Epoch (The Transcend Duet Book 2)

by Jewel E. Ann

  I would have stellar self-esteem. No pity parties. No drama. Just … beautifully boring.

  I’m sorry won’t cut it. I’m not even sure where the apology would start. Lord knows there would never be an end to it. I think the “excuse me for living” catchall is no longer accepted.

  “I’ll leave,” I say with total defeat.

  Griffin steps over the boxes and presses his hands to the door above my head, caging me with his body but not touching me. His angry breath brushes my forehead. “No. I will tear myself away. I’ll let you go.” His raspy words take several layers off my already raw heart. “But not yet.”

  My gaze meets his and now I let him kiss me like he hates loving me. I let him strip me like he hates my clothes. I let him possess my body even if I feel his hatred for wanting it so badly.

  And then my mind goes numb. I react to the physical and let go of all the hatred and all the things in this moment that don’t serve any purpose.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  We finish our shopping.

  We celebrate Christmas with family like our relationship isn’t dead.

  Griffin gives me a tutorial on all the important things I need to know about the house, like where the breaker box is located.

  Then …

  It’s moving day.

  I wake up to the aroma of hazelnut and an empty spot next to me in bed. After a long goodbye last night, I thought he’d at least let me wake up one last time in his arms. Instead, I settle for one last walk down the hallway to his good morning smile and outstretched hand with my mug of coffee.

  It’s always the little things.

  “Add waking up to hazelnut to the list of things I’m going to miss.” I stop in the kitchen, looking around. There’s a pot of coffee with the warmer turned on and an empty mug next to it. “Griff?” I peek back down the hallway. The bathroom door is open, light off.

  I stand in the middle of the living room and look around. His coat is not on the hook by the door. None of his shoes or boots are by the door.

  My heart slows.

  No.

  I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

  No.

  My feet take cautious steps back to the bedroom. His pillow is gone, pillowcase folded in its absence. The two suitcases that were at the end of the bed last night are gone.

  No …

  I. Can’t. Breathe.

  Running to the back door, I rip my coat off the hook and shove my feet into my boots while threading my arms into the sleeves, only having it halfway on as I run out the door into the frigid air.

  “Griffin!” My cries form evaporating clouds of desperation. His truck is gone. The side door to the garage is locked, I look through the window. For the first time ever, my car is parked in the garage. Everything else is gone.

  The motorcycle.

  The boxes.

  The few pieces of furniture he decided to claim as his to take.

  All gone.

  My grocery store guy is gone.

  There are some things you can never prepare for, like loss. It’s this debilitating emotion that life serves up without an instructional manual.

  We didn’t talk about this day, not how we’d handle that final goodbye. I knew there would be tears, but I didn’t know I’d cry them alone.

  How can something so unfinished be so final?

  I collapse to my knees on the snow-covered sidewalk and I cry.

  *

  It takes me three days to shower. My mom respects my need to be alone. She needed time to grieve my dad. And now I need time to grieve Griffin. Nate knows nothing yet because he’s on holiday break, which means I’m on holiday break.

  By day five, the intervention starts. I wonder if Griffin left my mom and his family a guide to Swayze.

  Give her five days then please step in and offer her a hand and a hug.

  “Hey, sweetie. Happy New Year.” My mom smiles, walking in the back door with Sherri behind her.

  They’re just now coming in the house, but I’ve seen my mom’s car and the Calloway’s vehicles pulling in and out of the driveway for days. I’m pretty sure they peek in the windows at night just to make sure I haven’t slit my wrists. That chance at a new life, albeit appealing, isn’t what I want quite yet. I’m hell-bent on finishing one good life.

  Unfortunately, the good part left me five days ago with no real goodbye, but I forgive him.

  I blink several times. Today I make it to the sofa, but all I can do is stare at the wall where the TV used to be. He offered to leave it, but I don’t watch it, so it would have been a silly thing to leave behind.

  “I have soup. Today you should eat.”

  I nod once, my head still heavy from days of grieving, pulse palpable in my swollen eyes.

  “Coffee, the good kind.” Sherri hands me a cup of coffee and sits next to me.

  It’s not hazelnut. Doesn’t matter. I’m thinking about giving up coffee and all other parts of my life that remind me of Griffin. Agreeing to stay in this house was a stupid idea. The memories only serve as painful reminders.

  “He wanted me to tell you he made it safely to his destination.” Sherri rests her hand on my knee as I continue to watch the blank wall.

  His destination. The place I’m not allowed to know about. A clean break. There’s nothing clean about this break. It’s so fucking messy I can’t see past the cluttered images in my head. It’s a maze with a hundred marbles crashing into each other and no way out.

  “Tell him I’m good,” I say in a monotone voice.

  Mom hands me the soup and a spoon. Sherri takes the coffee from me.

  “Are you?” Sherri asks.

  I nod several times, stirring the wild rice soup. “I will be.”

  I don’t know that at all. There’s a lot on my docket: forgetting Griffin, resurrecting the dead, and catching a killer. No big deal. At least Scott’s been shoveling the driveway. If he could arrest Doug, that would be awesome too. Something tells me that’s not what a CPA does.

