moment. The ground beneath my feet quakes and my eyes shoot open, a split second before I make the terrifying realization that I am no longer standing.
I’m falling.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Paige
Everything in my body hurts. Unforgiving heat sears into my muscles and bones, as if someone lit a match inside me. The flames multiply until they consume every ounce of me, leaving agony in their wake.
I blink hard, my eyes straining to bring the view above me into focus. Squinting into the darkness, my brain struggles to bring the swirling view to a halt and make sense of what just happened. When my vision finally settles, horror seeps in. I’m staring up at the spot where, just moments ago, I was standing.
Slowly, one by one, the scenes drop into place. What I’d assumed was stable ground beneath my feet had crumbled, and I’d fallen right along with the rocky pieces of the hillside. But instead of plummeting to certain death in the ocean, I’d slammed down onto this rocky surface below.
Burning flares again in my back and bites at my right shoulder, a jarring reminder that I’m alive, but not in good shape. I concentrate on moving my left hand and feel a rush of hope when it complies. Gingerly, I inch my fingers toward the pocket of my jeans, willing myself to find the one thing that could save me. My heart sinks the instant I realize my pocket is empty. I don’t have my cell phone. I’d left it on my bed when I’d stormed out of the house because I was so angry at Jay for using it to track my whereabouts. My flashlight is also gone, lost somewhere in my fall. My body constricts against the waves of burning pain as I shiver uncontrollably against the cold ground.
I’m alone. Not even the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the shore below me break the isolating silence. Don’t panic. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. The voice of reason inside my pounding head tries desperately to maintain control as I take a quick inventory. I can’t move without excruciating pain stabbing at some part of my body on my right side; my shoulder, my back, my hip. I’m also intensely aware I’m growing colder by the minute. It’s a short list, but long enough for me to know that I’m in trouble.
“Help!” I muster every ounce of sound I can make to shout that one, desperate syllable into the night, only it’s too weak to carry far before drowning away. I draw a deep, painful breath and try again. “Can anyone hear me?” My voice cracks as my lungs pain at the effort. The only answer are the sounds of the night closing in around me, the relentless whistle of the wind and the churning ocean below. There’s nothing else. Warm wetness rolls from the corners of my eyes, dampening my wind-bitten cheeks.
Is this some sick joke? After everything I’ve been through and after convincing myself that my messy life couldn’t possibly take another cruel turn? A wave of pure, ice-sharp terror floods my veins, temporarily numbing the fire inside. No! No. No, no, no! The voice inside me screams against my skull. It can’t end like this. Not here. Not alone. Not after I’ve messed things up so badly and hurt the people I love.
Gritting my teeth, I attempt to sit up, but sharp, knifelike stabs of pain hold me hostage against the uneven ground. Even if I could manage to move, there’s no way I can climb back up there. There’s definitely something wrong with my shoulder. A broken bone? Maybe several? My head pounds as if someone cracked it open with a hammer, and a series of small explosions ignites somewhere behind my right temple. Carefully lifting the one hand I’m able to move, I touch my forehead, and I’m met with something warm and sticky.
It’s cruelly ironic. I came to this spot to be alone. And on any other day, it would be the perfect place to gather my thoughts, to see things clearly. That’s all I’d wanted. To be able to think, to figure out my next move—what to do now that my world is crumbling at its foundation. But the solitude I’d convinced myself I’d needed has cost me in the worst possible way.
What I want right now is a do-over. I want to do it all over again, to erase the last several months and start from the beginning. To go back to that day on the plane knowing what I know now. But this mess is too large for a do-over. What I’ve created for myself isn’t a game or a silly argument that can be fixed with such a simple declaration. I’ve dug a hole too massively deep for such an uncomplicated solution.
Mom, I’ve messed up so badly.
My chest aches, but it’s not from the pain that consumes the other parts of my body. This hurt, this talon-sharp regret, cuts so much deeper.
