Pinky Promises (The Promises #1)

by Ciara Shayee

  Giving her statement.

  Grace would be there, too, also recounting the past twelve years to a police officer as well as an FBI agent.

  Laker’s gaze followed Indie’s mechanical movements from the dining table, where he took a seat, as she removed bacon from the fridge along with sausages and a carton of eggs. In the next moment, his face contorted in horror, legs pushing him up and around the island before he could think. Indie’s shaky grip on the eggs had faltered, the sound of a cat meowing outside sending her right back to Montana for a few, gut-wrenching seconds. The contents of the three eggs that toppled from their container splashed up over the short-sleeved t-shirt she’d borrowed from her dad and the grey tracksuit bottoms Archie had stolen for her from his fiancée’s wardrobe.

  Hands hovering cautiously near her shoulders, Laker ached to help, though he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

  Then, as hot tears streamed over Indie’s face and her breaths turned to shallow pants, he thought to hell with it and tugged her gently into his chest, curling his muscular arms around her back. To his utter shock, she burrowed into him with a soft whimper. She clutched at his sides frantically, his lack of t-shirt leaving her with nothing to grip.

  “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, Pie. It’s just me, you’re all right.” Laker rested his chin on top of her head; she was tiny and fit against him like a perfect puzzle piece. His hand ran a soothing path up and down her spine, the ends of her strawberry-blonde locks tickling his forearm.

  “Calm down. You’re safe with me.” Keeping his voice deliberately at a low whisper, Laker rocked their bodies side-to-side, humming the first tune that came to mind. Eventually, Indie came back to herself, the shudders wracking her body less frequent, tears slowing to a slow trickle.

  Laker’s eyebrows flew towards his hairline at the muffled sound of her apology against his chest. Ignoring the electricity that skittered over his skin in the wake of her warm breath, Laker squeezed her gently. “Nothin’ to apologise for, bella ragazza.”

  Unlike when he deliberately called Carl-Roman nicknames in Italian to make him giggle, the ‘pretty girl’ he whispered into Indie’s hair was completely unintentional, slipping out before he had a chance to stop himself.

  Slowly but surely, little by little, her body relaxed into his. With her cheek resting against his chest and her small hands at his waist on the band of his pyjama pants, Indie grew heavier as she let her body relax and absorbed his warmth instead. Heat seeped from his skin into hers, their hearts beating steadily in tandem while Indie forced herself to focus on where she was, who she was with. Curling a lock of hair around his finger, Laker pulled his head back slightly to peer down at Indie’s tear-stained face.

  “You feel better?”

  She nodded, tipping her head up to his with obvious determination. Soft green met azure. “Thank you, Laker.”

  The childlike quality to her voice tugged at something primitive in Laker’s psyche, his heart aching.

  “Anything you need, you only have to ask, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  The pair stared at each other for a long while, two lives entwined in a mess of tangled strings—a web woven by a man so embroiled in his own selfish mind that he couldn’t see the damage he’d been doing, the damage he was still doing.

  Laker could see it.

  He could see the anguish and heartbreak in Indie’s wide, teary eyes, the broken spirit she carried, the ghost of the quirky little girl she’d once been…and yet, all he wanted was to wrap her in his arms and keep her from any more harm.

  ~ oOo ~

  The smell of cooking sausages lured Reagan, Peter, and Grace from their beds a short while later, though not before Marley bounced down the stairs with Mr. Bunny under her arm and a grin in place. She plonked herself on Laker’s hip and ‘helped’ him pour the orange juice into glasses. Only a little was spilled.

  The men emerged dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Strangely, they’d both chosen black—Reagan’s a dress shirt, and Peter’s a black and grey striped polo. Peter gave Grace a long-sleeved, dark red marl t-shirt to wear along with a pair of grey jogging bottoms. She had to roll them at the waist and ankles, so they didn’t drown her, but they were fleecy and comfortable, the lingering smell of her dad’s deodorant making her feel safe. When the trio made it to the kitchen within a minute of each other, they found an unexpected picture of domesticity.

