Edges of Gone (The Gone Series Book 2)

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Edges of Gone (The Gone Series Book 2) Page 8

by Jessica Gouin


  “It’s Lachlan. Owen is still out, but don’t worry, he’s fine. You can sleep here tonight if you want. It’s pretty late to be driving home.”

  I look around and realize I must have fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for them to come back. Only Owen isn’t here.

  “Why didn’t he come back with you?” I sit up straight, rubbing the sleep off my face.

  The couch dips as Lachlan sits beside me. “He needed a little more time to himself. He won’t do anything stupid. I wouldn’t have left him alone if I thought he was capable of anything. It was a lot of information for us to take in earlier. It’s going to take him a little while to wrap his head around the truth.”

  I nod and run my hands through my hair, gripping the nape of my neck. “Thank you again, Lachlan, I’m glad you went with him. I should go though. He might need me whenever he gets home.”

  Lachlan’s stare bores into me with such compassion I want to cry. If I thought I had any tears left, I just might. That faucet has been turned off for now.

  Floating around the room in a haze, I gather my things while Lachlan picks up my sweater and stands by the front door. He doesn’t comment on where the sweater came from, and I’m thankful he’s not overly observant to recognize I didn’t wear it here.

  “Did Noah say anything else after I left?” The rush of words exposes his desperation.

  I shake my head. “But, Lach, he spoke.”

  When I steer my car into the driveway, a dark, silent house greets me. I should be used to the cold, empty space by now, but a part of me won’t allow myself to fully get used to this life, because it won’t be like this forever. It can’t. I won’t let it.

  I kill the engine, grab my stuff from the passenger seat, and exit my car. Carefully, I avoid any glances toward the vacant house next door. I know it’s only a matter of days before someone hammers a for sale sign into the front lawn. Probably mere weeks before a complete stranger lives in my best friend’s home.

  There’s nothing I can do to stop it either. I’ll just be over here, the creepy little neighbor girl who gawks out of the windows when the newbies barbeque in the backyard or dig away in the gardens. Sawyer hated flowers and refused to put any in the empty beds. Maybe the new neighbors won’t like gardening or barbecuing, and I won’t have to see them, ever.

  I unlock the front door, flick on the porch light, and wait for my husband get come home. We need to have a rational conversation about what Noah told us.

  Taking my cell out of my purse, I plug it into the charger in the kitchen. After changing into my pajamas, I get comfortable on the couch and turn on a romantic comedy to take my mind off life.

  The following morning, Owen still hasn’t come home, and I spend the rest of the day in a panic-induced frenzy.

  Instead of opening Revamped, I dial Owen’s number every thirty minutes, praying he answers my calls.

  Lachlan calms my nerves a bit when he brings Noah over for dinner. Now that Noah’s talking again, there’s so much for him to say.

  “I love my new room, Aunt Sloane. I haves lots more room to play now, and I even get my own TV. I cans watch The Lorax all the times.”

  “That sounds like the best room ever, bud. I’m so jealous of your new house. I bet you can’t wait to get the pool all cleaned out so you can go swimming.”

  Noah’s eyes widen as he looks toward Lachlan. “I need floaties for my arms.”

  Lachlan winks at him, popping another piece of bread into his mouth. “Already got them.”

  Noah wiggles in his chair, almost unable to contain his excitement. “And, we’re going to pick out paint for the walls in my room, too!”

  It’s easy to get lost in Noah’s excitement. I missed his high-pitched voice so much. With everything else that’s happening, I’m relieved this won’t be an issue any more. The worry that bottled inside me over his speaking has lifted, leaving my shoulders a bit lighter. Not by much, but it’s progress I’ll take.

  One thing Noah never mentioned, and neither Lachlan nor I asked, is the details. Before they left to go home, Lachlan pulled me aside for advice on how to approach the subject. Or if he should. The police will need to ask questions of their own, and I don’t know how many times Noah’s mind will be able to recall the details. With everything still so high in the air, we both agreed to wait at least a few days before we even try.