The warm tears from my eyes now trickle into my ears, but I don’t wipe them away. The last time I cried, I was in the cemetery, standing beneath a steel-gray sky and watching as my mother’s casket was lowered into the ground. That will forever be the darkest day of my life—the day that life as I knew it ceased to exist. After that, I’d shut off the tears and managed to seal away the crux of the pain I’d endured, walling it off into the recesses of my soul where no one would get to it—where no one would be able to comfort me.
Well, damn. Mrs. Hopkins had been right after all. She’d warned me that someday there would be a breaking point, that despite my efforts to disengage from my feelings, my body and mind would eventually be unable to hold the immensity of all that I’d shoved away, and they would betray me.
Aunt Faye. I don’t think I’ve fully appreciated how big a part of my life she’s encompassed. I blamed her for not doing enough to keep me. Somehow, I’d convinced myself I’d forgiven her, but I hadn’t. Not entirely. I’d unjustly accused her of giving up too quickly, of not loving me enough, only nothing had been farther from the truth. She’s done nothing but love me, love me so much that she did what she believed was best for me, despite her own needs and wants. She didn’t want me to go, but she’d respected the fact that it wasn’t her decision to make. She’d done what she’d had to do because that’s what my mom had asked of her. I know that now. Honestly, I think I knew it then. So why didn’t I tell her that I understood? Why didn’t I tell her how much I loved her for loving me and wanting to do the best she could for me?
The pressure in my chest intensifies as I process the hurt I’ve inflicted on the people I love. Mom is gone, and I will always carry the guilt of that horrible night with me. It wasn’t her choice to leave me, but somehow, deep down, I’d blamed her, too. I’d blamed her for the lawyer and those awful papers that surrendered me to a stranger. To a man who’d been offered money to walk away—and had taken it. At that moment, the wall inside me cracks and shatters into a million irreparable pieces.
Gut-wrenching sobs spill violently from my insides, shaking me so hard, I’m sure it will be only a matter of seconds before I split in half. The physical pain that consumes me turns to daggers, stabbing down again and again as my body spasms against the rolling waves of emotion gushing out of me. My shrieks howl into the night, uncontrollable, ugly and raw.
I can still see the look on Jay’s face when I threw my mother’s journals at him. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget it, no matter how hard I try. I’d stunned him. He never thought his ugly secret would see the light of day. I close my eyes, and burning behind my eyelids are my mom’s devastating words.
My dad told Jay about the baby. Then he offered him $10,000 to walk away and never contact me again. I can’t believe Jay took it.
That’s where the journal ended. My mother never wrote another word about Jay Chapman or how he’d destroyed her. Any remaining hope that Mom and Jay could be a family had ended before it had a chance to begin. Jay betrayed her. And so had my grandfather. How could a man who claimed to love his daughter stoop so low as to offer cash for a person’s silence? And worse yet—what kind of a man takes it? Why did Jay do that? And why in the world did he allow me into his life now? Guilt? Maybe attempting to be my father is his shot at redemption. That thought sickens me. But what hurts most of all—is that I wanted him to be my dad. Not at first, and not when he told me to stay away from Cade, but there were other times, the times when I was able to see a
small spark of the man who appeared to care about me. There, in those moments, the small ones, when he’d been genuinely interested in me and regretful that he’d been denied the opportunity to be my father so many years ago. I’d wanted that, too. I couldn’t admit it because I didn’t fully realize it at the time. I’d convinced myself that I didn’t need a father, and I’d fought it. I’d fought Jay’s attempts to be part of my life, but deep down—I want a dad. I want someone to want to be my dad. It was my mother’s secrets that brought Jay into my life, but it was his own lies that ruined anything good that could possibly have come from that.
And Cade.
At that moment, he’s all I can see, all I can think about—the guy who makes every trouble I’ve ever had melt away just by putting his arms around me. He’s the most fantastic surprise I’ve discovered since I came to this town. And I hurt him. So many people warned me to stay away from him, but the truth is—they should have warned Cade about me. His only wrongdoing was trying to get me to see the truth, even when it hurt. He’s been more honest with me than anyone I’ve met since I came to Mystic, and I’m the one who pushed him away. I wounded him with my nasty words and broke his heart. What if I never get the chance to take it all back?