  Indie, now sporting a pair of Laker’s tracksuit bottoms and a pale blue t-shirt with long white sleeves rolled to her elbows, was moving swiftly around the room; the hem was knotted at her hip with a rubber band she’d found in the odds and ends drawer. Laker had also changed into a green, waffle-knit Henley, tan cargo shorts, and his beloved cap. Marley had refused to leave his side, clinging to his hip like a spider monkey with her hair in two, slightly wonky braids that he was incredibly proud of. He stood a meter away from Indie at the stove, checking on the bacon in the top oven while she chopped the few fruits she’d scrounged from the fridge and fruit bowl.

  “Uh, g’morning,” Reagan uttered gruffly.

  Indie spun on her heels, blinking rapidly before her heart returned to its usual rhythm.

  It’s just Dad, Uncle Pete, and Grace, Laker saw her mouth as she turned back to the counter.

  “Good morning. Ah, you guys sit, and I’ll…”

  Unable to speak through the lump in her throat, she gestured at the food, praying they’d understand. Thankfully, the two bewildered men took their seats at the table without another word. Grace came to help, washing her hands thoroughly before easily falling into step with the preparations. Finished with his task for the moment, Laker stepped back to watch the girls in their element. It was clear they were more at home in the kitchen than anywhere else. They worked in perfect synchronisation, as though they knew the moves the other would make before they’d even made the conscious decision themselves.

  Minutes later, the pair served up a feast, silent but seemingly calm. Though she didn’t eat any of the food she’d cooked, Indie sat at the table with the group and picked at a small bowl of fruit salad. The upcoming ordeal had her stomach tied in knots so tight even the most adept knitter wouldn’t have been able to untangle them. She was just praying her morning sickness didn’t return with a vengeance, as she’d had a few days free of sudden dashes to the bathroom.

  Nobody said a word when she set the bowl back on the table, still half-full.

  “Archie and the boys will be here soon,” Reagan commented quietly as the girls began clearing away plates. There was still plenty of food left, the looming ordeal hanging over their heads robbing everybody of their appetites. It wasn’t just Indie who had the visit to the police station weighing heavily on her mind.

  “Are they…” Grace breathed deeply through her nose before continuing, a false note of cheer to her tone. “Are they coming with us?”

  Reagan shook his head as his eyes jumped to Indie’s back; she didn’t stop washing up to face them or join the conversation. “Kristen is catching a flight to New York today, so she’s sleeping. Pete said he’d ask Mary and Roy to watch Carl-Roman and Chase.”

  Not for the first time, Grace noticed that nobody ever seemed to call Carl-Roman by one name or the other. He was always Carl-Roman; never just Carl, never just Roman. It was a sweet tribute that put a lump in her throat as she pictured the adorable little boy.

  The group all heard the front door lock disengaging. It thumped the wall with a muted thud. The sound pre-empted hi-top clad feet thundering their way down the hall and into the kitchen; Reagan’s face lit up.

  “Were your ears burning, Champ? We were just talking about you.”

  The boy hopped neatly into his grandfather’s lap, grinning toothily. “My ears aren’t burning, Pawpaw! You’re silly.”

  Grace’s heart thumped unevenly at the sight of Archie’s mini-me bouncing on Reagan’s lap, her lips tipping upwards when he spotted her and his grin widened.

  “Auntie Gracie!
” With the limited grace he possessed, Carl-Roman slid down, ducking under the table to crawl onto Grace’s legs. “You’re still here!”

  Archie arrived in the doorway, Chase in his arms as he shook his head at his son’s antics. “He begged me to let him in first, so I had to go back to sort the car out and grab this one,” he explained ruefully, bouncing Chase and grinning at his eldest boy. “You left the door open again, Champ.”

  His chastisement fell on deaf ears. The six-year-old was far more interested in his auntie.

