by Tessa Teevan
“Stop thinking so loud. I’m trying to sleep.” Brie’s playful tone breaks through my thoughts, and I decide to give it one shot. One last ditch effort to get her to stay in the hotel. Even though I know it’s most likely futile, I know I have to at least try to persuade her.
Rolling over, I hook my arm around her waist and pull her into me until we’re chest to chest. My erection juts straight out, seeking her entrance, staking his claim. The guy knows what’s up. Her eyes dance with delight, and she sucks on her bottom lip, which is so damn enticing.
“How about we stay in? Get some room service. Rent a dirty movie. Act out your wildest fantasies then spend hours soaking in the tub before getting dirty all over again. This is our weekend. We can do whatever we want…and what I want to do right now, is you.” I wriggle my eyebrows, nearly choking on the cheese of my words. I can instantly tell that she’s not buying it.
Her mouth tilts down in a frown as she gazes at me. “Rafe…”
“Come on. We’ve been working for weeks, and I think we both deserve this break. This is vacation. We’re meant to stay in bed and fuck all day long.” The argument is weak, but I have to try or else I’ll hate myself.
“A working vacation. We agreed to that. And we agreed that, last night, there’d be no talk of what we’re really here for. Last night is over, and it’s a brand-new day. I’m ready for some answers. Aren’t you?”
I sigh, running a hand over my face. “Of course I am. It’s just… I’m worried, Brie. Something doesn’t feel right. Like we shouldn’t be here.”
She sits up and crosses her legs. “Why? Have you heard something? Did Agent Howard call?”
I toy with her tiny fingers. “No, no. Nothing like that. As far as I know, there haven’t been any new developments. Everything’s quiet on the agency’s end.”
“Which is why we need to do this. So let’s shower, grab some breakfast, and get this day started. Clock’s ticking, Matthews. We have a mystery to solve.”
She says it with such nonchalance that it surprises me. Like she’s Nancy fucking Drew, not a girl who was recently thrown in the back of a trunk by her insane, possibly psychotic ex-boyfriend who wanted to do who knows what with her. I want to scold her, to shake her until she realizes the danger she’s in, but I refrain. Though she’s playing it cool, I see the pause in her expression. She’s taking this seriously, even if she doesn’t admit it out loud.
After planting a kiss on my cheek, she crawls off the bed. My gaze follows her, firmly planted on her ass until she stops and looks back at me, a devilish grin crossing her lips.
“Rain check on the fantasy part though,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes, before disappearing into the bathroom.
As the water turns on, I grab my phone. No missed calls, no messages. No checking in. Not even a response to my e-mail about my plans for the future. No word whatsoever. The lack of contact makes me uneasy, yet I can’t call to check in myself. Not with Brie around. Still, I can’t help but wonder what the silence could mean for us.
It’s like the calm before the storm. We’re in the eye of the hurricane, and the worst is yet to come.
I hope like hell we make out on the other side unscathed.
And more importantly: together.
The brave face I put on this morning is fading the closer we get to Oak Brook, the suburb where I spent the first two decades of my life. Part of me wants to tell Rafe to turn the car around, that spending the day in bed with him and room service sounds perfect. Screw this investigative crap. I should leave that to the professionals, right?
My rational, inquisitive part stops me though. I have to know what my father was involved in; why Adrian targeted me. I don’t know why I so firmly believe that finding the painting will give us some answers. Perhaps it was my dream. Or Adrian’s interest. Either way, I’m desperate to find it.
As we turn onto my old street, my chest tightens. My racing heart increases its tempo, thumping so rapidly that a deafening roar overtakes my ears. My head bows, and I take short, deep breaths to remain calm.
Rafe must notice the look on my face. He pulls over several houses down from mine, and I continue to fixate my eyes on my lap, not sure if I can take in the sight of my childhood home. Not sure I can be here. It’s as if every good memory disappeared the night he took my parents from me. Now, it’s just the scene of the crime. The place where my parents took their last breaths. The only solace I have is that, according to the detective assigned to the case, they were holding hands. Together in life, together in death.
It’s always been a morbidly comforting thought that they went together.
“You weren’t supposed to live.”
Adrian’s words pass through my mind, and instead of scaring me off, they do the opposite. They give me the push I need to do this. Because, one way or another, I have to know the truth.
Why me? Why us? And if I wasn’t supposed to live, why did he let me?
“We don’t have to do this, Brie. Seeing the house isn’t going to answer any questions. I can turn this car around and drive us as far away from here as you want. All you have to do is say the word.”
His offer is extremely tempting. It would be easy to accept, to go straight to the storage unit like we’d set out to do, but I can’t. Even though I can’t explain it, I know that it’s necessary for me to see the house. One last time. Maybe I can get some sort of closure. A reminder, even, that this place held many more good memories than bad ones.
With a slight shake of my head, I raise my chin and look up at him. The concern on his face is endearing and as he reaches over and takes my hand, I’m confident I can do this.
This was exactly what I meant. He’s essential to my very being. He gives me strength when I’m weak. I need him, no matter how much he tries to deny it. I have a feeling I always will.
