“And you’re here because…?”
“I’m here to bring you home.”
I raised one eyebrow, standing from my crouched position and moving to the cabinet in the small, unfinished kitchen. The half-empty bottle of whiskey fit neatly in my hand as I flipped a glass for a sniff-test. Clean enough. “You wasted your time. But it’s nice to see you.”
“It’s Christmas, Logan.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide my bitter sarcasm.
She brushed her hands against her jeans, standing and taking a hesitant step toward me. I tipped the glass, swallowing the burning liquid in one gulp. “You couldn’t even say goodbye to her? I think she deserved that.”
The liquor did little to dull the piercing ache in my chest as I thought about Violet. Her frantic texts had become angry, and then desperate, and she finally stopped calling and texting in November.
“She’s better off without me.”
“Wow.” She tucked her hands into her pockets, staring me down. “So you’re really doing this to her. First West, and then you.”
I slammed the glass down on the counter, closing in on her. She jumped, widening her eyes as I towered over her. “The only reason I’m letting you stand there and bitch at me is out of respect for our friendship. But you’re crossing the line, Roam. Go home to your fucking perfect family, and leave me the hell alone.”
Her lip quivered, but she raised her chin, refusing to cower. “At least offer me a drink.”
Keeping my eyes locked in the depths of her green gaze, I reached for the glass. “I have whiskey or water. And you’re only twenty.”
“I can drink at eighteen- in Ireland.”
A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, but I managed- just barely- to keep my severe glare. “Of course you know that. You know everything.”
She ignored my snide remark, reaching for the bottle. “I don’t need a glass.”
Finally, after she held her breath for endless seconds, I gave in to my smirk. “Alright, Cam. After you,” I held my hand out to the fire, and she slid the bottle of Jameson across the counter, carrying it to the fire.
I waited for her to take a swig, fully expecting her to choke, but instead she followed the first with a second. “I have no reception. Do you have a phone?”
Reaching for the dusty shelf next to the fireplace, I retrieved my iPhone and tossed it to the rug. “Dead.”
“Well, West knows I’m here. His numbers would have changed.”
I reached for the bottle, and she handed it over. Taking a long drink, I settled down to poke at the fire. “How is she?”
“Violet? She’s… alone. She moved to North Carolina.”
“What?” I narrowed my eyes, rolling back on my heels. “Why?”
“Why? Why did you leave her?”
“I didn’t leave her, I just left.”
“You left your new wife. You left everyone who loves and cares about you.” I watched her pull off her coat, gloves, and hat, before working on her boots.
“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re leaving.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“You’ll leave- when I kick your ass out into the snow.”
“You can’t kick my ass, Logan.” She groaned, finally pulling her foot out of the boot.
“Without your sword,” I leaned closer, lowering my voice, “you’re just a scared little girl.”
She reached for my unshaven face, her cool hand cupping my cheek. “I’m not scared… when I’m with you.”
“Oh, go to hell, Roam.”
“Hey.” She shivered, casting me an injured glance. “That’s mean.”
“Mean?” I leaned back against the broken couch, trying not to slide the pile of telephone books from their propping position beneath the missing leg. “I swear to God, you flew three thousand miles to get on my last fucking nerve.”
She straightened and rolled her shoulders back. “You need your wife, and Violet needs you-…,”
“Don’t tell me what she needs, or what I need! We’re done, Camden- you and me- there is nothing here between us anymore. You’re not even you anymore- you’re this fake, robotic version of you. I don’t even know you, and you sure as hell don’t know me. You don’t have some special claim on me, and you had no right hunting me down here. I’m an adult, I make my own choices, so leave me the fuck alone.”
She stared at me for long, quiet seconds. I felt a twinge of guilt, quickly beating it down with my pride.
Finally, she set the bottle to the floor, tucking her knees to her chin. “You’re right.”
“I know.”
She flashed her middle finger in my direction, cocking her head to the side and raising her eyebrows.
I laughed- I couldn’t help it. She attempted to curl her lips and resist a smile, but her teeth flashed before she buried her face into her knees.
“Okay. Now that I got all of that off my chest… are you hungry?”
“That depends. There is a dirty-looking cat standing on your counter. Are you suggesting eating here?”
“That’s Isabella.”
“As in Queen Isabella? As in the most blatantly inaccurate historical figure in Braveheart?”
I glanced around, puffing air quickly from my lips. “Come on, get your shit back on.”
She grinned and reached for her boots.
We ended up at the Trim Castle Hotel, taking Roam’s rental car. When I realized she’d checked into a room there, I breathed easier; there was no way she was staying in the old, two room bungalow with me.
“Listen, this has to be your treat. Sorry.”
The waiter gave me an obvious whatta-douchebag glance as he led us toward a table, but I decided to ignore him. “Bar,” I corrected, taking Roam’s elbow.
“That’s fine,” she said softly, climbing into the bar seat next to mine. “Are you working, Logan?”
“Odd jobs, here and there.”
“Well, we have more than enough.”
“Riiight. West and his immortal 401K.”
“Everything is… honest now. He’s very smart, and knows his way around the stock market.”
