by Karen Kincy
I dry my cheeks on my sleeve, though there’s no one here to see my humiliation.
Later, I wake on the carpet. My muscles jolt with alarm. I suck in a breath and pray I didn’t have another fit. A knock bangs on my door. How long have they been knocking? I scramble upright and yank open the door.
Mam stands with her knuckles ready to knock again. “There you are.”
“I was sleeping.”
She brushes past me and perches on my couch, her purse clutched in her lap. “Sit.”
I sprawl in the armchair. “Why have you come here?”
“What happened at Wolfenwold Hall?” She speaks with deadly calm, and it’s worse than shouting. “What do you know?”
My hands curl into fists. “The firefighters think it must have been an electrical failure.”
“Will you conduct a proper investigation?” She says it like I couldn’t possibly be trusted. “Or will that be another disaster?”
“You think this was my fault?”
“This was your responsibility.”
“I know.”
There’s no use meeting her eyes. She has the same look she always does. Anger. Shame. The weight of failure bends my shoulders, though there’s nothing left to lose. This emptiness feels light, almost like freedom.
Mam crosses and uncrosses her ankles. “After Oxford, I hoped you—”
“Don’t.” I stare her down. “I know what you think of me already.”
“Then why didn’t you try harder?”
A moment of silence. “I love you, but you’re wrong. I don’t have to prove myself to you.”
She takes this in stride, as if she expected me to argue. As if I’m a disobedient child. “Is that all you have to say?”
“No.” I rise to my full height. “I quit.”
46
Cassia
I don’t cry in the airport, on the flight home, or during the shuttle ride to my apartment. The Los Angeles sun bakes the pavement and shimmers in my eyes. My feet remember the streets. I drag my suitcase along the cracked sidewalk. My apartment waits beyond a faded door. Stale air breezes out to meet me.
I stand in the doorway, my back to the sun. This is home. Three more months. That’s how long I have left on my lease. And after that—I don’t know. Spencer and I didn’t have plans beyond studying abroad in Oxford.
I swallow hard and shut the door behind me.
In a daze, I walk to the shower and peel off my clothes. Pipes rattle when I turn on the water and I flinch at the noise. This place is shit. Bram would laugh if he saw it. No, I’m sure he would think of a polite description.
Bram.
In the shower, I close my eyes, but I can’t hold back the tears. When water hits my hair, it frees the scent of smoke. He’s gone. He’s gone and it’s all my fault. I couldn’t fight the fear and the guilt before they ate me alive.
Big, ugly sobs twist my body. Why did I do this to him? To myself?
I cry until the water runs cold, towel myself dry, and crawl into bed. My damp hair straggles over my pillow. I wish he were here with me. I wish it so hard my heart aches. But I know I can’t be with him. He’ll find another girl, a good girl, and he’ll love her and live with her and learn to forget he ever met me.
I wish I knew how to forget him.
***
The heat of Los Angeles feels normal in a few days, like the cool countryside of England was a story I read a long time ago.
Spencer never did like the rain in Oxford.
I wander the eternally green lawn of the cemetery, looking for his name carved into stone. A bouquet of white tulips wilts in my clenched hand. In the Victorian language of flowers, white tulips symbolize forgiveness.
When I find him, I have to remind myself to breathe.
Spencer Knox
I kneel by his gravestone, the polished granite smooth under my fingertips, until the heat of the sun scorches the top of my head. My eyes swimming with tears, I place the tulips by his name. A knot inside my chest loosens.
“I loved you,” I whisper.
But I have a future without him. Standing, I walk away from Spencer.
I’m alone.
I’m free.
Griffith Park isn’t far from the cemetery. I park beneath a eucalyptus tree, its bark peeling onto the dry dirt, and peer at its silvery leaves. Eucalyptus globulus, the Tasmanian blue gum. Maybe I should go to Tasmania. With my luck, I’ll probably fall in love with an Australian guy and break his heart in the Outback.
My laugh almost sounds real.
I wander deeper into Griffith Park. Trails wander between yuccas and dusty boulders. Kids laugh and shriek on a nearby playground. I inhale the heat and close my eyes for a moment. I’m not all right, but I’m getting there.
A bark echoes off the rocks.
I open my eyes right as a black-and-white collie bounds toward me. “Sherlock?”
He licks my hand and wiggles his butt with a goofy dog grin on his face. But that’s absolutely insane, it can’t be—
“Cassia.”
When I turn around, I’m shaking.
Bram strides down the trail, his aviators reflecting the sky. “I found you.” His smile almost stops my heart.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
47
Bram
My mouth dry, I swallow hard. “Your work visa application had your address.”
Cassia stares at me, her hair tumbling past her shoulders, her lips parted in disbelief. “I don’t live in Griffith Park.”
“Thank the luck of the Irish. Sherlock discovered you, like any good detective.”
“Did you fly here?”
“Yes, with pixie dust.” I shove my aviators over my head, the sunlight dazzling.
“Why?”
“I shouldn’t have let you leave.”
“You couldn’t have kept me.” She lowers her gaze. “I had to go.”
“I had to follow you.” When I step closer, we’re a breath away from kissing. “Cassia, I can’t stop dreaming about you.”
Her laugh sounds choked. “Dirty dreams, I hope?”
I grin. “Very.”
“You know I’m still terrified of being in love with you?”
“I know.” I kiss her, quickly, before the glimmering in her eyes spills over. “So am I.”
“Bram...”
“I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you.”
“Which is why you jumped into the river to rescue my phone?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “Like a right fool.”
With a shuddering sigh, she rests her face against my chest. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Neither do I. We can both be too good for each other together.”
She looks up at me, smiling through her tears. “But you aren’t staying, are you?”
“I quit my job.”
“Bram!”
Sherlock woofs as if he agrees. I pat the dog’s head. “I’m looking for another one.”
“Where?”
“Here.” I touch my fingertips to her cheek. “With you.”
“Are you sure?” She glances into my eyes. “You know I’m on shaky ground. A real relationship will be hard for me.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
“Point taken.” Her mouth twists in a wry smile.
“Will you stay with me?”
She kisses me with such conviction, it’s all the answer I needed.
More by Karen Kincy
Dieselpunk romance
Shadows of Asphodel
Storms of Lazarus
~
Young adult paranormal
Other
Bloodborn
Foxfire
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Acknowledgements
Thanks so much to my beta readers! You make my books awesome. In alphabetical order:
Alisa Gus
Asa Hurst
Chelsea Campbell
Jennifer Coulter
Jaime Ford
Regina Barber DeGraaff
Sarah Elmer
Talya Garman
Author Bio
Karen Kincy (Duvall, Washington) can be found lurking in her writing cave, though sunshine will lure her outside. When not writing, she stays busy gardening, tinkering with aquariums, or running just one more mile. Karen has a BA in Linguistics and Literature from The Evergreen State College.
Find Karen online at:
www.karenkincy.com
www.facebook.com/KarenKincyAuthor
www.twitter.com/karenkincy
