Risking It All (23 page)

Her heart renewed its hammering, and her fingers trembled so much that it took her three tries to pull out the envelope and open the seal. Inside was a letter, written on a piece of notebook paper. Unfolding it, she instantly recognized Gran’s soft, flowing handwriting. Hurt squeezed at her chest. Gran had known she’d find this.

She swiped at her eyes and then forced herself to read the letter.

My sweet, sweet Ceci,

I’ve tried to write this letter a thousand times. I’ve wanted to say these words to you a thousand more. Over the years, fear has held my tongue. Now I’m an old lady, and I know I won’t live forever. This fumbling letter is my desperate attempt to unburden my heavy heart, my last act of contrition, but I know I’m taking the coward’s way out by writing it.

As you grew, I watched you struggle, watched the way the weight of not knowing your parents hung on your heart. Some part of you still remembers, even if you’re not aware of it, and I’m terrified the day will come when it will all come flooding back. And I won’t be there to help you through it. If that day ever arrives and I’m not there with you, I hope by some miracle of God this letter finds you. I’ve hidden it in a place I know you would one day discover.

I hope equally as much that that day never arrives. It’s a cruel fate you’ve been given, my dear, and a hard task God has set before me. Chances are, he’ll never find you. But he wasn’t supposed to find them, either. God forgive me for lying to the one I love the most, but I couldn’t take that chance. All that mattered was keeping you safe. I lost my only son to a cruel man, and by some miracle, God chose to spare you. I’m told the man who killed your parents sits in prison, but the thought of him finding you is more than this old heart could bear.

I realize none of this likely makes any sense to you. I’m sorry I kept this from you. I know you must be very angry with me. Just know this: I love you, my dear, and I hope someday you can forgive an old worrywart for being a little overprotective. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.

PS: If you’re reading this, then you’ve no doubt discovered the necklaces. The heart-shaped one was your mother’s. The one with stars was yours. She used to sing to you at night. Search your memories, Ceci. You remember the words. It was always your favorite.

All my love,

~Gran

Cecelia set the letter aside, her vision blurring. As she tried to make sense of the words, tears finally broke free, hot drops leaking down her cheeks. Hurt flooded through her. She wanted to be angry with Gran. She’d purposely kept important details from her. But how could she? Her grandmother had lost her only son and gave up her life to protect her only living relative. That had been Gran’s goal her whole life—to keep her safe. Under the same circumstances, she couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same thing.

But it didn’t change the end result. She still didn’t know who she was, and she was still alone.

She wrapped her arms around herself. What she wouldn’t give to have Kyle here with her, to have his strong arms around her. Maybe then she could stop shaking. Maybe then she could finally feel safe. He’d always made everything right again. But how could she get past the betrayal? Could she ever forgive him? Did she even want to? Her entire life, everyone she’d ever loved had lied to her. She was about to become a mother, yet she didn’t even know who she was. It was like someone had played God with her life, tipping her entire world on its end, and left her struggling to right herself again.

She didn’t know the answer to any of it. She only knew she missed him. Oh God, how she missed him. She didn’t know how much longer she could do this alone . . .

***

He’d come full circle.

Kyle stared at the empty left side of the bed, the sight taunting him. It was three in the morning, and he’d been laying in the darkness for more than an hour now. Work had been exhausting, but like every night, he couldn’t get his mind to shut off. He’d had little success in the sleep department lately. It was nearly impossible without Ceci’s warmth against his side.

Occasionally the wind whistled as it blew through the building’s eaves, and a car would go by, its lights fanning the ceiling. Otherwise, the night was quiet, too much so. The utter silence grated on his nerves. It was too much time to lie there and think.

A week and two days had passed since Ceci left his apartment. Other than dinner on Sunday, he hadn’t heard a word from her since. She wasn’t taking his calls. Still, he called her every day, left her dozens of messages, but so far, she hadn’t called him back. He couldn’t exactly blame her, so he forced himself to stay away, to give her time. He prayed that someday she’d forgive him, but storming her house and demanding they talk would only serve to push her further away.