  “Come in and sit, Arch. Coffee?” Laker rose with his now-empty mug. However, before he could step away from the table, Indie was standing beside him with a full cafetiere of hot coffee. Laker sank back into the leather cushioned chair with a grin as she first nudged the outside of his bicep with her shoulder, then poured a full cup for him before moving around the table to refill the other mugs as requested, placing a fresh one in front of her brother. The wary upwards tilt of her mouth as she did so was the best gift she could have given him; better even than the coffee.

  “Good morning, Arch.”

  He grinned, reaching out to gently place his hand over hers. The onlookers were all delighted when she didn’t flinch away, going so far as to turn her hand over and briefly squeeze their fingers together. It was a small step, but progress nonetheless.

  Safe to say, nobody was more pleased than Indie that she was finally overcoming her fear of touch, bit by excruciating bit.

  ~ oOo ~

  A short while later, the mood in the house was decidedly more sombre.

  As nine a.m. approached, Indie and Grace excused themselves, sitting quietly on the patio while the others prepared for the unwanted excursion. Riley had been over to discuss security, because even though the press apparently hadn’t caught on to the girls’ presence in Eastbourne yet, it was only a matter of time before they would come looking for answers. So far, the police and FBI had collaborated and lured them to London, where they had decoys pretending to be the girls. Everyone agreed that giving them a chance to settle in at home was for the best.

  Neither Indie or Grace needed to be worrying about newspapers or press when they were still adjusting to normal life.

  Even ever-cheery Carl-Roman had picked up on the shift in mood, sitting quietly on Reagan’s lap with two of his favourite trains in front of him, the noises he made with his mouth softer than usual. Archie, Reagan, and Peter discussed arrangements for getting the group to the station, Laker watching from the patio doorway with Marley against his chest, her face buried in his neck.

  It was eventually decided they would take Reagan’s and Archie’s cars, both able to transport five people each. Mary and Roy had agreed to stay home and look after Pippa, Heidi, Carl-Roman, and Chase, so they only needed to be able to fit seven people between the two vehicles—Reagan, Peter, Laker, Marley, Indie, Grace, and Archie.

  They’d had the discussion about how many people was too many; eventually, the girls themselves had made the decision. Grace wanted her dad there, of course, and Indie was under no illusions that she’d need her dad, too. Laker was going, primarily, for Marley—who’d definitely picked up on the mood in the house and had vehemently refused to stay home as they’d originally planned. Far from having the energy or motivation to argue with her daughter today of all days, Indie asked Laker to promise that he’d get her out of there the moment he thought it necessary. She trusted him; Indie knew that trust wasn’t misplaced, and that he’d make the right decision. Last but not least, Archie was going as moral support for whoever may need it. Indie was almost certain it would be Peter. It was a lot of people in total and far from the norm, but what about this situation was normal?

  In the months since their escape, the worry that it was all a little too claustrophobic had been raised many times. It was true—there were a lot of people in and out of the Ashby house, in particular. Their routine, though getting better, was still a little muddled, overall.

  During a phone call with Megan, the therapist from the States, Indie had wondered if they were setting themselves up for a fall when everyone stopped coming around so often. Even though she’d left them back in Montana, Megan was still in contact with Riley intermittently. She asked who Indie’s support system was, and the long list of names had tumbled from her lips without hesitation. All of them. All of the people who visited and supported and checked in on them…they were her support system. Did she want them to stop coming around? No. She wanted to be able to cope in the event that they couldn’t, but that wasn’t to say she’d ask them to stop coming over.

  After so many years without them, all Indie wanted was to soak in their presence. She didn’t feel claustrophobic at all. Far from it. In fact, she wasn’t sure, at this point, that she could deal with the quiet of an empty house. Indie had grown used to the chaos—the noise of children running up and down the stairs and her friends, her family, laughing in the kitchen over breakfast or dinner.

  Transport arrangements agreed, Reagan leaned forward over the table and peered out through the doors to see Indie’s and Grace’s feet tangled together on the patio, the rest of their bodies hidden around the slight corner.

  All that was left to do was wait until they were ready.

