Retreat To Me (The Retreat Series Book 1)

by Christina Benjamin

  “No!” That’s all Cassidy needed. She’d surely get kicked out and Helen would probably lose her job. “It seems there’s been some kind of mix up. When Gene canceled, I was given a reservation,” she lied. “But, since it seems neither of us are supposed to be here, I can agree to share the house if you can.”

  He grinned. “Perfect! Thank you, Cassidy. You won’t regret it.”

  She shook her head, already full of regret.

  Thomas grinned. “If you need anything at all you just let me know.”

  “I won’t,” she muttered turning on her heels.

  Chapter 6

  Thomas

  Thomas caught Cassidy as she wobbled, turning too quickly on her injured leg.

  “Whoa there,” his hands circled her slender waist steadying her. Her thin frame froze against his touch, stiffening with fright. What the hell had this woman been through to make her so distrustful? When Thomas was sure she wouldn’t collapse he let her go. “How’s the leg?”

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  “Can I take a look?”

  She shrugged. “If you must.”

  Thomas gestured to his piano bench.

  Cassidy hobbled over and sat down. “You know, I found myself stripped to my underwear when I awoke this morning.”

  Thomas’s ears burned red as the memory of Cassidy’s heavenly body flashed through his mind again. It had kept him awake most of the night, being he’d never seen a woman so naked, or so perfect. Not in real life anyway. “Your clothes were soaking wet. I had to get you dried off or risk you catching your death.”

  “My dress?”

  “It’s hanging in the bathroom.”

  She seemed to relax. It must have special meaning. Why else would she be wearing a flimsy blue sundress in the dead of winter?

  Cassidy lowered herself stiffly onto the bench, grimacing the whole way.

  “I think there’s aspirin in the first aid box if you’d like some.”

  She shrugged again. Stubborn woman. Thomas didn’t know why, but he found the quality endearing on her. Perhaps it was because she reminded him a bit of his mother’s fondness for hummingbirds—absurdly fragile creatures, but with egos that defied gravity.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said fighting a grin.

  Thomas paced down the hall to the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit. He dug around until his fingers wrapped around the tin of aspirin. Thomas frowned, remembering the power the small white pills once held over him. He had begged for more pain meds after his accident. They’d become a crutch and then a mask. He hadn’t been strong and stubborn like Cassidy. Thomas had wanted to dull everything—his injuries, his mind, his heart. Sometimes he wondered if he’d done too good a job of healing—putting the pain far behind him, locked up tight so it couldn’t hurt him anymore. The only relief he found was through his music. It had become a safe place to release his pain. It was a much healthier habit than the pills at least.

  Thomas opened the tin and poured the pills into his palm, counting them before returning them to the box. He barely knew Cassidy, but he found he wanted to protect her, especially from the addictive effects of the painkillers. She seemed to have a penchant for trouble and he made a conscious decision to look out for her while they shared this house. Even if that meant protecting her from herself.

  He returned to his room with the first aid kit and crouched in front of Cassidy, gently balancing her leg on his knee before peeling back her bandages. Dried blood crusted the gauze but the tape still held the wound together. He switched out the gauze and rewrapped it, feeling Cassidy’s eyes on him the entire time.

  “Did you learn how to change bandages in the war?” she asked quietly.

  “No. I didn’t serve,” he replied holding up his scarred hands in front of his face as an explanation.

  “What happened?”

  “Automobile accident.” He sighed. “That’s why I know how unforgiving glass can be to flesh.” Thomas braced himself for the pity that always followed this conversation, but when he looked at Cassidy he saw none in her gaze. Only steel blue eyes, holding back a storm.

  “Will I scar?”

  “I did the best I could, but without stitches . . . Yes, I think it’ll still leave a scar.”

  She was silent.

  Regret filled Thomas. He should have taken her to a doctor. “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she added softly. “We all have scars of some sort.”

  Thomas looked up. His eyes met hers. They were deep blue—so dark they looked black. There was so much sadness in them. And he found himself wondering what caused it. “I could take you to a doctor if—”

  “There’s no need,” she interrupted swiping the tin of aspirin from the box. Cassidy stormed from the room, leaving Thomas kneeling on the floor feeling more lost and alone than he’d allowed himself to be in years.

  This woman was getting under his skin . . . and that terrified him.

  At a loss, Thomas turned his focus back to the piano and pounded out his frustrations.

  Chapter 7

  Cassidy

  Back in the attic, Cassidy collapsed onto her bed. The steep flights of stairs had her leg screaming. She swallowed two aspirin, washing them down with the gin she grabbed from her stash in the kitchen. She didn’t even bother pouring it into a glass. All that would do was make her keep track of how many she had.

  But she knew this was dangerous. This was when she lost track all together, seeking comfort that would never come, even when she stared into the emptiness of another bottle.

  She lay back on the bed, her head pounding. The sound of piano music floated up to her room, filling her bones with an aching sadness that threatened to break her apart. She took two more aspirin and slipped under the covers, letting the tears come, praying for the darkness to swallow her whole.