“No, it’s okay. I can do this. It’s just a drive-by, right?” I say, with as much enthusiasm as possible, my heart beating rapidly.
“Just a quick drive-by. Then we’re out of here,” he agrees before pulling back out into the street.
I stare out the window as he drives. Memories of sitting in the passenger’s seat of my father’s Volvo or my mom’s Prius flash through my mind, my eyes usually glued to my phone rather than talking with them. All of those times I took for granted. All of those drives I should have gladly set my phone aside to hear about their days or what plans they had for the upcoming weekend. It all seemed so trivial then, and now, I’d give anything to have those conversations with them.
I’m not surprised Conrad Street looks exactly the same as it did three years ago. Every lawn is perfectly manicured. Well, except for the family at the end of the street. Dad swore that it was their sole mission in life to push the boundaries of the homeowners association’s limits. The Schwartzes, an eccentric, older couple whose path to wealth has always been a mystery for the residents of our street. I smile when the lawn, still with a plethora of garden statues, comes into view, and from the looks of it, they’ve collected even more. The homeowners association must have a field day with those two. The familiarity of it is heartwarming, and I start to realize how much I miss this. How much I miss Chicago. And even more, how much I miss my parents.
And what I miss the most?
Myself.
I’m determined that this path, this journey will not only unlock hidden truths, but also allow me to find myself again.
I can do this.
Even more surprising, I want to do this. I have to.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Some things are easier said than done.
All ability to breathe ceases as we finally pull up to the two-story colonial-style home where I grew up. The sight of the beautiful brick with the familiar blue shutters causes my heart to drop—as well as my stomach. I have to look away and process the fact that I’m sitting outside 4620 Conrad Street for the first time in years.
I’m really, finally here.
Back to where it a
ll ended.
Back to where it, and apparently this, all began.
A chill runs down my spine as I muster up the courage to peer up at my childhood home to give it a closer examination. Memories flash through my mind as I recall the last time I stepped foot in this house. Long after the police tape had been removed, I still refused to go inside. The blood had been cleaned, the carpet replaced. The walls had been freshly painted, and everything had been put back in its proper places—not that I knew for sure. The man who had done the crime had been locked behind bars without a chance to ever taste freedom again. And still, I couldn’t bring myself to go into that place. Until I had no choice.
The day finally came when my father’s lawyer informed me that my time was up. I was in no position to pay a mortgage or homeowner’s insurance, and the money left from the estate was running out. The house needed to be put up for sale, and I needed to get my things out. He was kind and understanding, and he even offered to help coordinate what to do with the rest of the belongings. All I had to do was walk inside and decide what to keep and what to let go of.
It was, without a doubt, one of the hardest days of my life.
Honestly, I don’t remember much of it. The only way I got through it was because of the bottle of tequila at my side the whole time. It was my old friend, loyal and faithful, that Jose. Always there to listen and make me feel better. For a while, at least. Then it did its job and made me numb. It made me forget.
I remember sitting on the porch, taking swig after swig as the liquid courage coursed through my veins. Eventually, Mrs. Schwartz drove by and I had one of two choices: let her pull into my drive and give the same sentiments and apologies I’d been hearing for months or go into the house, finally getting this over with. As she started to slow, I pushed up off the pavement and turned to the house. One more swig and I stepped inside.
My heart, which had already been broken, shattered the moment I entered the foyer, and it continued to do so for the duration of my time there. I stood there, waves of emotion hitting me at full forces. Images of better times flooded my brain, and I knew that my life would never be the same.
I’d never throw my keys on the table in the hall and allow the aroma of Mom’s mouthwatering meatloaf guide my way to her. I’d never roll my eyes as my parents snuggled up on the couch to watch the latest episode of Bones. My dad would never in turn roll his eyes when Mom signed and commented on how handsome David Boreanaz is. They’d never laugh, yell, cry, scream, or shout. I’d have given anything to have them do all of the above. But never again.
It was nearly enough to make me turn around and leave it all behind. But, in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do that, so I set about my work, trying to remain as numb as the tequila would allow. Eventually, however, even the tequila let me down.
At first, I took my time, walking through the house, packing up what I wanted to keep, and leaving everything else for the church my father’s lawyer contacted to go through. It was excruciating, and the memories are still a bit fuzzy. I was in a daze, only lasting a few hours before I started throwing things into the back of my car. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and now that I’m this close, the confidence that built up is waning. But I need closure, and being here is the only way I can get it.
“Huh,” Rafe says.
I tear my eyes from the house and turn to look at Rafe, whose own gaze is fixated on something across the lawn. My eyes travel the distance, widening when I see what has caught his attention.
“It’s for sale,” I whisper, stating the obvious, both in confusion and in awe. “Pull into the drive.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t know what I’m doing, but now that we’re here, I don’t want to leave.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
Taking a deep breath, I know I can do this. “I can’t explain it, Rafe, but I have to face this. I’ve spent years running, and I don’t want to run anymore. I don’t just want answers. I want to be free of the pain of losing them. I want the good memories to overshadow the bad. And I think this is the place to start.”