  A shame.

  “I’m going to grab groceries later. I’ll pick some staples up for you too,” my mom says from the kitchen.

  I’m guessing she’s inspecting the fridge. It’s pretty pathetic. Yesterday I decided to give my stomach something to digest besides itself and a shitload of grief, but the best I could find was that crappy sprouted grain bread. I doused it in butter. It worked.

  “I’ll go to the store.”

  She peeks her head around the corner. “You will?”

  I don’t know why she looks so surprised. Well, maybe I do. The death-warmed-over look might lead outsiders to believe that I’m struggling a bit.

  It hurts to look at Sherri without feeling shame. What must she really think of me? Even if she wants to believe that I am Daisy reincarnated, she can’t know for sure. At least part of her has to think “maybe she’s just crazy.”

  A tiny part of me thought that too, until Dr. Albright hypnotized me. And now I know without a shadow of doubt, I was Daisy.

  “It wasn’t fair to go with him … and it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay.” After a pregnant pause, I look at Sherri.

  She gets a little teary-eyed. “I know. But at least he left with things good between the two of you. No hard feelings.”

  My lips attempt a small smile. By the time Griffin left, I’m certain the only feelings between us were hard, raw, and painful. It simply hurt more to be apart than it did to be together.

  “So …” Sherri slaps her hands on her legs. “The girls are on break for two more days. Let’s all go get manicures and pedicures. My treat.”

  I love her. I love all of Griffin’s family. I love the way they’ve not only welcomed me, but they’ve formed a special bond with my mom. Do I have to break up with them too? What will happen when Griffin comes home to visit them? Will I be given notice to stay away?

  I set my soup on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.” Without actually running, I retreat to the bedroom and shut
the door, leaning back against it. My heart feels so laid bare. Vulnerable to every thought, every memory. Eventually, it won’t feel this hard to breathe when I think of never seeing Griffin again. But I’m not there yet. Not even close.

  Fisting both hands to my heart, I dig deep to find that elusive next breath. Then I dive back down and find another one.

  One breath.

  One second.

  One day at a time.

  “Swayze?” My mom knocks at the door.

  I open the door and she slips in, shutting it behind her.

  She tucks my hair behind my ear and rests her hand on my cheek.

  “It gets easier, right?” I choke on the pain.

  “Yeah.” She offers a sympathetic smile.

  “I was Daisy, Mom. I wish you could have seen the memories I saw. It was a good life, even if a short one … it was good. For the first time, I feel her.”

  “I …” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to think of you as anyone but my child.”

  “It’s weird.” I step back and run my hands through my hair. “What if I piece it all together and it’s still not enough because …” My voice starts to stumble and crack from all the feelings. “Because I don’t have my grocery store guy?”

  “Maybe you weren’t meant to be with Griffin. What if some people are meant to pass through our lives instead of walking along beside us?”

  I gaze out the window like I’m waiting for a black truck to pull in the driveway. “Was Dad meant to pass through your life?”

  “I didn’t think so because we seemed to walk beside each other so well. But I was wrong.”

  “Dad’s dead. Griffin is alive. You don’t have to imagine someone else living life with your greatest love.”

  She hugs me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You’re twenty-two, my dear girl. There’s a great big world out there. I think you will find another great love. And the timing will be perfect. You’ll know who you are. You’ll be ready to give of yourself completely.”

  If I live that long.

  I laugh through the threatening tears. “How will I know?”

  Her arms squeeze me tighter. “Oh, you’ll know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Nate

  “Thank you for seeing me.”

  Professor Albright motions to her love seat. “Of course. You said it couldn’t wait until after winter break. Naturally, I’m intrigued. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m good. But thank you.”

  “Where’s Morgan?”

  “My parents are watching her.”

  “Ah. I bet they love that.”

  “Yeah.” I rub my forehead.

  “Nathaniel, you look positively tortured. What’s going on?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Of course.”

  I grunt a laugh. “Don’t agree before I tell you what the favor is.”

  “Oh dear …”

  Oh dear is right. I hate that I’m here asking for this favor. But I have no choice.

  “I need you to do something unethical.”

  Her eyebrows slide up her forehead as she drums her fingers on the arm of the chair.

  “I know you hypnotized Swayze. I know it worked.”

  “And by unethical you’re asking me to disclose what happened in my session with Swayze?”

  “No.”

  “No? Well, now I’m confused.”

  Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my knees and fold my hands. “If a memory is too painful, too dangerous, the unconscious mind won’t let it pass into consciousness. Correct?”

  “Usually. But there are exceptions. I was one.”

  I nod. “I need you to make sure Swayze doesn’t remember all the details of Daisy’s death.”

  “It’s unlikely that she will anyway if she’s not ready.”

  “I get that. But …”

  “But?”

  Biting my lips together, I draw in a slow breath. “I need you to make sure there is a zero percent chance of her remembering it. Ever.”

  “You want me to talk her out of it?”

