She wandered in to the bathroom and took in her reflection. Oh, man. Disaster.
She met her own blue eyes in the mirror. “Did you shower today?” she asked the woman with all her blonde hair standing up on end. She thought about it. “You didn’t, did you?”
Annabeth shook her head at herself and started the shower. She climbed in and closed her eyes as the water pummeled and massaged her tight upper body. She reflected that there had been a time in her life when she had been sure that a hot shower was the cure to most anything that had ailed her.
Except when a police officer comes and tells you your husband is dead. Not even a hot shower can lift your spirits much then.
“Stop it,” she said aloud. “Just – stop it.”
She stuck her head under the shower spray, hoping that the noise would drown out the voices, that the gush of water would wash away the memories. And it worked. For a little while. It always only worked for a little while.
Thank God she was ending it all soon.
**
Eric Neilson stared out the window of his cabin. By sheer luck, he had ended up booking the one directly across from Annabeth Wheeler’s and he spent a great deal of his time standing and waiting for her to emerge. No sign of her yet, and he was starting to think she might not tear herself away from her laptop and set foot outside today. Sometimes, she holed up in there and didn’t come out for two or three days in a row. He supposed she was on a tight deadline from her agent and publisher, and reminded himself to be patient. He’d waited more than two years to do this, so what was a few days more?
He wandered away from the cabin window and sighed. He was getting hungry again. He looked in the fridge with a decided lack of interest: nothing in there except stuff to make sandwiches and he was about sick to death of sandwiches. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost lunchtime.
Maybe to the restaurant? Manny does make a mean salmon salad.
He heard a door shut and he bolted back to the window. Annabeth was just stepping off her front porch. He watched as she walked across the green, open clearing between their cabins and headed to the main building.
OK. So, let’s go to the restaurant for lunch.
Eric went in to his bright and cheerful bedroom to change his shirt. As always, he ran his finger down the length of his scar: it started just below his collarbone and went down the middle of his chest and was still a vivid purple. He knew many heart transplant patients had a tough time looking at their scars, but Eric didn’t. For him, it was the most beautiful, amazing thing he’d ever seen. It meant that his life had been saved; it also meant that someone else’s had ended. He got his life back because a stranger had lost theirs, and a part of him would never be OK with that.
He closed his eyes and laid his hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat under his fingers. It was still a miracle, this second chance that he had been given. He had to do the right thing with it.
He met his own black eyes in the mirror.
OK, today’s the day. Today, you talk to her. You did not come all this way to not talk to her. Right?
Today, he was finally going to meet Annabeth Wheeler. He owed her and her husband more than she would ever know. He owed them absolutely everything.
**
Annabeth sat in the restaurant, staring out the window. The Rocky Mountains were stunning, but her vacant blue eyes didn’t notice: she was thinking about the supply of sleeping pills she had been hoarding for almost a year. She’d been careful – very, very careful – not to arouse Dr. Gerard’s suspicions. She had never asked for a higher dose, never returned early for a refill. She had, in fact, done without on many, many nights and she had simply set that evening’s dosage aside and kept it. Just in case.
Annabeth wasn’t totally sure when she had given up. Maybe it was when the second-year anniversary of Cam’s death loomed and she realized that she didn’t feel any better, despite the therapy and anti-depressants and unending and loving support from friends and family. Maybe it was when what should have been their sixth anniversary rolled around and Cam wasn’t there. Maybe it was when she celebrated her thirty-second birthday and she realized that she would probably never have a child. She would certainly never have Cam’s child. His warm green eyes would never gaze up at her from a crib; she’d never run her fingers over a tiny head covered with his blond curls.
In her whole life, she had never done a single impulsive thing: Annabeth was all about planning and foresight and double-checking. So when she decided to end her life, she did so calmly, carefully, rationally. She made a list and she knew all the things she had to finish, every loose end that had to be tied up. For the past year, she had been methodically checking things off that list, and now she only had a few things left to do.
She looked up at the mountains, wondering if she was really going to go through with this. Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe she could hang on a bit longer, maybe things would get better.
Dear God. One thing. Just one thing to keep fighting for; one thing to live for. Please send me one thing.
“Hi.”
Startled, Annabeth looked up.
A man was standing there. Not a total stranger – she thought maybe he was renting the cabin across from hers. He had dark hair and dark eyes and looked fit and well-muscled.
“Hi,” she said.
“I was wondering if I could join you for lunch?”
“Umm. Really?”
“Yes.” He gestured around the restaurant. “We seem to be the only two people who are not in families.”
She looked around, actually seeing for the first time that other people were present – in her bleak state of mind, she had thought herself totally alone in the room. The tables were filled with parents and kids, chatting and talking and laughing. She felt a stab of pain at their joy.
“OK, sure.” She pulled herself together and smiled at the man. “Please.”
Eric sat down, his heart pounding hard.
She forced herself to be polite. “I’m Annabeth Wheeler.”
“Eric Neilson.” He shook her hand, saw that she still wore her wedding ring. “It’s so good to meet you.”
**
Dear Reader,
‘Open Heart’ (Open Skies #4) will be published on July 31st. If you want to know when it is available for purchase, please check on one of my social media platforms (Twitter, Facebook, and my blog). I will be announcing its release in all of these places, and posting some sneak peeks of the cover as well as some excerpts.
Thank you for reading!
Marysol
About the author
Marysol James is the author of the 'Open Skies' and upcoming ‘Fighting For Love’ series. She writes steamy, sexy, slinky romances which feature strong, complex women and equally fascinating men. Marysol is interested in producing well-written and passionate stories with characters who learn to let go of control and to trust – both in and out of the bedroom.
Her stories are very sensual (very!), and offer smart plots, a bit of humor, and lots of character development, so her books will appeal to readers who want emotional connection as well as sexuality.
When not writing, Marysol can be found swimming, doing yoga, listening to music and drinking coffee. To stay up-to-date with her, visit her blog at marysoljames.wordpress.com or follow her on Twitter (@marysoljames) or Facebook (marysol.james.romanceauthor).
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Open Skies (Open Skies #1)
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Open Eyes (Open Skies) Page 15