I’m so stupid. Cade told me not to come up here by myself, but I disregarded his warning. He’d explained, in no uncertain terms, that this was rough terrain and all the crisscrossing trails can cause trouble for even the most experienced hiker. Why didn’t I listen? Because you’re stubborn. The words press against my brain.
No one can hear my cries, and no one knows I’m here. And when they finally realize something is wrong, they won’t know where to start looking. For all Cade knows, I’m at home, and Jay knows I am angry and will try to be anywhere but near him. He probably thinks I’m somewhere cooling off. Somewhere safe. If I can just get myself to move, I might have a chance. Biting down against the pain, I try once more to pull myself off the cold ground. Once again, I fail.
I cry out in frustration, a fresh wave of hot tears streaming from my eyes, stinging as they collide with the wind. I’ve wasted so much time. I’ve spent months swallowed up by grief—so consumed by the loss of my mom that I didn’t bother to see anything else. And by doing that, I surrendered all thoughts of my future. I gave up on my dreams and pushed people away. And for what? I close my eyes and wince at the unrelenting ache deep in my chest.
Did I choose to be unhappy?
Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. How cold can a body get before hypothermia sets in? I try to remember if we studied that particular fact in health class, but the thick band of fog pressing against my mind prevents it from retrieving an answer.
My heavy eyelids slide closed. I no longer know which pain is physical and which is emotional, only that they are working in tandem, in a slow, calculated attempt to suck me under.
And they are winning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cade
I stare out the kitchen window, seeing nothing but my reflection against the darkness outside. The guy in the glass is wrecked. I can almost see the regret and anger piled up on his shoulders, and I want to tell him he’s an idiot. He’s an idiot for picking a fight with the girl he would do anything for. All Paige had wanted was a shoulder to cry on, but instead, she’d been abandoned by the guy she’d counted on.
“Try leaning over the sink instead of dripping water all over my clean floor,” Macy says from the doorway, jarring me from my stupor. The plate I’m holding slips from my hand and plunges into the basin, spraying the front of my shirt with soapy water.
I swear under my breath, grabbing for the dish towel on the counter.
“What is with you tonight?” she asks, grabbing a second towel and mopping up the puddle on the floor. “You’ve been out of sorts since I got home.”
“I’m fine.”
She studies my face with narrowed eyes. “I’m not buying that. Want to try again?” I shake my head. “Here, let me do it,” she says, nudging me aside.
Macy gets right to work scrubbing the lasagna pan, occasionally side-eyeing me as if she’s waiting for me to make the next move in this conversation. When it’s clear that’s not going to happen, she asks, “What’s eating at you? And don’t tell me nothing, because clearly, it’s something. And by the looks of you, I’m guessing it’s something big.”
I sigh. “Paige and I had a disagreement.”
“A disagreement?” she repeats.
“An argument, okay?” I confess. “I’m not even sure how it started. One minute she was telling me about a fight she had with her cousin, and then she was saying how she thinks her mom’s death was her fault, and before I knew it—” I throw back my head and growl at the ceiling. “I said some things, and she twisted them around. It turned into one big mess, and I stormed off.”
Macy’s incessant scrubbing halts. “Why does Paige think her mom’s death was her fault?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, not wanting to rehash it. Besides, it’s not my story to tell. Paige told me that in confidence, and I won’t disrespect her by sharing it without her permission. “The point is, we both said some pretty hurtful things. Honest things, but still hurtful. And now I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you tried calling her?”
I shake my head. “I’m the last person she wants to talk to right now.”
“You won’t know that unless you call her.”
