Lorna was wrong. I wasn’t a victim; I am a survivor.
forty-four
Rory
Hefindsme,butI’m not really surprised, deep down I always knew he would.
Cole’s footsteps as silent as a church. Quiet and solemn.
He hasn’t moved from his spot at the top of the stairs since he’d arrived, but I felt the weight of his eyes on my back, studying me. I would be a fool to think he hadn’t noticed the small, caked splatters of mud around my ankles and the hidden blisters on my heels.
I let him take his fill. Knowing somehow that’s what he’d needed. To see that I was in one piece even if he knew I wasn’t whole inside. A beautiful disaster of chaos is what I was.
After everything, I needed to clear my head. Going for a run and somehow ending up here.
“This is my first time back since the fire,” I said, staring out the oversized windows.
This barn, the beginning to my end.
Once housing a living space coated in wooden beams and furniture. Now only a few scattered cardboard boxes sitting in the corner.
They must have rebuilt it, although I would never understand why. That day in Abram’s office when he’d told me I’d be sent home was the first and last time I’d seen the extent of the damage.
The entire second story destroyed. Nothing left of the sad excuse of a barn except some blistering wood and a frame.
The smell inside as the flames climbed around me like a shield, something I would never forget. The wood hisses now even in my memories.
“Who is A.C.?” Cole asks, coming up beside me. Wordlessly setting something in my hand.
My eyes widen in surprise.My book.The item was one of the two things I was certain to make sure I’d packed with me before I came back here.
How had I gone so long without noticing it was missing?
“You left it in my car on accident.” He explains further, “The night I found you on the side of the road.”
A soft smile coats my lips when I open the red leathered book turning to the first page. Running my fingers along the initials in fondness. Alma Campbell.
“Is that person important to you?” He swallows, almost like he was hesitant. Catching my thawed expression.
I look up. His eyes boring into mine. A hint of something showing in his. Envy maybe?
I deflate on a hushed breath. How do I tell him about the one person who gave me a chance? Giving me a place to sleep that was dry and warm until I saved up enough to have a place of my own. Provided me with opportunity. Letting me wash dishes in the back until I was old enough to serve people out front. Showed me genuine kindness.
How could I summarize everything she’d done for me? It was almost easier to list off what shehadn’t done. Which is give up on me when everyone else had.
“A.C. is someone who’s never let me down.” Is all I decide to say. I’m not sure why but something tugs at me telling me to keep Alma’s name to myself.
The corners of his mouth crease after a while. Almost like he was trying to stifle a laugh. His humor halfhearted.
“What’s so funny?”
“I read it,” he concedes. “And I know why you like it so much.”
“It’s my favorite.”
“You’re like the girl in the story, you know,” he says, shooting me a glance, but it’s playful, before his expression sobers.
A nervous chuckle rolls off my lips as a swirl of emotions crosses his eyes.