She was lost in the depths of dark blue that stole the remaining sanity of free will. With heroic effort she pushed him back and shook her head. “Oh, wow… words are stuck somewhere. Give me a minute.”
Breath shot in and out as her nerves settled into something resembling normal. She pushed against his chest, trying to get him to back up a step, his nearness prevented sane thoughts from getting through her muddled brain. When she had a semblance of control she spoke again with a grin plastered on her face. “We have to slow down. If for no other reason than your son is right there.” She pointed to the couch where Grayson and Ziggie continued sleeping, oblivious to the passion of moments before.
He sighed and shook his head to clear the threads of want still smothering logic. “Oh, man.” His hands gripped his head and his eyes widened with amusement. “I knew it would be good, but damn, I feel like I’m losing my mind right now.”
Noah rubbed his thumb across her swollen lower lip causing a gasp to escape her parted lips. A sudden case of insecurity overwhelmed her mind and washed the desire away as easily as a river carrying a kayak. Her eyes fell down until he forced her to look at him.
“What changed, Harper?”
She looked at him, but had a difficult time holding his gaze. Years of living with a temperamental unstable husband had taught her lessons of which she would not soon forget. Her self-esteem had been ground into the sands of time, barely a speck lost within all the other shifting grains.
She forced her eyes upward seeking to hold his heated gaze and read the intentions hidden by the blue pools. “Why would you want me? I’m frumpy and fat.”
His eyelids drew together as a crease formed between his brows. A smattering of lines became visible on his forehead. Rather than answer he reached to envelope her in his warm embrace. He whispered in her ear, her hair parted to ease the words’ path to her brain. “You’re perfect, beautiful, and most assuredly not frumpy and fat. Your ex is an asshole who didn’t deserve you.”
She pulled back and grasped his face in her hands. “You barely know me, how can you be so sure? Maybe I was the asshole and made up stories about him.”
“Harper, first, you’re full of it. I can tell your stories are true, and there are many more you haven’t told me. Second, from the moment I saw you with my son, I knew you. When I watched you kneel on the ground and hold my son I knew more about you than I could have learned from your autobiography. Ziggie sealed the deal for me when he accepted you and let you into his broken heart. Dogs know your soul, and he read yours like an open book.”
Passion leaked from his voice and twisted knots of pleasure in Harper’s heart. She placed a finger over his lips as tears ran in rivulets down her face. “Just hold me.”
His strong arms snaked around her, giving her a sense of comfort and security she’d never experienced. With a sigh borne from years of emotional abuse she sank into his arms.
“We can take this as slow as you want. I know how badly you’ve been hurt and your heart needs time to mend.” Noah smiled and stroked her back.
Harper rubbed her stinging eyes as the briny flow slowed to a dribble of exposed emotions. She smiled back at him. “Are you real?”
“I won’t go into a long exposition, but I plan to be as patient as you need me to be. I want to be your friend first.” He smiled again before continuing. “And I want to introduce you to my son… oh, wait that’s already covered.”
She slugged him lightly on the shoulder. “So you’re a jokester huh? I like the thought of friendship, but I’ll be honest holding out is going to be difficult. It’s been a long time for me.” She winked. “If you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I do more than you can imagine. It’s been a long time for me too.”
She nodded in acknowledgement. “What do you think about leaving Grayson on the couch so you don’t have to wake him up?” She asked with a mixture of dread and offering, knowing if Noah agreed she’d have to sleep in Cara’s bedroom. Since her first day Harper had not re-opened that door.
“If you’re sure, that’s fine with me. He and Ziggie look so comfortable I wouldn’t want to disturb them.”
Harper nodded as a bolt of anguish shot through her body. The prospect of sleeping in Cara’s bed almost drove her to retract her offer. With a fierce grip of willpower she overcame her urge to take it back. “Would you like to come over early in the morning so we can all have breakfast before going on our ride? Will Grayson freak out if he wakes up here instead of his own bed?”
Noah was shaking his head before she finished her second question. “Nope he’ll be fine. He’ll get a kick out of being allowed to sleep on your couch with that beast of a dog. Breakfast sounds great… need me to bring anything?”
“Nope, it’s my turn to impress you with my cooking skills. How about instant pancakes from a box?” She smirked.
“Hey, if that’s what you like to cook, I’ll eat it.”
Harper laughed as she ushered him through the door. She watched from the porch until his taillights disappeared in a cloud of dust.
She turned to move down the hall toward the dreaded bedroom. Her feet refused to move, concrete boots would have been easier to wear than overcome her mind’s power controlling her unwilling feet. With an effort equivalent to carrying the entire world on her back she forced her feet into forward momentum. Each step became lighter until she reached the door. When she reached for the knob it was like gripping molten lava, lava dipped in enough water to cool it into sleek obsidian. Her hands slick with nervous sweat she turned the knob.
It skittered through her wet hand. With a sigh of frustration she scrubbed her hand over the seat of her stretchy pants and tried again. The distinctive click of the tongue releasing from its plate reached her ears. The door swung open, exposing the room filled with memories of her best friend.
