“Good,” she replied, tossing the towel onto the counter. “Now Everly sent me in here for cake. Point me in the direction of the chocolate.”
I grinned, loving her ability to change directions with little to no fuss, and pointed her toward the massive refrigerator. Opening the refrigerator, she gasped. This was followed by a slew of expletives from the ballerina’s mouth.
“I think my understudy may be paying her to destroy me,” she nearly cried as she pulled out a massive chocolate cake, nearly the size of Texas.
“No, she just loves you,” I chuckled, eyeballing my portion as she set it down on the counter. It was probably the size of the entire gulf coast side of Texas.
I wasn’t a ballerina.
“And I love her. More than you could ever imagine. Never forget that.”
“I won’t,” I vowed, looking at her with a steady gaze. “And Sarah, thank you for loving her when I couldn’t.”
She didn’t say a word, but simply nodded.
It wasn’t a slam-dunk but over the course of the evening, Sarah and I managed to see eye to eye and I realized we were both batting for the same team. Team Everly.
And that was all that mattered to me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Everly
The crashing waves had once brought a kind of solace to me. The soothing, never ending back and forth cascade of sound was a sure thing—a solid dependable vibrato that lulled me to sleep when I couldn’t, eased my distress and cured my anxiety.
But now, it just reminded me of where I was.
As each wave crested, hitting the cliffs below, I was gently reminded of the house that had become my prison.
He’d left me here again.
Doing so had become so regular I didn’t even bother asking where he was going.
As our eyes met seconds before he pulled the door shut, I swear I saw an ounce of remorse somewhere in those steely irises of his. But then he pulled back into the darkness and I was left alone.
With no one but myself to blame.
I’d once been a strong woman—someone worth loving. But now, I was nothing but a lifeless shell.
The waves continued to crash outside, making the room feel as small as a sardine can. I wiped a trickle of sweat off my brow as I paced back and forth, trying to wish away the hours until he returned.
Twenty-two.
Number twenty-two. That was how many times he’d locked me in here.
At first, I’d cried and screamed for him as he walked away, begging him to reconsider. What had I done? Why was he doing this?
Now, I just let him go in silence. Nothing would change his mind. After twenty-two imprisonments, I’d learned my place.
I still didn’t know why. I just didn’t care anymore.
Looking around the room, I fiddled with the necklace that rested on my collarbone and studied the pictures on the walls, absently wondering if he even noticed them anymore.
Did he remember when he’d proudly hung each black and white photo around the room? I’d been highly embarrassed to see myself everywhere, but he’d just held me from behind, his hands moving up my body as he studied each of his masterpieces.
“I wanted my queen to be well represented,” he’d whispered.
Did he remember how much he’d once loved me?
“Rise and shine!” An annoying voice rang out through the foggy haze of sleep.
“No,” I whined, shaking the tormented dream from my memory. August was no longer a ghost of my past. He was here. And he was mine.
“It’s not morning,” I mumbled.
“Oh, but it is,” August chuckled—a dark mischievous chuckle that made me want to punch him.
Hard.
“It is not. Mornings involve sunshine and bird calls—coffee and happiness.” Lifting my head half an inch off the pillow, I peeked out the corner of my eye, seeing nothing but blackness. “And none of those things are occurring right now. So, there will be no rising…and definitely no shining. Go away.”
My head fell back onto the squishy pillow in victory.
“You should know, early riser, as well as I do, that mornings do in fact frequently happen in the dark.”
“But those are work mornings.” The more I spoke, the higher my voice got. Its current pitch was somewhere between that annoying girlfriend Chandler had dated on Friends and Miss Piggy. “Work mornings don’t count.”
“Will this conversation be any shorter if I mention I have coffee?”
“No you don’t,” I said, my voice growing grumpier by the second.
“How would you know that?”
“Because Einstein—I would smell it. I work in a coffee house and—Is that coffee?” I asked as the vibrant aroma of coffee beans filled the air. My eyes flew open to find a metal travel mug held out in front of me.