THAT
WHICH
BINDS
US
Amanda Richardson
That Which Binds Us: A Romantic Suspense Novel
Amanda Richardson
Published by Amanda Richardson
© Copyright 2016 Amanda Richardson
P.O. Box 1961
Burbank, CA 91507
http://www.amandarichardsonauthor.com/
Editing by YOLK Editing
Cover Design by E. James Designs
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
In one minute, I was a witness to a murder.
In one night, I was taken.
In one week, I fought to survive.
In one month, I fell in love.
In one instant, I had to save the very man I thought I’d lost seventeen years ago.
That Which Binds Us is a courageous redemption tale about two people finding their way back to each other. It is a full-length romantic suspense novel meant for mature audiences.
T A B L E O F C O N T E N T S
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About
Also by Amanda Richardson
I dedicate this one to my wonderful friends and supportive family.*
*Please, whatever you do, don’t read chapters 22 & 23.
Or chapter 26.
You’re going to look, aren’t you? Don’t judge me.
But really… I use the word cock five times.
(Sorry, Grandma.)
P R O L O G U E
Nina—Seventeen Years Ago
Colorado
OUR CAR SLICES through the ice-packed road, and it isn’t until we hydroplane that I notice anything is wrong. I’ve been too busy reading. My dad hates it when I read in the car. He says it’ll give me motion sickness. Right now, reading is the only thing that takes my mind off things. I can shut my brain down and get lost in the world of the book. I’m currently reading Hatchet. In the book, the plane just crashed, and—
“God dammit,” my dad swears, his fingers white on the steering wheel. I look at him over my reading glasses. I don’t need these glasses, but I was looking at them in the store this morning and he said they looked fun, so he bought them for me. I study his rigid posture, and then my eyes dart to the speedometer.
“Dad,” I breathe, my eyes bugging out. We’re going 78MPH. On a really windy road.
“It’s alright, Nini.”
“But why are we speeding?”
“It’s fine, love bug. Go back to reading your book.”
I shrug and continue to read. I trust him. I know that he would never put me in danger. That comfort encompasses me like a warm blanket. With him, I am safe.
He takes another corner, sharply, and we slice uncontrollably across the road. I drop my book. My palms are starting to sweat.
“Maybe you should slow down,” I advise, scowling. I may not be able to drive yet, but I know what reckless driving looks like.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” He reaches over and strokes the back of my head. He’s right. We’re fine. He knows what he’s doing. I sigh contentedly as I pick my book up off the floor and continue to read for a few minutes. I feel something hit our back bumper.
“What was that?” I ask, looking behind me. To my surprise, I see a black truck tailgating us. “Did they just hit us?” I screech. Why would they do that? When I look over at my dad, there’s a ring of sweat along his hairline.
“They’re just assholes,” he breathes, his voice shaky.
“We should let them over,” I suggest, turning back and glaring at the offending vehicle.
“I tried,” he says through clenched teeth. “Twice.”
In my young naivety, I don’t think anything of it. I continue to read until the truck bumps us again. This time, it sends our car skidding forward, and my dad shouts, “Fuckhead!”
I want to laugh, because I’ve never heard him say that word, but I don’t because our situation is serious. I put my bookmark in my book and set it down. The snow has picked up again, and it’s softly feathering our windshield.
I look over at my dad. “Let’s just pull over and let him pa—”
The car lurches forward sickeningly, and I scream as we veer off the road. I hear my dad whisper, “Shit!” and then we bump along the frozen tundra for a minute.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice panicked. I hold onto the cup holder as we jerk up and down.
“Fucker isn’t going to follow us out here,” he says through gritted teeth.
The wind and snow are worse here. Without the shelter of the side of the mountain, we’re exposed. The whiteness also disguises the terrain, and an unsettling thought enters my head. What if we’re driving on a lake and we go through the ice? I squint to see what’s ahead—a forest. The tall evergreens stand out ahead of us, white as the ground from the storm. My dad continues. He’s still driving fast, and I’m about to tell him to slow down when we slam into a tree. I see my book fly forward as the windshield cracks. I feel the seatbelt tighten against my chest, holding me in. The airbag deploys, sending a white balloon and dusty, white powder flying everywhere. All of this happens in slow motion and by the time we stop moving, my neck feels like it’s broken. I know it’s not though, because I’d probably be dead if it were.
“Dad?” I whisper, my voice uneasy. The car is hissing steam. I move my whole head to the left, because I can’t really move my neck. My dad is awake and breathing heavily. I look behind us, and the black truck is gone.
“Nini, are you okay?” he asks, but doesn’t move to check.
I unbuckle myself and crawl over to do the same. We both exit the car. My dad is limping, and the blast of cold air is like a bullet to my lungs.