  Cassidy awoke with a start. The room glowed blue with predawn light. She sat up, her entire body screaming. She felt like hell. So much for the painkillers. She was still wearing the large plaid robe. Thomas’s, no doubt. It was horribly ugly. She sniffed it. It smelled like him—like lemons. She thumbed through her suitcase and found a sweater and a heavy wool skirt. She held them up but then dropped them back into the suitcase. She couldn’t be bothered to make an effort.

  What did she care what she looked like? She didn’t have anyone to impress. She wasn’t going to dress up for Thomas. Besides, he’d already gotten an eyeful of her. And Cassidy knew that look he’d given her yesterday. He thought she was beautiful. The way his face warmed and he couldn’t look her in the eye for too long. It happened all her life. Men looking at her as a beautiful doll they could possess. Everyone saw her like that—even the people who weren’t supposed to. Ever since she’d grown breasts and been declared a woman, Cassidy had felt the power she had over men, but also the vulnerability it created. She was never looked to for her ideas, or valued for her thoughts. No, she was just a pretty face. A trophy to be coveted. That’s how she’d been with everyone until she met Jacob.

  But Jacob was gone, taking with him her hopes and dreams. And any chance of ever being appreciated for her mind or opinions again. Finding him had been a miracle. And in Cassidy’s experience, one miracle was more than most ever got in a lifetime. She wasn’t foolish enough to hope for two.

  She slipped into fresh under garments and a comfortable nightgown. Then because she hoped it would show Thomas she was in charge, she wrapped herself back in his hideous robe. She’d already let herself become too comfortable with him. She couldn’t afford a distraction right now. She needed to establish firm control before he got any ideas. Cassidy tightened the belt on the dreadful robe and sighed at her reflection. At least it was warm.

  Cassidy padded down to the empty kitchen. Everything was dark. Thomas must still be asleep. Good. She looked at the grandfather clock—6 am. She quietly rummaged around hoping not to wake him as she sliced a thick piece of stale bread from the loaf she’d brought to the house.
She loaded it with an obscene amount of butter to mask its taste while she waited for her coffee to brew.

  She gathered her meager breakfast and sat at the kitchen table near the large picture window where enough light filtered in to see well. She paused for a moment to admire the breathtaking view. Thick clouds dipped below the trees to drink from the nearly frozen lake. The whiteness of the clouds blended with the famous fog of the Smoky Mountains, giving the impression that the sky had sunk to the earth. Cassidy wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed today. She warmed her fingers around her coffee mug as she began to read through what she’d written so far.

  - He touched my soul with his first breath -

  He walked into my life and everything stopped. Or so I thought. But little did I know I was not yet alive. I had never taken a breath, never truly laughed, never experienced love . . . until him. And now I never will again.

  I can still feel his words, his true nature wrapped in sweet poetry. Never have words sliced, caressed or spoken deeper. It was as if he etched each letter to my very bones.

  My dearest,

  Some moments are worth writing about.

  Ours will be.

  Some times only the paper will listen.

  But I know your heart hears me.

  The most terrifying moment was when I saw you,

  And then imagined having to live my life without you.

  Our eyes met for the briefest of time,

  But I saw my whole life in that instant.

  I could get lost in your eyes, your deep blue sea.

  I fear I have already started swimming.

  And for your love I will swim forever.

  The scariest moment is now,

  Right before we start.

  But I promise you it will be worth it.

  Our love will be worth it.

  We will be more than what they said we could be.

  I know this because already I care for you more than myself.

  I know this because being without you is not an option.

  Give your fear up to the darkness between the stars.

  Come find me, my love.

  For I give you my heart.

  There will be no love deeper than ours.

  Jacob

  Cassidy ran her ink-stained fingers over the words she’d typed onto the page. She’d retyped Jacob’s poems perfectly dozens of times, but still always managed to find some imperfection, some excuse to start over. She knew deep down it was because she loved the act of retracing his words with her hands. There was something about typing them with her own fingers that made them feel more real, like she was connected to him. Each time she read his words it tore open another part of her heart. But she needed to feel it, craved to continue feeling that pain. Because it was all she had left. It was the only thing that told her their love had been real—more than just words and memories.

  Closing her eyes, Cassidy let her memories wash over her. In moments like this, when her pain was so close to the surface, she could almost feel him—Jacob. Her Jacob. His bright brown eyes. His strong hands that caressed her with a gentleness she couldn’t fathom. His love had wrecked her. But had also awoken her soul. She wouldn’t trade the pain away, because that would mean giving up the love and joy with it. Cassidy sighed, letting her hand rub her neck in the same caressing way that Jacob used to touch her. But her hands weren’t the same. They weren’t warm and strong. They didn’t make her insides coil and melt. Her fingers felt like frigid spiders sliding around her throat, caressing in a sinister way, as if begging her to just give up and end her sad existence now.

  She shivered the thoughts away, trying desperately to cling to her memories of Jacob. When warmth engulfed her shoulder, Cassidy murmured, running her fingers up to meet the ghost of his. But when her hand connected with flesh and bone she cried out, jumping to her feet.

  Chapter 8

  Thomas

  “What the hell are you doing?” Cassidy hissed.