“I really don’t care.” Smiling sweetly, I gestured to the bartender. “Bottle of Bulmers. Roam?”
She bit her lip and clamped her hands together, staring anxiously on the back wall of the mirrored bar. I sighed. So much for whiskey-drinking-trucker-mouthed Roam.
“I’ll have… a Sex on the Beach?”
“Ah, no beach here,” the bartender winked. I rolled my eyes as he flipped at his floppy bangs about three times while blatantly flirting with her. Playing his accent up a notch, he obviously pinned her as fair game after my ‘you’re paying’ comment. “Sex by the Castle, we say.”
Don’t fucking blush, I ordered her silently. She leaned back in her chair, shrugging.
“Of course,” she muttered, waving her hand. “Whatever.”
An Irish band began warming up. Our drinks arrived, and I took a long swig as she sipped through her tiny, orange straw, cringing.
“You didn’t really drink my whiskey at the house, did you.”
“No. I’m good at pretending. I do it all the time.”
“Your acting skills have come a long way.” I leaned closer to her. “You know that acting in real life is just called lying, right?”
She met my eyes. “Define ‘real life.’”
“Huh.” I nodded once, tipping the bottle. “Noted. Okay, you have to eat something with that.” I ordered vegetable spring rolls, knowing she’d ignore them when they came but making the effort anyway. “So, how are the kids?”
Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. “Christopher is saying ‘Da-da.’ And he says ‘Vaa’ for Eva. I took his pacifier away last week and it was horrible… but he was over it within two days.” She took another brave sip before stirring the ice around in the glass. “Eva is dancing. Violet got her involved with ballet, and when she’s not listening to music or dancing, she’s doing so
mething artistic. She loves Kindergarten.”
“Violet is dancing again?”
She kept her eyes down. “She was. Before she moved to the ocean. She was an assistant teacher for the ballet school Eva was going to. She talked about finishing her degree and opening her own dance school.”
I thought of her in my arms as she danced with me, and my chest burned. Stop thinking about her. “And you’re finishing school?”
“Of course I am. Online. West arranged for them to let me take classes from home. I only have to go to New Jersey for a few exams, but it’s fine.”
“And Mathison?”
She stiffened, rolling the glass between her hands. “We didn’t press charges. West speaks to him regularly. He really has good intentions… and he understands this life now, and how you won’t hurt us.”
The fact that our world would burn if Eva died here- the other half of the prophecy- I’d shared with West only. I wonder if he told her.
I sat back as the bartender placed the spring rolls in front of us. He leaned on the counter toward Roam. “You’re a guest here, aren’t you? I saw you earlier?”
And… there was the blush. I slapped my right hand over her left, pulling it up and into his face. Her wedding ring filled his line of vision. “Fuck off,” I growled.
She wrenched her hand away from mine, and the bartender held his palms up, flat in the air. “Okay, okay. Just being friendly.”
“Logan,” Roam scowled in my direction. “What is wrong with you?”
“Eat.” I pointed at the spring rolls, and she frowned.
“Violet told me what happened. At the lake, before West and I got there. You didn’t hurt her, and you were just caught… in the moment, and-…,”
“When West killed you in 1977, you had thirty-five years to forgive him. Not to mention a whole new life. I killed Violet in that basement, and I almost killed her by the lake. You can make excuses for me, or find reason, or pretend everything’s okay, but I can’t.”
She stared at me with wide, sad eyes. “You still have nightmares?”
“I am a killer, Roam.”
She jumped as her phone began ringing in her pocket, and reached for it. “It’s West. Finally, reception.” She answered his call. “Hey. I’m fine. Yes, I found him. We’re sitting at a restaurant talking. No,” she lowered her voice, and I turned away. “I’m really fine. Okay. Love you, too.”
“I can’t believe he let you come here alone.”
“He didn’t.” She tucked the phone back into her pocket. “I told you, I left.”
Irritated with West for no reason, I made a conscious decision to be an utter asshole. “West isn’t doing it for you anymore?”
Her jade eyes darkened, condemning me for my words. “West is the only one who will ever ‘do it for me.’ So, screw you, Rush. Obviously, I’m wasting my time.” She dug into her purse before slapping money on the countertop. “You’ll never know how much you’ve thrown your life away. I pity you.”
I counted to ten before downing the rest of my beer and going after her. She stood alone in the elevator, and I smacked the closing doors, joining her before she could protest. I locked her against the wall of the elevator with my arms, glaring down at her.
“I don’t want your goddamn pity. You have ruined my life. You could have just stayed with me. You could have loved me like you love him.”
“You broke up with me. Before you went to Afghanistan! You had a second chance, and you chose to leave me-…,”
“You’d scream and cry every time I tried to make love to you! I didn’t know what to fucking do with that,” I gripped her chin, holding her face steady.
“How about be patient with me?” She slapped my hand away.
“I tried patience. I tried patience for two years! I never pushed you.”
“Maybe you… should have,” she let tears slip down her cheeks, her voice barely a whisper.
Her words- and alcohol- fueled my crazed, fevered reaction. I shoved my fingers into her hair and pulled, tipping her face before devouring her mouth with mine.