“Wow,” I whisper, looking at the front end of our Toyota Rav-4. I know it’s totaled, and I don’t even know what “totaled” means. I wrap my arms around myself. My dad and I were just running to the post office. I didn’t think to bring our jackets because I always wait in the car. I only have a long-sleeved shirt and puffer vest on. I walk over to my dad. When I see his arm, my heart speeds up.
“You’re hurt,” I cry, a lump in my throat. I see the blood falling into the white snow.
Bright red and bright white.
My dad is so strong. But right now, he looks so… defeated. His grey-brown hair is sticking out in all directions from the swirling wind, and his normally tall stance has been diminished from the pain.
“I’m fine. Listen, Nina, we have to get
help.” His teeth are chattering. He’s wearing a thin wool sweater. Not enough in this fifteen-degree weather. The severity of our situation hits me. We’re at least a mile off the road. Neither of us are dressed for this weather. The windshield is broken, so it’s not like we can take shelter in the car. “Come on, Nina. We have to walk.”
We trudge on. I follow him as we trace the Toyota’s tire tracks. We walk for what seems like hours. How far away are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold. My shivering has turned into downright shaking, and it’s taking everything I have not to stop and succumb. It would feel so nice to succumb—to stop the fight and just let go. It would take the frigid pain away—being this cold hurts right down to my core. It permeates my marrow, my cells, my very being. My vision is blurry. My breathing is ragged. I’m following him as best as I can, but deep down, I know this won’t end well.
“Come on,” he yells behind his shoulder. He’s dragging on, swaying slightly as the storm worsens. At least it has stopped snowing so heavily. “You got it!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes, because I know he’s only saying that for my benefit. He’s limping, and he’s holding his wounded hand close to his chest. We walk on. He’s getting slower. I know because the white space between his footprints is getting smaller and smaller. It’s the only thing I can look at—the only thing keeping me going.
I’m reminded of a book he used to read to me when I was little. It was about two bears: a mama bear and a baby bear. They had to find shelter to hibernate, and the baby bear was too tired to go on. But she did. She walked on, just like her mama instructed. One foot in front of the other. Focus on one chunk at a time. One step.
The baby bear made it to safety, but will I?
Walking, walking, walking… forward. Only forward.
I keep my eyes trained on my dad, hoping the way he’s walking slower is just a coincidence. He’s still swaying, as if the wind is too much, as if he’s one second away from being blown over.
So unlike him.
So unlike the strong person I know.
“Nina,” his voice breaks. He stops walking suddenly and turns and faces me. The way his face crumbles tells me everything I need to know. It’s a child’s worst nightmare—the realization that one of their parents is going to leave them.
In my case, he’s my only parent. And he’s not going to make it. The most important person in my life is going to leave me all alone in the world.
He collapses onto his knees. The snow starts to turn red from where his hand lays on the ground. I didn’t realize how much he had been bleeding.
I lunge forward, dropping to my knees and cradling his head in my lap as he closes and opens his eyes slowly. His normally ruddy cheeks are pale; almost blue. I always thought that was a silly metaphor. Blue face. Blue lips. But his lips are actually blue. The tears freeze to my cheeks.
“Please,” I whisper. “It’s just a little f-f-further.”
“Nina, listen to me,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Go get help. Okay? You’re a big girl. You can do this.”
I shake my head and sob. “I’m not. I can’t.”
He reaches out with his good hand, and I get a glimpse of his mangled one. My stomach rolls. The flesh is curling away from the wound, and I think I can see part of his bone poking out. I realize now that, that was the hand that he placed in front of me to shield me from the glass during the crash. He got hurt trying to save me.
“You have to get help,” he pleads. I think he’s going to cry, but he just clears his throat and looks down. “I’ll wait for you here, okay?”
His voice is uneven, and he doesn’t meet my eye. We both know he’s lying. If I leave, he’s going to die.
Scratch that. He’s going to die no matter what. I’m old enough to realize that.
“I won’t leave you,” I say between sobs. “I c-c-can’t,” I add, my teeth chattering.
“If you stay, you’ll die.” He gives me a stern look. “Go. I promise, nothing will happen to me.”
I look behind us. White, only white. Our car is buried in the snow somewhere behind us. And up ahead… another wall of white.
My dad’s words are comforting. Perhaps he just needs to rest. Maybe there is a way out of this. Maybe I can save us both. There’s nothing like the reassuring words of your father. I believe him.
“You promise?” I ask, my voice shaking.
He nods. He would never lie to me. “Yes, sweetheart. Go.” He points forward. “I’ll be sitting here, waiting for you.”
I nod and stand. “I love you,” I yell, starting my jog forward.
“Love you too, Nini,” he yells back. His use of my nickname reaffirms my resolution.
