The television had survived her fury, being situated in the far-left corner of the entrance. The love seat papasan facing it had been knifed to death. The stuffing had been a bitch to clean up, and pieces of it had floated around for days, not that she had cared at the time.
An island separated the living area from the kitchen, its appliances stainless steel and the counter tops were dark gray granite. There were no windows along the backside of the house, but there was no need in the open-design concept. The delicate gray, black, and white tiling with occasional pops of red tile was all that was required; the two walls of glass provided plenty of light in the space.
The lake view was uninhabited. The only obstructions were the pillars spaced around the porch for the roof and the cushioned wicker furniture on the patio—two oversized chairs, a small table between them. Elijah had ordered a little chair to join the duo, but Cassidy had shoved it in the guest room and left it there. She hadn’t yet ventured out to those chairs to sit in them since.
Since.
Every part of her life was marked bybeforeandsince. She wondered if she would ever get back to simply living; a pang of guilt followed her thought.
But one day… one day, she wanted to be able to do more than stare at her bed once darkness fell. She wanted to be able to crawl beneath the covers and find peace there again instead of heartache and the overwhelming sense of loneliness and loss. She wanted to be able to close her eyes and drift off to restful sleep.
The last time she’d tried, a week ago, she’d experienced a panic, strangling her in the darkness. She’d startled Fred in her frantic haste to leave the bed, the room, the emotions she didn’t want to fight her way through.
The disquiet had stayed with her as she’d tossed and turned on the sofa. Eventually, she got up and walked down to the dock. The lake had been shrouded in an unusual fog that night, the misty clouds floating over the water. She and Fred had stood there, looking out at nothing. She’d experienced a disconnect, being unsettled, her mind and heart in turmoil, a fire raging through them.
Taking a deep breath, she did what she’d done on a dozen nights in the past twenty months and stepped out over the dock. She had slipped beneath the water, the silent, frigid darkness easing her heart and mind. She’d fought to stay underwater as long as she could before she came up and gasped for air. And then she went under again.
If anything told her living was what she wanted to do, it was this exercise alone.
She always came back up for air.
After her initial dunks, she pushed away from the dock and turned onto her back, floating beneath the layer of misty fog. It had been otherworldly. Calming. Like she was the only one in existence, and it had been… easy.
When she’d dragged herself back to the house to shower, she’d been numb from the freezing water. And it had felt amazing.
She hadn’t tried to sleep in her bed afterward. It would be a long time before she attempted again.
The nursery: Blake’s room. Well, she had no reason to go in there at all.
Cassidy walked across the wooden floors to the kitchen island and set the dog treats down, giving Fred a disappointed look. His expression was one of disinterest. “How is it you’re not hungry? You’re always hungry.”
He smiled and wagged his tail again.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. Great. Now she’d somehow broken her dog.
Chapter four
Mac
BEAUTY COMES IN ALL FORMS
Macwelcomedhisbuddieswith a grin when they rolled up in a rented Jeep Wrangler.
“You’re a dumb motherfucker!” Jason called out from the vehicle’s passenger side, long hair waving in the wind like a modern-day Fabio, knee outside the car, a hand braced up on the roll bar, striking a pose.
Jason, a blond-haired, blue-eyed romance-novel-cover-beefcake, was a well-known Casanova—a nickname he earned while in the service. Women’s panties dropped at the sight of him. They fell to their knees when he turned on the charm, eager to worship his baby-maker. He was magical with them; knew how to… What was the word?Woo. Mac suspected it was because it was genuine. When Jason talked to a woman, he was, for that moment, invested.
Mac laughed. “Hertz know you dismantled their vehicle?” They’d removed the doors and top.
“Bought the extra insurance,” came the retort from the far side of the vehicle. Grady—his best friend before, during, and after their service—and also Puerto Rican. Well, Mac’s mother was Puerto Rican. Women fell for Grady’s eyes and kind heart. He also had a wicked unique talent: whittling. Wood became fucking spectacular Grady’s hands.
Grady was also the most genuine of the three of them and the one person no one could hide from. He’d been their human lie detector in the military; his intuition was off the charts.
“Don’t change the subject,” Jason said, leaping from the vehicle, his cool blue eyes sweeping over the heap behind Mac. “Dude.”
“Everyone needs a place to call home, right?”
“I’ve seen better under bridges,” Grady added from the other side of the Jeep, looking at the place distrustfully. “I mean, congrats and all that, but fuck me.”