I lean against the counter, mulling over Macy’s words while she resumes her dishwashing. Staring at the ceiling tiles, I replay our argument. Maybe I shouldn’t have been honest with Paige. Maybe I should have just let her get everything off her chest and not insisted on injecting reason into the conversation. She clearly hadn’t wanted that. She just wanted me to be on her side, to offer her empathy and tell her she was right. I could have done that, but instead, I’d opened my mouth, put her on the defensive and set our impending demise into motion. I pace the kitchen floor as I consider my options. When I realize that the only way to fix this is to reach out to her, I slide my cell phone out of my pocket and dial her number before I can change my mind. My shoulders deflate when the call goes to voice mail.
“I’m sorry,” Macy says as I drop into a chair at the table. “Maybe she just needs a little time to come around.”
“You weren’t there. It was bad, Mace.”
She wipes her hands on the dish towel and takes a seat next to me. “Things always seem worse in the moment. Give her some time to cool off. One argument isn’t going to change her feelings for you.”
I’m not so sure about that. Macy pats my hand as the doorbell chimes. My head shoots up, and Macy smiles. “See? I bet that’s Paige now. I told you she’d come around.”
I slide out of my seat and practically run out of the kitchen, slowing my steps when I hear two male voices down the hall.
“Is Paige here? Is she with Cade?”
As I round the corner into the foyer, Shawn turns expectant eyes on me. Mr. Chapman stands in the doorway, worry heavy across his face. He straightens when he sees me. “She didn’t come home this evening. I didn’t know where else to go. Have you seen her?”
I shake my head. “Not since late this afternoon, when I left her at the beach.” The words are thick with guilt. “She didn’t come home at all?”
“She was home, but she left at about five.” Mr. Chapman’s brows furrow. “We had an argument and she—left.”
“Did you try Quinn’s house?” I ask. It’s hard for me to look Mr. Chapman in the eye. All I’ve ever seen in them is condemnation. But tonight, there’s unease in his usually authoritative gaze. Maybe even a hint of fear.
Mr. Chapman shakes his head. “She’s not there. Quinn says she hasn’t talked to her all day. I tried some of her other friends, too, Zoey and Samantha, but no one has seen her. She left her phone at the house; I can’t reach her. I don’t know what else to do.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, a muscle ticking along his jaw. He looks awfu
l.
Macy appears, and she quickly reads the temperature of the room. “Is there something wrong?”
“Paige is late getting home,” Shawn explains. “Mr. Chapman was hoping she was here.”
“Can you think of anyone else she might be with?” His intense eyes plead with me. “Cade, I’m really worried, so if you know anything at all, please tell me.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans as Macy wraps a gentle hand around the back of my arm.
“I don’t know, maybe—” I blow out a full breath, and although it’s difficult, I say, “Try Dane Sloane. Maybe he knows something.” Hope sparks in Mr. Chapman’s eyes, but I’m sickened by my words. I don’t want to think Paige would turn to Dane after our fight, but the two of them have obviously been talking. She told me earlier that he’d warned her I was playing her. Maybe Paige talks with him more than I know. She has the right to speak to anyone she wants. The important thing right now is that Mr. Chapman finds her and that she’s okay.
“Thank you, I’ll contact the Sloanes,” he says, turning to go.
I step forward. “You might also try the movie theater. Or the bowling alley.”
Reading my expression, Shawn offers, “We could check out those places if you like and help you cover more ground quickly.”
Mr. Chapman nods. “I would appreciate that.”
“I’ll check the bookstore,” Macy offers. “I don’t know if she’s there, but she has a key. If she wanted to be alone, that’s a good place.”
Another nod from Mr. Chapman. “Thank you.”
They exchange cell phone numbers. “We’ll let you know if we find her,” Shawn says. When Mr. Chapman heads for his car, Shawn glances at his watch, then grabs my coat off the hook by the door and tosses it at me before retrieving his own. “Let’s get going.”
* * *
An hour later, after we’ve checked the cineplex, the bowling alley and a half dozen other places, including the spot near the jetty where I’d left Paige earlier, I’m at a loss. There’s no sign of her. I was hopeful that we’d find her at the city park next to the library, but she’s not there either.