  “I’m sorry! I thought you were . . .”

  “What? Waiting for you to assault me?”

  “No! I was talking to you but you didn’t respond. I thought you must be asleep or maybe ill.”

  “Well I’m not,” she spat collecting her things from the table in a rush.

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave on my account. Would you like to have some breakfast? I was going to make bacon and eggs. There’s plenty for the both of us.”

  “I already ate,” she muttered dumping the crumbs from her plate into the trash.

  Thomas glanced around the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. No pleasant aroma of a hearty meal. What could she possibly have cooked? All he detected was breadcrumbs and the smell of burnt coffee. He noticed a stack of paper on the table. But before he could do more than glance at the typing, Cassidy swiped it away.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Garbage,” she snarled jamming it into the trash as she stomped from the kitchen.

  Again Thomas found himself stunned. What was it with this woman? She was impossible. It seemed no matter what he did she was bound to detest him. He was trying his best to be kind and respectful. He never had trouble with people not liking him. Even with his face half covered in scars, he was charming and his outgoing personality won him friends easily. But apparently Cassidy wasn’t impressed. She was like a wild bird caged in this house with him and it seemed nothing could win her trust. Although, she oddly wore his robe. The statement bewildered him. Why accept his clothes but object his food and kindness? He couldn’t pinpoint the strange line of what was tolerable to Cassidy.

  Thomas’s stomach growled and he put Cassidy out of his head, turning on the lights and starting his breakfast. When he’d finished his robust meal, he quickly cleaned the kitchen, erasing all traces he’d been there if only to appease Cassidy. She looked like she barely ate as it was. He didn’t want to be an excuse for her to miss any more meals. Thomas paused about to scrape his plate into the trash. Crumpled atop the rubbish were Cassidy’s papers. The words jumped off the page at him, branding him with their haunting beauty. He couldn’t stop himself. His hands reached for them of their own accord, craving more of the beautiful words.

  They were love letters. Poems that spoke of an all-consuming passion the likes of which Thomas had never been fortunate enough to experience. An ache trembled in his heart from the cage he’d locked his feelings in. Were these Cassidy’s words? Could someone so angry and distrustful really feel like this? Thomas had never been in love, but he knew it made people do strange and foolish things. Gene came to mind. He’d run away with a woman he’d known for less than a week! Come to think of it, Gene and love were to blame for Thomas’s current predicament.

  Thomas found himself muttering distasteful things. He was trapped in a house with a bitter woman who wrote words more beautifully than he’d ever dreamed of. They seemed to flow from her like water, while he struggled to clumsily string together songs that sounded forced and juvenile. But these . . . Cassidy’s words were raw and true—like glimpsing into the secret part of a lover’s soul. Thomas envied her talent. And he resented her arrogance for throwing her words away as if they were nothing. As if her capability were so deep she could cast aside these pages as rubbish, sure she possessed the talent to weave far greater words.

  Thomas looked at the rumpled pages. There were sixteen of them. Sixteen perfect admissions of love. He found himself unable to part with them. If she didn’t want them then why shouldn’t he have them? Perhaps they would give him the inspiration he needed to write that one song that would make him a name. He wouldn’t steal her words. He had no ambition to sing. He only wanted the emotion Cassidy’s words evoked. They made him feel hopeful—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Worse! Stealing her emotions is worse, his conscience chided.

  But Thomas ignored his guilt. Integrity be damned. This was why he came here, wasn’t it? To work on his career. To finally make something of himself. To make his mother pr
oud and achieve her dream—write music for the world to hear. He hadn’t been able to write anything with true feeling since the accident—since he lost his parents, his worth. He hadn’t even been able to serve his country in the war. Instead he watched as his friends left and so few of them returned. If he didn’t do this, he might as well have died in that automobile crash too, because he’d done nothing notable since.

  Yes, he would do it. For his mother’s honor he would take Cassidy’s discarded words. Cassidy probably wouldn’t even care. She’d thrown them away. Besides, how would she know?

  Thomas went back to his room, still reading the words Cassidy had branded to paper. He let them flood in, caressing his heart, tapping on the feelings he kept caged. He closed the door, sat in front of his piano and began reading them aloud so they might sink into his soul.

  - To Come Alive -

  I still remember everything about the day I met him, Jacob Parker. The way he’d stopped walking and stared. He stared as if he could see my soul. As if he knew we were each other’s half. A matching set. If only I knew. If only I didn’t waste so much time. I could have had more time with him. More time to feel alive.

  He wrote me a letter every day. One letter each day, for six weeks. That’s how long it took me to work up the courage to believe his words. To believe that he meant them and that he truly saw me. Not just as a pretty face, but as something more. It took me six weeks to agree to go on a date with him. And in six more I fell inexplicably in love.

  It was right here, at this lake that he asked me to marry him. It was here that we made love. It was here that we were supposed to return together. Being with him was the only time in my existence that I felt alive. So I’ve returned here. I’ve kept my promise to come back. Even though every shadow of this place fills me with melancholy memories. But the pain they bring reminds me that it was real. That we were real.