He nods then looks back at the “for sale” sign. “Do you want to go inside? I can call the realty company and see if we can get someone over here.”
I swallow hard, gazing back up at the house. “I…I think I’d like that.”
A soft smile crosses his face as he strokes my cheek. His touch not only soothes my soul, but creates a balm over my heart. Everything will be okay. I know it.
“I’m proud of you, Brie.”
The sentiment warms my heart and boosts my confidence. It makes me want to give him something to be proud of. To be the woman he sees when he looks at me. He’s called me strong, but in reality, I haven’t been. I haven’t been strong in years, and I need to get that part of me back.
My hand covers his. “Thank you,” I say. There are so many more words I could use to tell him how I feel, but right now, those two are enough.
He kisses my forehead. “I’ll go make the call.”
After he exits the car, I sit back for a moment. Fear and trepidation threaten to seep in, and the longer I sit here, the harder it’ll be to get out of the car. Just like last night when I conquered my fear of heights, I can conquer this, too.
As I step out of the car and breathe the familiar scent of pine, a smile slips on my face at the. My eyes wander towards the front porch, splashes of color filling my vision. The same vast floral array is bright and full, showcasing my mother’s green thumb. The tulips, the lilies, the hydrangeas—they’re all the same. I wonder who’s been caring for them.
The perfectly pruned hedge bushes aligned along the house remind me of my father, and I can practically hear his laughter as he chases Mom around with the sheers. In my mind, she’s heading for the side of the house, desperate to get to the hose to get him back. Usually, she’d succeed until they were both wet, muddy messes. Neither of them cared. They were happy. They were in love. And they loved me.
The closer I get to the house, the more the good memories rush to the surface. How many times did the three of us sit on the porch as we watched the Schwartzes rearrange their garden gnomes? All of those hours decorating the house according to the season. Christmas lights. Autumn pumpkins. Americana for the summer, and everything floral for the spring. It was always a happy home.
Until it wasn’t.
I shake the thought out of my head. This house still represents the happiest times of my life, and it’s time I remember that.
Slowly, with shaky legs, I climb the steps until I’m standing on the porch. I have no idea how long I’m fixed in that spot, staring at the bright-red door I persuaded my parents to paint thanks to my One Tree Hill obsession. It’s not the same shade it used to be, though. It had to be repainted thanks to the bloody handprint the murderer had left there. It’s what eventually caught him, so I’m torn between hating him for having ruined my door and wanting to thank him for being stupid enough to leave behind such damning evidence.
So here I stand. Staring at the offending door. Willing it to open. Praying and hoping that the last three years have been a nightmare and, when that door opens, I’ll wake up to Mom’s warm embrace. Her arms will envelop me the way they always did when I needed her. She’ll tell me that everything’s okay. It’s all just been a horrible nightmare. She’s here now. Then the door will open wider and Dad will be standing behind her, playfully scolding Mom for making me stand out in the cold.
The last few years will not have happened.
That is my solemn hope.
The thought, however, is crushing. That can’t be my existence. It can’t be my reality. And how, with as much as I love them, as much as I miss them, can I ask for everything to be erased?
How can I do that? Wish for time to be turned back when it means the man I love and the child in my womb wouldn’t exist in my world?
It’s a vicious cycle. The events of what happened here ultimately led me to Rafe
. If they hadn’t died, I’d probably never have left Chicago. I never would’ve met Adrian, and I wouldn’t have been the woman in his home when Rafe was sent there as part of his assignment. We’d likely be with other people, and I wouldn’t be pregnant with his child. The thought alone pains me, but the conclusion is the same. If my parents hadn’t been murdered, Rafe and I would be blissfully unaware of each other.
You can cite fate, serendipity, or whatever you want, but the truth remains. The likelihood of our paths crossing is minimal. And as much as I wish my parents were back, I wouldn’t wish for Rafe’s departure. It’s a paradoxical situation that can’t be fixed. Regardless of what I want, I can’t change the past. I can only focus on the present and building the future.
The unfairness of life hits me hard. My throat burns, and tears spilling onto my cheeks. Strong arms wrap around my waist, holding me tight.
It’s a gentle reminder that, while I’ll never feel the warm hugs of my parents ever again, I still have Rafe.
That means more than anything, and his being here with me is exactly what I need to be able to move on.
His head rests on my shoulder. “You doing okay?” he whispers. “We can get out of here. Whatever you need, Brie.”
I crane my neck and give him a watery smile. “Surprisingly, I think I am. I’m glad we’re here. That you’re here with me.”
He lifts up, and I turn towards him.
“Are they sending someone?” I ask.
A distinct flicker of something flashes in his eyes, and his jaw tightens. “What? What is it?”
His hands fidget with the bottom of his jacket before he places them in his pockets. When his eyes meet mine, they’re full of apprehension.
“You mentioned the estate attorneys showing up before you graduated college, but you never mentioned the sale of the house. Were you a part of that? Do you remember any of the details?” he presses.