I don’t think. I just move forward until I hit the road. I need to get help. I need to call an ambulance. I’m starting to warm up from running. As long as I keep moving, I’ll be okay. My body can’t give up while I’m still intending on using it. My feet are wet, and I know I have to get them dry and warm soon. I search for the road, my eyes flicking wildly across the white tundra. There’s nothing but white. Nothing to give me hope.
My lungs are burning. I know I have frozen snot on my face, and I can barely see because it feels like my eyeballs have become paralyzed from the cold.
Finally.
I see the faintest sign of a road. I have no idea what time it is, or where we are. Somewhere high in the Rockies. I’m not properly dressed. The thin, long-sleeved shirt and puffer vest don’t provide enough warmth. My dad had only a light sweater—the white marred with rust-colored blood. I had to look away. It was too unnerving to see him bleeding so much. My feet are wet from the snow. Normally, we keep jackets in the car during the winter months, but we stupidly left them hanging on the coat rack. We weren’t expecting this. We weren’t anticipating this.
Stupid, stupid, stupid… I should’ve grabbed the jackets.
He should’ve grabbed them.
Then again, how was he supposed to know we’d be trudging through the snow?
My stomach churns when I think about leaving my dad in the snow, injured and cold.
The second I step foot onto the highway, I am flooded with relief. Every heavy breath that I take feels like a mallet to my lungs. A large pickup truck is rounding the corner. I wave my arms. The man driving stops, gets out, assesses me. I see worry in his face. He seems like a nice man. My dad is a nice man.
“Honey, what are you doing out here during a storm?” he asks, running back to his truck and getting a blanket.
Stop. Don’t worry about me. Go get him. “My d-d-dad,” I mutter, panic seizing my throat. “He’s out there,” I squeak. “W-w-we crashed.”
“How old are you?” he asks, reaching into his pocket for his Nokia.
“Tw-twelve. Please call an ambulance,” I beg. It’s getting harder to talk. My face is numb, and my lips and tongue seem to be stuck.
He nods, dialing. “Lucky I have service,” he mumbles. I hear him talking to the police. I stare out into the white abyss behind me.
“Please,” I whisper, praying to the universe. “Please let him be okay.”
“They’re coming,” the man says, rubbing my back and trying to warm me up. “Let’s wait in my truck until the police get here. What’s your dad’s name?”
“Henry,” I blubber.
“Where’s your mom?” he asks kindly.
“She—she’s dead. She died when I was born.”
He nods in understanding. I see pity wash over his face. I know that look. I’m used to it.
The next ten minutes are a blur. The kind man gives me more blankets and water. He offers me some beef jerky but I’m not hungry. I feel like I’m going to throw up. The police arrive, along with a rescue team. They ask me questions, but I can’t find it in me to answer. I knew if I left, he would die. I know he’s gone. It’s been too long. I feel it in my core. He’s gone. He lied to me.
“Nina, we need to know where your dad is,” one of them asks.
“Tha
t way,” I say, pointing toward the white nothingness.
“I see her footprints! Let’s go!” one of them shouts. Four men leave carrying a portable stretcher. They all have walkie talkies. They’re dressed for this weather. We were not.
Thirty minutes pass. One hour. The sun begins to go down. The sky starts to turn red—an angry red exaggerated by the whiteness all around us.
Finally, five men come back. Except one of them is on the stretcher.
I jump up, the ringing in my ears growing louder.
Please.
They’ve covered him.
No.
I feel myself falter. I hear the nice man running after me. All I can see is the shape under the blanket.
He’s gone.
I lose control and fall onto my knees, crumpling into a ball. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to be alive in a world without my dad. Especially now that Benny is gone… I need one of them to survive. I can’t live without both of them.
My dad was all I had left.
I feel someone pick me up. I’m so catatonic that I don’t even cry when I hear the words hypothermia and blood loss. I close my eyes and pray I’ll wake up and that this will all have been a bad dream.
My father never would’ve lied to me.
Except he did.
O N E
Nina—Present
San Juan, Puerto Rico
TODAY WAS NOT going well. In fact, in just over eight hours, I managed to botch three reservations, give the wrong room key to four different hotel guests, and to top it off, I had the disgusting duty of plucking a floater out of the main pool. At seven o’clock on the dot, just as I bend over to grab my purse, I manage to pop the top two buttons off my blouse, leaving me with the very sort of unprofessional cleavage that most people only have nightmares about.
Grunting and blowing a frizzy strand of hair away from my face, I huff my way to the exit with my arms crossed, trying not to garner any attention to my bright pink bra. As if my day couldn’t get any worse, the minute I step out of the brisk, air-conditioned lobby, the steamy air instantly creates a thin sheen of sweat along my top lip and forehead.
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