Her first urge was to turn and run back the way she came. Steel inserted itself into her spine and she strode forward instead. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering Cara’s face and all the good memories that went along with it. There were no ghosts in this room, just stuff. One hesitant step at a time she made her way into the room’s interior. Her terror faded with each step as her eyes sought a safe place to land.
The lavender sheets were the last place she would have thought would bring her comfort, but that’s what happened. Her eyes rested on the shiny surface enjoying the thought that Cara had touched the sheets and rested her head on the satin covered pillow. A moment of confusion raced through her mind when she realized she didn’t know which side of the bed Cara slept on.
A breath huffed from Harper’s chest when she realized she would have to wash the sheets and remove the last of Cara’s remnants so she could have peace of mind. Her jaw tightened and determination took over as she stripped the bed and twisted the sheets and other linens into a messy ball. Her heart raced as she carried it to the washer and tossed it in before she could change her mind.
Once the bed was remade with fresh linens, Harper was mentally exhausted. Sleepiness pricked the back of her eyes as she crawled into the bed. Her eyelids drifted closed and her mind worked on completing the recurring dream.
She stumbled down the drive, woozy and drunk from an all-night booze fest with too much liquor and too little common-sense. Instead of sleeping off the bender she was seeking revenge. The recipient of her rage vague and unclear, but someone out there deserved her retribution.
Suddenly she tripped over an imagined obstacle and fell to her hands and knees, skinning both. Trickles of bright red blood ran a shimmering ribbon down her legs, soaking into already soiled jeans. Her hands stung from embedded gravel and dirt. Her mind didn’t register the pain appropriately, instead of returning to the house to clean her injuries she stood on legs made of jelly and continued her stilted journey to the black corvette.
Her mind stumbled over the car. She couldn’t recall purchasing a corvette, or even living in the neighborhood. Nothing around her looked familiar, but the key
s now in her hand indicated otherwise.
She half-fell into the driver’s seat, enjoying the grip of soft leather under her ass. Her hands stroked the steering wheel with a lover’s touch. She then reached to the right to flip on the dash-cam. The moves unfamiliar, but ingrained like muscle memory. She didn’t spend time questioning why she knew these things, it was time for revenge.
She shoved the key into the ignition and the car roared to life. Without thought her foot mashed the gas pedal to the floor. The car responded like a horse released from the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby. She could sense the horses under the hood, running with the speed of lightning and the mechanics of a well-tuned engine. Her hands shook with nervous excitement and her mind tuned out the oddity.
The speedometer competed with her mind as the speed increased. Foliage flashed by in a blur. Trees were indistinguishable blobs of browns and reds, sidewalks narrow stretches of blurred concrete.
Brakes squealed as she mashed the brake pedal and careened the low slung car around a corner. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew how to get there.
Her heart raced faster than the RPMs of soft tires on hard pavement. Ahead was a red light and she couldn’t stop. She screamed and closed her eyes, attempting to block what was happening.
Against her will, her eyes popped open so she could witness the tragedy as it unfolded. Somewhere in her peripheral vision she caught sight of another speeding vehicle. Unable to change the scene she released the wheel and waited for impact.
The crunch of metal happened in slow motion. Every second stretched into an eternity as the Jeep rolled over the top of the corvette. Cara’s terrified face was the last thing Harper saw before her eyes popped open to a dark room.
Ziggie whined next to her ear as his tongue washed her face. Her head pounded a steady rhythm and her heart threatened to burst from her chest. He must have sensed her distress and came to check on her. She reached to pat his head, her heart speeding through an unwinnable race. Her hand rested on Ziggie’s head as he whined and nudged her to move.
With a groan she sat up and swung her legs off the bed’s edge. Ziggie danced around her feet as she stood and made her way down the hall to check on Grayson.
He continued to sleep peacefully. His mouth hung upon and a small thread of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth, the shiny trail visible in the light from the moon shining through lacy curtains. She stroked his hair and gestured for Ziggie to return to his earlier resting spot. He obliged after glancing at her, seeming to asses her mental state before being satisfied she was okay. With a huff he curled up next to Grayson and closed his eyes.
Harper trudged back to the bedroom an odd sense of peace washed over her as she thought about the dream. For the first time the dream continued to completion, her mind had opened enough to allow the completed reel center stage. Though it was terrifying to have those images in her mind, she now knew Cara was killed instantly and did not suffer as her imagination had wanted to conjure.
When she returned to the room she slid open the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed. A few magazines, a book, and a notebook rested in a neat stack. Harper lifted the book when a piece of paper sticking from its center drew her attention. With shaking hands she pulled the paper - which was actually an envelope - from the book. A scent of apples and old book reached her nose.
The long legal sized envelope had Harper scrawled across its front. The sealed envelope was thick with folded paper. With clammy fingers she ran her finger under the glued edge, taking care to not rip the papers within.
She pulled the stack of three handwritten folded pages from their envelope prison and read the first line.
Dear Harper,
If you’re reading this I’m either dead or have finally gotten the nerve to tell you my real feelings.
The rawness of those first words caused her to hyperventilate and crush the message in her hands. Whatever was contained on the fateful lines of notebook paper would wait until the sun was out and she could read them without freaking out.