Becca checked on her for him, though, so he knew she was okay, physically at least. Unfortunately, his sister also told him Ceci wouldn’t talk about anything outside of polite conversation. It killed him to think about what she was going through and that he couldn’t be there for her.

He rolled onto his back and flung his arm over his eyes. Watching her read the article had been the hardest moment of his life. Regret had twisted in his gut then and did so again now. It shouldn’t have come to that. His decision to keep the truth from her only succeeded in leaving her hurt and confused.

He’d screwed up, plain and simple. He’d once again let his emotions rule his head, something it seemed he had no control over when it came to her. He dragged his hands through his hair, the need firing through him, knotting every muscle. With a muttered curse, he gave in to the desire and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t care what time it was or if she might be sleeping. For nine days he’d given her space. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to see for himself that she was okay. She’d probably slam the door in his face, but at least he’d know.

His cell phone rang, the jingle jarring him from his reverie. Unable to stop his heart from pounding with hope, he snatched it off the nightstand before it could ring a second time. “Morgan.”

“I need you.”

Ceci’s voice drifted across the line small and meek and trembling. He froze, his senses on high alert. She didn’t call him in the middle of the night unless something was wrong, which sent his mind spinning in directions he didn’t want to think about.

“Are you okay?” He spoke with as much calmness as he could muster. Before he could draw his next breath, he moved around the end of the bed and strode toward the closet in search of pants.

“Just come over.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He hung up his phone and reached into his closet, pulling out the first thing his fingers found. Turned out to be a pair of old sweats. After pulling them on, he shoved his feet into his sneakers, managing to get himself out the door in under a minute. As he pulled into her driveway and around to the back of the house a few minutes later, he scanned the perimeter. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Save a single light shining on the second floor, her house was dark, like the rest of the houses in the area. The yard sat in shadow as well, quiet and serene. The extent of her fear most likely came from memories. At least she’d called. Even then, he couldn’t help but wonder. Considering how upset she’d been when she left his apartment, how bad off did she have to get before her resolve broke?

He exited his car and trotted up the back porch steps but didn’t get the chance to knock. He barely lifted his hand before the door flew open. Ceci stood within the darkness of the foyer, quiet and still. In black leggings and a long white T-shirt that glowed bright against the darkness, she fidgeted, as if she could barely stand still. She kept shifting from one foot to the other, one minute twisting her hands, the next clasping them tightly. She reminded him of a frightened rabbit who hadn’t yet decided to run from the danger.

A slew of overwhelming emotions filled his chest. Relief flooded him first. Physically, she looked okay. The need to hold her grabbed him next, along with a healthy dash of good old-fashioned joy at being able to stand in the same space with her. “Are you okay?”

Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, and she shook her head. “I feel like I’m coming out of my skin.”

“What can I do?”

That was all the invitation she needed apparently, for a breath later, she stepped across the threshold and threw her arms around his neck. Her body trembled against his, and she didn’t just embrace him. She clung to him.

The worry that had had him exceeding the speed limit to get there hit him full force, and his arms closed around her, tightening to hold her as close as possible. She buried her face in his neck, her slender body like a second skin. He waited, holding her, until her shaking began to subside; then he loosened his hold enough to sweep her into his arms and carried her inside. After kicking the door shut behind him, he headed down the hallway into the living room. He took a seat on the sofa, depositing her on his lap. She let go, but only long enough to wrap her arms around his waist; then she buried her face in his throat again.

“Ceci, you’re scaring me, honey.” He stroked her hair and caressed her back, attempting to soothe her. “You want to tell me what happened?”

She was silent for a moment before lifting her head. Their gazes met, and, for the first time in nine long days, that familiar connection pulsed between them. Not as strong as it had been two weeks ago, but still there. To see it in her eyes gave him hope.