  A little while after, the boys leave for the night, and I fall asleep on the couch, trying to wait for my husband to come home.

  The sound of the front door closing jolts me from sleep. I toss aside the throw blanket we used for movie nights, and jog into the entrance way.

  “Owen, oh thank God you’re here. You seriously scared the crap out of me.” Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around his waist, like I’ve done a million times since we started dating, and I bury my head against his chest and inhale. He feels like home. It pains me when he stiffens. “Sorry.”

  The need to apologize for touching my husband overwhelms and utterly depresses me. Taking a step back, I look at him. I hate that he cut off all his hair. I loved running my fingers through the soft silkiness of it.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been blowing up your phone, you never answered.”

  He kicks off his shoes then brushes past me, heading up the stairs. He takes the steps two at a time, and I have to practically jog to keep up with him.

  “Yeah, I turned my phone off,” he mumbles on his way up. “I wanted some time to think about things.”

  I follow him into our bathroom where he puts toothpaste on his brush then turns on the faucet. “You could have called to check in with me. I was really worried about you. Lachlan had to talk me out of calling the police.”

  Owen rolls his eyes—he actually rolls his frickin’ eyes—and continues to brush his teeth. He’s making it seem like a wife being worried about her husband’s’ wellbeing after he takes off on her is such a bizarre concept.

  I give up waiting for him to offer an explanation or tell me where he went. “All right, well I guess I’ll just get ready to open Revamped since I didn’t go in at all yesterday.”

  “Kay,” he utters as he passes me to walk into the spare bedroom where he’s been sleeping every night. The sound of him kicking the door closed echoes in the empty hall.

  I remain in place for a little while, staring at the closed door and blinking slowly, trying to comprehend who the hell that man even was.

  Once I’m ready for work and inside the calm privacy of my car, I only make it as far as the corner of my street when the tears begin to fall.

  I sob, hard and ugly.

  I shed tears because I’ve lost my best friend, and now I’m losing my husband, too.

  TEN

  Owen

  Shirtless and exposed, I hang my head low in an attempt to mentally prepare myself for what I’m about to see. I inhale deep, exhale, hold my breath, cuss, and then look up. In the moments before I see my reflection in a mirror, I silently pray for the scars to be gone. To fade away completely. I don’t need an answer as to how or why, I just need them gone. I can’t bear seeing the hard, cold shell of the man I used to be. Yet, here he is.

  The scars on my face and neck have faded a little. Not as much as I would have liked though. The doctors say my healing is progressing at a good rate. What the fuck do they know? They don’t have to live with reminders of their failure and loss carved all over their skin.

  The pinkish discoloration rests slightly below the corner of my left eye, continues near my ear, and trickles down onto my neck and shoulder, fading away completely on my bicep. The physical pain isn’t so bad anymore, not like the first few days. The skin has turned mostly stiff now.

  It’s a double edged sword. Part of me wants to feel the pain I deserve. The other part of me wants the scars to be gone so I don’t have to be reminded of the worst night of my life every time I look at myself.

  That would only take care of one of my problems.

  I would still have to
look at Sloane and see the woman who lost her childhood best friend and future sister-in-law.

  I would still have to look at Noah and see a motherless child who witnessed something so horrific I know he’ll be scarred for life.

  I would still have to look at Lachlan and see the man who lost the love of his life before they even began to live.

  I’m not the only one hurting because of Sawyer’s death. They’re all suffering right along beside me, and, yeah, misery does love company, but their torment does nothing to ease my agony.

  My skin twitches, sending shivers deep down into my bones. I bounce on the balls of my feet, so utterly restless. I need to do something.

  I pull my shirt back over my head and listen through the door. When I’m certain Sloane has left the house, I grab my keys and head out.

  The routine drive does nothing to settle my nerves. If anything, this drive I used to take every day, Monday through Friday and even Saturdays for overtime, feels like a drive through hell.

