We didn’t speak. He seemed content with that. Then again, we’d done plenty of speaking the first time we’d met.
I stared out the window and thought about nothing but the rumble of the engine and how pretty the town looked at night. I was thinking about how clean his car was. How much I enjoyed the ride. The comfortable silence between us. It was like I was insulated from all responsibility. All of my pain.
This was a magical car. It stole away everything I’d been feeling and replaced it with... nothing.
But the problem was, Kace was driving me home from a bar that was ten minutes away at most. There was no traffic and Kace liked to speed. So we were in my driveway in five.
Everything in my body tightened with the proximity to my home, my empty home. Not counting the torturous memories lurking there.
I was bracing for impact.
And right now, I was far too scared to do something insane like go inside my house.
So after he parked in my driveway, I stayed where I was. Seatbelt on and all.
Kace kept the car idling, not commenting on the fact that I hadn’t spoken or made a move to leave the car.
“Do you believe in moving on?” I asked him, staring at the porch light I’d left on. Ranger would do that on the rare nights I was out and he wasn’t on the list for picking me up.
More often than not, he’d be waiting up with whisky and a book, and he’d hear the car, at the door waiting for me before I even made it to the porch.
He’d never wait for me again.
I’d never meet him at the door again.
“Moving on from what exactly?” Kace replied. “Because moving on from a cheating girlfriend? For fucking sure. From a terrible past? Also for sure. From some really bad bleached tips in high school? Definitely. But I figure you’re not talking about any of those things.”
I bit my lip. “No, I’m talking about from death. Do you think there is such a thing as moving on after your whole life was ripped apart? Do you think there’s a chance of... something else?”
Kace didn’t answer me straight away. Didn’t automatically try to reassure me with false placations like ‘time can heal everything’. Kace was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. Despite barely knowing him, I knew that.
“I definitely think there is a possibility for something else,” he answered finally. “Maybe not what you would expect. Definitely not what you have ever had before. Because you’re a different person now, right?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He was looking at my porch light in a way that told me he wasn’t really seeing it.
“Yeah, I’m a different person,” I agreed.
We didn’t say anything else. Not for almost ten minutes. We just sat, looking at that porch light. Then I got out of the car. Without a goodbye. Without an acknowledgement of what the fuck this was. Because doing that would be far too terrifying.
Even more terrifying than walking into that empty house.
Which I did.What did you buy a girl who had everything?
Isabella was Gwen’s first girl and first child. Gwen was a self-confessed shopping addict; she’d even opened a store here in Amber which did amazing considering how often she bought her own products. Her closet was the size of a small apartment, the contents of it likely costing the same as a car or the deposit on a home. She came from money, had a lot of it, dressed like it, but never acted like it. She was not the type of person to look down her nose at anyone. She was kind, generous and loved giving people gifts.
I’d even taken to slipping money into the cash register at the store when she wasn’t looking because of the discounts she gave me on some of the pricier items.
So it stood to reason that Isabella wanted for nothing. She had a bedroom to die for, nicer clothes than me. All the best toys. Despite this, she was not a spoiled child. Not bratty or whiny.
She was quiet. Kind. More like her father than her mother. Her large, gray eyes watched everything intently, with a concentration that a child shouldn’t have.
Of course, her brother, Kingston was a hellion—though such a word lost its meaning once Mia and Bull’s sons were born—to balance it all out. I was sure Kingston could’ve been a nightmare for a young girl without patience or empathy. But Isabella adored her younger brother, ignoring him when he tried to get a rise out of her.
I’d settled on a beautiful, illustrated version of The Secret Garden, one of my favorite books, one already sitting on Lily’s bookshelf. One of many.
It was somewhat of a tradition for me to get books as gifts for all of my friend’s children. Of course, I usually included some cheap plastic toy to appease them since most kids weren’t that excited about a book when they were young. Isabella, on the other hand, was quite like my Lily. Intense. Soulful. So she always loved the books I gave her.