“I’m sorry.” She gave a slow shake of her head, her gaze full of misery. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. Being with you makes me feel safe.”

“It’s okay. I’m here.” He cupped her cheek in his palm, a vain attempt to keep her focused on him and not the hurt screaming at him from the depths of her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

“I remember.” She released the words on a harsh whisper, a shudder sweeping through her. “I’ve been remembering all week.” She laid her head on his shoulder and reclaimed her hold on his waist. “Mostly little things.”

He didn’t need to ask what. Guilt seized his chest.

“God, I’m sorry.” He hugged her to him, squeezing tight for a moment. If it were possible to take someone else’s pain, he’d gladly take hers. That look on her face ripped his guts out. It shouldn’t be like that for her. “I never wanted to be the one to bring that back for you. Want to talk about it?”

Her warm breath blew softly against his neck every time she exhaled, providing a distracting but welcome sensation. He hadn’t been able to be there for her when she needed him most, and he hated himself for it.

“I found a key hidden in the jewelry box on Gran’s dresser. Turns out it went to this little cubbyhole in the attic. I’d seen it before. It looks like a kitchen cabinet, but she always kept it locked, and I’ve always been afraid to go up there. I wasn’t even sure what I’d find in there or that the key would even fit, but that drawer you keep your gun locked inside made me curious. Turned out, I was right. Inside was all this stuff, things I’d never seen before. Each one brought a different memory. There was a backpack with my name on it and a doll with big blue eyes, a jewelry box, and a letter from Gran. Turned out the backpack was full of schoolwork and a newspaper, from the day that article was printed.”

She pulled back, extracted a necklace from under the collar of her T-shirt, and held it out so he could see. Three silver stars hung on a simple gold chain. Beautiful in a simple sort of way, a lot like the woman who wore it.

“I found this inside Gran’s jewelry box.” Her eyes closed again, and she clutched the necklace in her fist, as if the memory played through her mind. “It makes me remember the sound of my mother’s voice. Soft and lilting. I didn’t remember at first, but after I found all the stuff, it began coming back, little by little. I remember the day my mother gave this to me. She told me I’d always have a piece of her with me, that all I had to do was look up at the stars and know she was there.”

When she opened her eyes, she stared almost through him, as if searching for something. A breath later, she averted her attention to the space between them, her fingers tracing one of the letters on the front of his T-shirt.

“She used to sing to me at night when she tucked me into bed. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’” The corners of her mouth twitched with the barest of smiles. “And we had a cat named Fluffy, a big, gray hairball. I even remember I liked to climb trees and she always used to tell me not to.”

The image formed in his mind, and he couldn’t stop the low laugh that escaped. “Doesn’t surprise me a bit. Half my memories are of you up in some tree.”

She lifted her head, a half smile easing across her mouth. “Like you weren’t up there with me. Climbing up in those high branches and scaring the life out of me.”

“If I remember correctly”—he playfully narrowed his eyes—“you were the one who dared me to do it.”

Her breathy laugh echoed through the quiet of the house but faded as quickly as it came. Her smile melted away. Confusion and a dash of pain flashed across the depths of her eyes. She sat staring at her lap for a moment before resting her head on his shoulder again. “It’s a bit fuzzy, though. I can’t really see anything so much as I know it’s there. I can feel it, like an instinct. Things kind of . . . pop out of nowhere.”

He made a sound of acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “According to the psychologist I spoke with, that’s normal. It’ll come back in bits and pieces. You may not recover all of it. Plus, you were pretty young. I don’t remember everything that happened when I was five or six.”

Her head rocked against his shoulder, but silence fell over her. The stiller and quieter she became, the more her body tensed. “I remembered everything about that night. Everything. I was in Gran’s room this morning, searching through the papers I found in the backpack, and it hit me, like a flood. I remember someone bursting into our house and men shouting. The fear in my mother’s voice when she dragged me out of bed and told me to go hide. She was shaking. The fear in her eyes makes my blood run cold. She was terrified, Kyle.”