She tasted like innocence, like the past, and like peach schnapps and vodka.
And when she reared back and punched me in the mouth, all I could taste was blood.
“I hate you for that,” she half-cried, half-growled, following her blow with an open-handed slap. I caught her wrist before she could deliver a third, pulling her through the opening doors. She jerked out of my grasp, fumbling with the card key in her other hand. “Get away from me. You’re not coming in here.”
“Oh, I’m coming in.”
“You’re right, Logan, okay? I don’t know you anymore. Maybe you are a terrible person. Maybe you can’t be saved. Just go back to your tortured life and I’ll go back to my family and you-…,”
I shoved inside the moment the lock turned from red to green, pushing her forward and slamming the heavy door behind me.
Rubbing my already-healing jaw, I stared at her. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
“Your mouth tastes like crap, by the way,” she gave me an exaggerated glare, marching to the sink and unwrapping the plastic from a hotel glass.
“I shouldn’t have done that. Just like you shouldn’t have come here.”
She slammed the glass to the countertop, turning toward me.
“Don’t you love her anymore?”
“Of course I fucking love her!” I sank to the bed, shoving my hands into my too-long mop of wave-curls. “I love her with everything that I am. I just… don’t… deserve her, Roam.”
She waited.
Finally, she took a tentative step toward me.
After too much silence, I lifted my face. She stared down at me and then, so carefully, slid her fingers through my hair, covering my hands.
“You think you deserve me. Because… we’re both… ruined.”
I lifted my eyes to her as she stood before me, finally realizing.
Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “Because we’re both killers.”
I was locked in her haunted eyes, finally nodding once.
She knelt to the carpet, her hands sliding down over my face. “I love you so much, Logan, I do, and you have to believe me when I say this. You are heroic, and noble, and brave… and so worthy of love. You have sacrificed yourself, again and again, not to try to save your own soul… but to take care of the ones you love. To take care of me… and to protect my baby,” she bowed her head, pressing her forehead to my knee.
“Roam…,” I slid my hands around her shoulders, gathering her into my arms. I took comfort in her, in the one girl that I hated that I loved… as much as I did.
“You are just so… good. Why can’t you see you… how I see you?”
I held her until she was sleeping, until I was sleeping, until we were both dreaming about nothing and everything in an insignificant reality of time.
When I woke up next to her, I stared at the thin stream of sunlight brightening her sooty lashes, relaxing in a peace that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
The stillness ended with a sudden, gut-wrenching realization.
I miss my wife with all of my heart.
“Take me home,” she murmured, yawning and sighing.
I cringed. “Brush your teeth.”
She squinted and laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “I still have to pick up one more doll for Eva at Toys R Us. It’s Christmas Eve. We have to go. Please take me home.”
I knew she could get home on her own. I knew she was capable of deciphering ancient prophecies, enduring heartbreak and torture, and destroying anyone who threatened her child.
And I knew she was my best friend in the whole world.
Reaching for her, I threaded my fingers through hers.
“Okay, Cam. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Violet
“There’s my favorite flower!”
Mrs. Ambly always greeted me at the door of the flower shop as though she was wa
tching out the window for my car to pull into the parking lot.
“Good morning,” I accepted her gentle hug, reaching to take the shears out of her hands. “Are we getting busy?”
“Christmas Eve, dolly. Everyone needs poinsettias.”
I smiled, nodding. “Well, then, good thing we’re open today.”
“You feel well? Sleep soundly? Hear from your Logan?”
I narrowed my eyes, looking down at my ballet flats. The nights were the hardest. I slept on my phone just waiting for his call. The exhausted mornings at Gardenia, the florist that I worked for in Emerald Isle, were torturous. My boss, an eccentric older woman whose husband had served in World War II, sympathized and fussed over me like I was a child, believing the story I told her about Logan still being overseas. At first I was uncomfortable, but eventually I grew to appreciate her distracting dialogue.
“I’ll never forget the day Harry came home- for good. We broke that bed.”
“Mrs. Ambly,” I had protested with laughter, arranging the daisies evenly before me.
“I was pregnant for almost nineteen years.” Her eyes misted over, and she winked, nodding toward the cash register. “Eight children. And of all four of my daughters, you’re my favorite, Violet Rose.”
I leaned into her first hug that day, thankful to have found her.
“No, I haven’t heard from him yet. But I’m sure he’s just fine.”
She gave me a reprimanding glance, shuffling back to the counter. “Not as though you’re waiting on letters to arrive in the mail, dolly. Almost 2016. He should be talking to you on the computer at least.” I nodded, pulling my arms out of my light coat and tucking my purse under the counter. She tsked with her tongue, reaching for my waist. “Any names yet?”
I spread my open palms over my stomach, pulling at my tank top and shirt in a futile attempt to cover all of my skin. “Not yet.”
“Harry had me name all of our children. It didn’t matter- I usually yelled all of their names before finally landing on the right one.” She chuckled, shuffling to a poinsettia arrangement. “More heartburn?”
I shook my head, reaching for a strip of green velvet.
When I realized that I was pregnant in September, I finally stopped crying.
Rush (Roam Series, Book Four) Page 19