  A gust of wind blew through the garden, a mini tornado of grass, loose dirt, and blossom whirling in the air beside Carl-Roman’s slide. Seagulls squawked in the distance, fighting over a piece of trash in the street. Indie’s eyes were trained on the flicking tail atop the shed, however. A lithe grey cat’s blue-grey eyes returned her attention, fur bristling in the breeze.

  “Do you think they made it?” If it weren’t for Grace’s keen hearing, she would’ve missed Indie’s whisper.

  “I don’t…I don’t know. They weren’t inside, so they should be okay. I mean, they usually stayed in the barn. And the barn wasn’t on fire, so, I guess they’re all right. Charlie and Violet are probably all warm and curled up in the barn sulking because they haven’t got any milk.”

  Grace was hesitant to admit that she’d already wondered, many times, about the two cats they’d adopted as friends.

  “And Bear...Pamplinas. The old kicker, Bruce. I wonder what happened to them all. Do you think the agents moved them?”

  As much as Laker hadn’t been able to quell the strange sensation Indie’s childlike lilt stirred in him, Grace found herself thoroughly unable to push the look on her sister’s face from her mind as she cocked her head to gaze hopefully at her, channelling Carl-Roman’s innocent, puppy-dog eyes.

  Arranging her features into the most reassuring expression she could manage, Grace uttered the words she desperately hoped to be true. “They’ll be chilling out somewhere fancy, I just know it.”

  Indie hummed, rolling her head on her knees to look back at the cat. It was gone.

  “Are you nervous?” Grace murmured. She’d been trying so very hard to keep cool this morning, to temper her anxiety and propensity for fidgeting or leaning on Indie for help.

  Indie seemed oddly calm with an almost serene look on her face, her body relaxed. Inside, she was far from cool or collected. Her heart thundered frantically, her stomach churning as her eyes brewed a tempest. It was the reason she wouldn’t meet anybody’s gaze, even Grace’s. She knew they’d give her away.

  “Yeah, I am.” They were the only words she could bring herself to utter, knowing that soon, all too soon, she’d be reliving most people’s worst nightmare—her reality.

  “We’ll be okay, you know. We…we only have to tell them and then we can come back here and just relax, right? They’re only words. It’s not like we—” Grace trailed off with a choked gasp. “It’s not like we’re going back there. Not ever.”

  Both girls desperately wanted to believe Grace’s words; wanted to believe that the next few days would be painless. They wanted to be able to tell their story to the police without falling apart, but they already were, in a way. Just the thought of being in a strange place with strange police officers while re
living the worst twelve years of their lives had both girls breaking out in cold sweats.

  No matter how nice it would be to magically heal now they were home, life just doesn’t work that way.

  Indie eyed Grace, admiration sharpening her vision. She didn’t know what she would have done without Grace’s unwavering support. The tired blonde was filled with a love for her pseudo sister so deep she could hardly breathe through it all. In all the years she’d been Indie’s shoulder to cry on, Indie hadn’t truly appreciated Grace. Sure, she’d been the outwardly strong one, taking the punishments Smith had liberally doled out. But on the other hand, Grace had to deal with the emotional ramifications of the abuse. She had to watch Indie return from the study with bruises, split lips, and pain in her feet where Garrett just loved to show how strong he could be with his steel-toe-capped boots.

  She had to patch Indie back together.

  The image of Indie’s black and blue ribs would be engrained in Grace’s memory for the rest of her life, her whimpered cries burned into her eardrums. It wasn’t just as simple as leaving the ranch, and it never would be.

  If only it could be—if only it were as simple as escaping.

  Whenever they heard booted footsteps, saw a grey-brown head of hair or a sinister smile, or heard the name ‘Smith’, they’d be thrown right back to the ranch; to a time when they thought their lives had ended.

  It was with those thoughts Indie’s focus shifted to the wispy clouds drifting across the sky. They almost resembled an ‘L’, she realised with a start. It reminded her of Laker, of the support they had. The friends and family rallying to help her, Grace, and Marley settle into their new lives. Less than twenty feet away were their dads, Archie, Laker, and Marley, all waiting patiently for them to be ready. They were all trying so very hard.