  Slamming the gear into park, I hop down from my truck, spewing gravel from under my shoes as I walk toward an open bay door of Adam’s Automotive Repair Shop.

  The smell of fuel, oil, grease, and sweat welcomes me like a blanket from the dryer. The loud sounds of tools clanging, drills torqueing, and guys shouting obscenities so crude Eminem’s jaw would hit the cement floor, pulls me in as soothing as any lullaby.

  A few heads turn as I pass, and I’m pretty sure I hear my name being called, but I don’t stop until I reach the manager’s office.

  Adam Hayne’s name is stamped into the gold plate on the front of the door. He stands from behind his dirty wooden desk when he notices me coming through the door.

  “Shit, Owen. Hey man. I didn’t know you would be stopping in today. How are ya?” Coming around the desk, he reaches out and we shake hands. After sizing me up, he leans against the front of the desk and crosses his arms. “You look a shit ton better than the last time I saw you.”

  I think back. The last time we saw each other was my sister’s funeral. My scars start to itch, and I rub my hand over the skin and let out a breath. “Yeah, I’m doing alright, I guess.”

  Adam motions for me to sit. “Grab a seat, man.”

  “Nah,” I say, waving him off. “I’m not staying long. I just wanted to stop by and tell you I won’t be returning to work.”

  He blows a long breath out and drops his hands. “Alright, yeah. I totally get it. Take your time. You don’t have to come back any time soon. I still have Tank to cover for—”“

  “No, Adam. I’m not coming back to work here at all. Ever again. I quit.”

  He pushes himself off the desk and takes a step toward me. “You’re quitting? Why? I mean, I know what happened, but you still gotta work, bro. You’re gonna need income, and, besides, you love your job. You were the first mechanic I hired, and you’re the best employee this garage has by a long shot.”

  I stare at the person who’s been a solid friend to me for years. Adam’s the easiest boss I’ve had, the most laid back, too. I hated my old boss at the Country Club back in Woodsview.

  Glancing through the small window in the office, I notice the guys in the shop, some of them peeking through open hoods, staring at the closed office. Trying to get a look at the friend and co-worker they once knew. The freak show.

  “I used to love it. I just can’t come back here and work on cars like nothing happened.”

  “I’m not saying you have to act like it never happened. Something tragic went down. You lost your sister, man. You have to live with it every day for the rest of your life, and I get it. But, Owen, the accident wasn’t your fault. You can’t punish yourself forever. You’re allowed to be happy again. You’re allowed to move forward.”

  When it becomes evident I’m not going to respond, he approaches, dragging his feet, and places his hand on my shoulder. “Just think about it. Take the next few days, or weeks even. This will all be here when you’re ready to come back.”

  I nod and grip his hand still on my shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  Once I’m back in my truck, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and dial a number. A voice answers on the third ring.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, it’s me. I need your help to find someone.”

  I’m already three beers deep when Sloane comes home and finds me in the kitchen. She turns on the light and startles at the sight of me. She’ll probably never get used to my appearance now.

  “Owen, hey. You scared me. Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  What’s the point of turning on lights? My gaze goes from the bottle in my hand, to her worried eyes, and back to my drink. “I went to the garage today.”

  She looks relieved, and it sucks that I’m about to make her hope fade. She drops her purse and keys on the counter. “You did? Owen, that’s amazing. So, you’re going back to work, then?”

  “I quit.”

  “You did what? Why would you do that? Did you see Adam, the other techs?”

  Placing the empty bottle on the counter, I turn and grab another beer from the fridge. I twist the cap and toss it into the trash in the corner of the kitchen. “Yeah, I saw them.”

  “Well, what’d Adam say? Was he not going to give you more time off or something?”

  “I can’t go back there, Sloane. Working at the garage, fixing cars with the guys, it’s just too normal. My life isn’t normal anymore.”