  “No. She’s not heeding any sound advice at the moment. I want you to hypnotize her. I want you to not go there. The death. Doug Mann. I don’t know …”

  I shake my head. “Try to repress every single memory of that life that you can repress, especially Doug Mann.”

  “If she’s right about Doug Mann, there’s a murderer on the loose. That’s a big part of her motivation. She has a valid moral obligation to make sure he doesn’t kill again. And every day we wait is another day that he has to stalk his next victim. What if that’s Swayze?”

  “It’s not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “Nathaniel. You can’t ask me to do something unethical and not give me all the reasons why I should risk my career, my license.”

  We have a stare down.

  I lose.

  I risk it all to save her.

  *

  After calling my parents to check on Morgan, I drive to Swayze’s house. It reminds me of the house I lived in on Gable Street, only hers is in better shape.

  After ringing the doorbell several times and knocking, I assume she’s not home. I stop just before getting back in my vehicle. There’s music. It sounds like it’s coming from the single-car garage, so I follow it.

  I ease open the door. Swayze looks up from her spot near a workbench. She’s sitting on an overturned five-gallon bucket. The most depressing alternative music plays on her phone that’s clenched in her hand.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She fails at her attempted smile.

  “Did you get locked out of your house?”

  “No.”

  I step inside. It’s not a happy place.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Swayze stares at her phone. “No.”

  “Do you want me to suggest songs for a better playlist?” That makes her smile a little more believable.

  She turns off the music and stands. “Where’s Morgan? If you left her in the car, I’m going to have to report you.” Brushing past me, she walks outside, scuffing her boots like a lazy child.

  I follow her. “My parents are watching her while I run a few errands.”

  “I’m an errand?” Banging the snow off her boots, she opens the back door to the house.

  “Yes. You’re my last errand.” I slip off my shoes after stepping inside and shutting the door.

  “You want to know about the hypnosis. Am I right?” Plopping on the sofa, she snatches the blanket off the back of it and wraps it around herself.

  “No. I’m just checking on you. That’s all.”

  “Oh, well, here’s the update: I’m still relatively stable. You don’t have to worry about my mental state. Morgan will be safe with me.”

  “I trust you implicitly with Morgan. I’m only here as your friend. Even mentally stable people need friends sometimes.”

  Her lips twist, eyes narrowed a fraction. “Fine. I like the kind of friends who braid each other’s hair. Do you know how to braid hair, Professor Hunt?”

  “I can’t tie a tie. Do you really think a French braid is in my repertoire?” I sit next to her on the sofa.

  “You have a daughter. You need to learn how to braid. I won’t be around forever to do things for you.”

  “No? Where are you going? I hope somewhere warm.”

  She nudges my leg with her foot. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Never.”

  Her smile keeps slipping. I want to catch it and glue it in place. She has the brightest smile. It’s crushing to see her without it.

  “The hypnosis. Mostly my parents and my eleventh birthday party.” Her gaze finds mine.

  I just listen.

  “I got a new bike. And my mom—Daisy’s mom—was my friend. I’m friends with my mom now, but when I was younger, she was more concerned about my potential t
han things like helping me find the right dress for homecoming or braiding my hair.” She grins a little more. “Daisy’s mom braided her hair. See how girls remember that? You need to learn how to braid hair, Nate.”

  “You know, that life is gone. Is it worth giving up everything just to remember it?”

  “You mean Griffin?”

  I nod.

  “Limbo is a miserable place. I’m a miserable person feeling stuck in the middle. I need to know everything or nothing. It’s like walking barefoot on the beach is no big deal, but having a few specks of sand in your shoe is unnerving. Griffin deserves to be with someone who isn’t stuck in the middle. And Doug Mann needs to be in prison. It’s that simple.”

  “Swayze, you deserve happiness. It’s that simple.”

  She shrugs. “I’ll find happiness when the time is right. Our timing just wasn’t right.” Looking away, she swallows hard, negating everything she just said.

  “If Doug Mann weren’t part of the equation, would you still feel this burning need to know more? Would you have let Griffin leave without you?”

  An unvoiced snort-laugh escapes her nose. “It’s a moot point. But after what happened between us …” She turns back to me.

  I want to shrivel up and die like the asshole I am for kissing her.

  “I had to let him go.”

  “It was just a kiss.”

  Her face contorts into a painful scowl. “It wasn’t just a kiss. And you downplaying it only pains me more.”

  “If not just a kiss, then what was it?”

  “Stop.” Tossing the blanket aside, she paces the room. “In college I had sex that was less stimulating than that kiss.”

  I bite back my chuckle. “Maybe you just had low standards.”

  “Fuck you.” Her eyes narrow at me.

  “Yeah, fuck me.” I stand.

  “Why?” Her voice loses all fight. “I get the kiss. There’s this part of me that’s wondered what it would feel like. This deep-seated curiosity grew more with every story you shared about you and Daisy. The more I felt like I had to be her, the more I wanted to feel what she felt. And…” she shakes her head, arms hugged to her chest “…the one thing I wanted to feel more than anything else was you.”