She smoothed the papers, folded them back to their original shape, and stuffed them back in the envelope where they would await her viewing.
Eighteen
“Scott!” Isabella shouted from the kitchen, her voice was strained with obvious pain.
Scott groaned with frustration, annoyed at Isabella’s whiny shout that disturbed his beer guzzling. He slammed the bottle on the coffee table and rose from the couch.
“What?” he yelled back, though he already suspected he knew the problem.
“You idiot, get in here.”
His blood began a slow simmer touching the edges of boiling. “Listen woman, I don’t have time for your games,” his voice growled as he entered the kitchen.
Isabella faced the counter in front of the sink, her legs spread wide as she leaned heavily on the red Formica surface. A brown tinged liquid leaked down her legs and formed a small puddle on the linoleum floor.
“What the hell is that?” His entire demeanor changed when he spotted the puddle. The yell that had formed reduced to a whimper at the sight.
Her back and shoulders clenched as she shouted again. “Oww, oww. Oh, my god you missing sandwich no picnic having asshole get over here and help me.” Her jaws gritted together so hard he thought she would break teeth.
“What… what the hell is going on?”
Isabella unclamped her jaw and drew deep breaths through her teeth, the inhaled air pushed out in a whistle each time she exhaled. “Scott, focus. My water broke. Go get my bag and get me to the hospital before I have this baby on the floor.”
His hand smacked into his forehead. “I’m an idiot. Ok, I’ll be right back.”
He ran through the house like a man possessed, grabbing her bag and a towel from the hall closet before running back to the kitchen.
She leaned most of her weight on his shoulder as he helped her to the garage trying to beat the next contraction. His eyes almost bugged out of his head when her grip tightened to vise-like proportions as she waited out another contraction and took it out on his shoulder. A single tear fell from his eye as her grip loosened and they continued their journey.
He propped her against the garage wall as he arranged the towel across the front passenger seat and tossed the baby bag into the back. She gingerly settled herself into the seat as he guided her elbow. When she was settled he reached down and leaned the seat all the way back, the headrest touched the rear seat.
He watched her through the windshield as another contraction ripped through her body and she screamed like she’d been ripped limb from limb. Once she calmed down he raced to the driver’s door, flung it open, and sped from the garage.
Though the hospital was close she had three more contractions on the way. Scott thought his brain would explode if she screamed one more time. His arm was red and dripping small crescents of blood from indentations where her short fingernails had pierced his skin.
He raced through the hospital parking lot and came to a screeching halt in the ambulance bay. Two nurses sprinted through the sliding doors pushing a wheelchair. From there everything happened at warp speed. The first nurse shouted to the other that the baby was crowning. He stood in shocked perplexion as he attempted to decipher why a baby would be wearing a crown. They whisked Isabella away before he had a chance to answer any questions.
His head hung with dejection as he parked the car and made his way inside the hospital. He was a man used to being in charge and giving orders, but for the first time in his adult life power had been ripped from him and given to that screaming woman he called wife. Anger built behind his eyes, rage leaked through his veins, and his false control began to slip. Breath ripped from his lungs as his heart rate sped to its limits.
As the doors slid open a nurse behind a large desk with a glass partition shouted his name. “Mr. Roberts, what took you so long? You need to get to your wife’s room right now.”
With the speed of a cheetah hi
s control snapped back into place. He plastered a smile of nervous excitement on his face. “Which way?”
She pointed to her left. “Room 101.”
As he hurried down the hall he heard the squall of a newborn and a familiar cry from Isabella. He shrugged with relief. His strong man control slipped at the sight of blood and surely seeing a kid pop out would cause it to disintegrate.
He touched his face, reassuring himself his charming smile was in place, he entered the room. Isabella lay on the bed a squalling newborn squirmed on her chest as she tried to guide its mouth to her swollen nipple.
“Congratulations Dad? You have a little boy.”
He looked at the nurse who had spoken, wondering why she said the first part like a question.
“Thanks.” He strode across the room to get a better look at the newborn.
The baby was now latched to Isabella’s breast and sucking. His small body was still gooey from his recent birth and his skin dark with birth fluids. Scott puzzled over the baby’s skin tone. His experience with newborns was limited as he had refused to look too closely at his dead sons.
When he looked at Isabella he detected fear running through her return gaze. He glanced back at the baby then returned to her eyes. The truth shouted at him as though the words had left her lips. They pounded through his head and knocked on his eardrums in reverse order.
Realization dawned bullet-train fast and quick-sand slow. His lips pursed together and his inner demon screamed to get out. Control began to slip from its tight embrace. He refused to speak or look at Isabella as he clamped down on the sensations raging through his body and mind. When he had a semblance of sanity on his side he spoke so only she could hear.
“He’s not my child.”
He read her eyes when no words slipped past her lips. With a false smile he pretended he didn’t understand.
“Oh, honey he’s so beautiful.” His eyes rolled at his syrupy tone meant to make the nurses swoon and not suspect the truth bouncing around the room. He would take care of this after they got home. For now he would be nothing more than a loving husband and proud father of a bastard baby that was not his own.
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