  I make the mistake of glancing up to her face again. Her eyes glisten and cheeks redden. A deep blush creeps down her neck to her collarbone, disappearing under her shirt. I used to have that affect just by looking at her. I guess I still do, just in a different way now. A worse way.

  “So, are you going to quit our marriage, too?”

  I jerk my head back. Her sudden and harsh words sting as though she just slapped me across my face. “Are you serious?”

  Her arms fly up then collapse at her sides as she lets out a huff. “Well, yeah, I guess I am. You’ve been so distant. You don’t talk to me about anything. We don’t sleep in the same room. You spend all your time at Sawyer’s grave. What am I supposed to think?”

  “Fucking look at me! I’m a walking reminder of the worst night of our lives.”

  “Why can’t you see that you’re also a walking reminder of what started as the best day?” she screams so loud her voice cracks. I’ve never once heard Sloane raise her voice to anyone, especially me. She has an extra-sweet demeanor always reserved for me. Until today.

  “Sloane…”

  “No. You need to listen to me now. We got married, Owen. After everything we’ve been through, we actually freaking did it. We were pronounced husband and wife, in front of everyone we love. Why can’t we concentrate on us?” While she speaks, her tone becomes gentler with each step she takes toward me. “Owen, you haven’t even referred to me as your wife. Not once.”

  “That’s because I can’t look at you without seeing anything but fire and blood.” My words come out as nothing more than pathetic whispers and choked truths. “Even your hair reminds me of that day. I close my eyes and I see Noah standing next to Sawyer’s lifeless body. I hear the explosion in the dead of night as clearly as if I’m back inside that building. I smell burnt skin everywhere I go. My face hurts, and my neck hurts, and my arm hurts, and when I woke up in the hospital, everything had changed. It wasn’t the day I married you anymore, it became the night we lost our lives.”

  I’ve seen hurt on Sloane’s face, but being the one to put it there guts me like nothing has before. “You didn’t lose everything, O. I’m still here.”

  My gaze falls to the floor. I can’t take her pain for one second longer. “I know you are.”

  “I’m not enough for you, am I?” She moves away from me until her back hits the fridge.

  “That’s not what I said.” I still can’t bring myself to look at her. “I just…I just don’t know how to live inside my head any longer.”

  ELEVEN

&nbs
p; Sloane

  Owen’s truck is parked in our driveway, keys in the basket, lights on in the kitchen, and yet, I can’t find him anywhere inside our home—a term I use loosely these days.

  I’ve been calling out his name for a few minutes, walking in and out of empty rooms, but he’s nowhere. I pick up the house phone from the base in the kitchen and dial his cell number. The ring faintly floats through the opened window above the sink. I narrow my eyes, squinting through the opening…

  Something moves in the backyard.

  Tossing the phone on the counter, I open the back door and step into the warm air that smells of citrus. Our neighbor on the left has an orange tree directly in the middle of his backyard. It’s the most refreshing smell on earth, I swear. I never knew an orange tree would smell this way. From the day we moved in, I’ve loved inhaling the scent. I never tire of it. I take in a lungful as I cross our yard, attempting to revitalize myself until I reach the treehouse.

  “Hey!” I holler up to my husband.

  I’m not surprised when Owen doesn’t answer me. We haven’t spoken since our fight in the kitchen last week. I don’t know if he’s upset with me for yelling at him, which is something I never, ever do. But frankly, I couldn’t care less. He needs to pull his head out of his ass soon because I don’t know how much more of our life I can stand.

  I climb up the wooden ladder, and he comes into view, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Silently, I crawl across the base and sit next to him on the floorboards of the treehouse. Owen’s holding a beer bottle in one hand, and two more beside him appear empty.

  I’ve seen Owen throw back more alcohol in the last few weeks than I bet he’s consumed his entire life. Another charming new trait added to my husband’s repertoire.

  He doesn’t talk, so I break the silence and speak first. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for this conversation all afternoon, and it might go better if he stays quiet anyway. “I don’t know if you’re talking to me or not, but there’s something I should tell you.”

 

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