Broken & Torn (Emerald Falls #1)

15. 15

15

PARKER

I pick up Lyla the following morning and we drive out to the trailhead. Once we arrive, I take out the backpack filled with the essentials, as well as our picnic. I strap my camera bag across my body as Lyla clips on her fanny pack. I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs as I see the fluorescent pink color.

“What’s so funny, old man?”

“Did you need a time machine to fetch that? It looks straight out of the eighties.”

She lets out a hearty laugh and responds, “No, asshole. I read that neon colors are good for hiking because hunters can spot you easier. It’s for safety!”

“Lyla, nobody can hunt within the National Park.”

Her look of shock quickly morphs into a grimace.

“So you’re telling me I could have picked the black and white polka dot one I wanted? Dammit!”

I chuckle, “Come on, let’s get going.”

We make our way over the bridge and into the brush. A sense of calm washes over me immediately and I let out a contented sigh. Lyla follows beside me and I hear her produce a similar sound. She tips her face up towards the sun, which only came out about an hour ago but is quickly creating an unseasonably hot day. As she basks in the glow, I pull out my camera and aim it at her profile.

She hears the click of the shutter and turns her attention to me.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking your picture. Sorry, I don’t have to. The lighting is perfect, though.”

She gives me a timid smile and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair is pulled into a bun today, but she has a few strays hanging around her face. I want to reach out and run a silky strand between my fingers, but refrain from doing so.

Since the night of the party, I haven’t stopped obsessing over the woman before me. Something changed that night. I’ve always found Lyla beautiful, but I never genuinely considered making a move before then. Seeing Josh panting all over her, learning more about her past, running my fingers over her porcelain skin under the moonlight. It had done something to me, as if my brain chemistry altered after that moment. I never knew that I could be so entranced by someone, but Lyla was proving that I could truly be lost in her, forgetting about the world around me. This seriously complicated things because I know that she needs a friend. She craves stability and someone to rely on, and attempting to turn it into more might be too much for her.

I look at her out of my periphery and watch in earnest as she surveys the land around her. The way she views the world truly fascinates me. It’s as if she believes the beauty of this place can fix anything. She has a zest for life I’ve never seen in someone before. It’s as if she’s trying to imprint every moment into her memory; every vibrant color, every symphony the birds create, every trickle of the river running parallel to the trail. She’s constantly bewitched by this town and its people, which fills me with so much joy. She deserves to feel this pure and uninhibited happiness, and seeing her soaking this up is a gift.

We make our way up through the mountain and take the time to enjoy nature. We walk in a comfortable silence, only breaking it up with comments about wildlife or how picturesque this hike is. I take pictures when the lighting is right and when something captures my attention. Most of the pictures are of my gorgeous companion. Something about the way her skin is glowing and the way the light is hitting her eyes is creating some of my best work. A shot of her smelling wildflowers. A shot of her from behind, hands above her head as she stretches and inhales the scents surrounding us. And some shots of her turning to face me with the most dazzling smile I’d ever laid eyes on.

The way the sun ignites the emerald and gold flecks in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees, and I seriously question how I’ll keep things platonic between the two of us.

Because I am, without a doubt, falling for Lyla.

Two hours later, we arrive at the falls.

Lyla comes out through the brush behind me, having let me take the lead. Seeing the look on her face as she sees Emerald Falls for the first time is something I consciously commit to memory. It nearly makes my heart stop, and I know I will never see anything as beautiful again in my entire life.

The look of wonder that passes across her features lasts a few moments before a smile overtakes her face. It’s a look of pure and immense glee and I don’t miss the moisture lining her eyes. She takes a few cautious steps forward before beelining for the waterfall. She skids to a spot at the edge and a childish giggle erupts from her. She climbs on top of the large rocks lining the area and continues to laugh. I watch in awe as she sits on a boulder and bends down to run her fingers through the water. She looks around in admiration and I notice she keeps inhaling, as if she can’t get enough of the crisp autumn air. I decide to take a few more shots of her, feeling completely inspired by this moment.

After a while, my stomach growls, and I decide it’s time to set up the picnic. I brought a blanket for us to sit on, as well as some sandwiches and fresh cut fruits and veggies. Lastly, I pull out two craft beers that Cassie told me are Lyla’s favorite. I whistle to grab her attention and she quickly jumps down from the rock and meanders over to me.

“Wow, Parker, this is amazing. Thank you for bringing me here, and for this amazing spread! Oh my gosh, those are my favorite New England IPA’s!”

She plops down on the blanket and tears into her sandwich like a ravenous animal. We eat in silence, enjoying the sounds surrounding us and I continually see Lyla look around, smiling.

“You look so free. Like nothing can touch you here.” I say out of nowhere.

Green eyes meet mine and I see a sadness creep in.

“I’ve felt weighed down my entire life. Everything felt heavy when I was growing up, and it’s followed me into adulthood,” she sighs. “Out here, I feel lighter, safer. More peaceful.”

I nod because I understand exactly what she’s saying. That’s the thing about mental health and trauma—no matter what you struggle with, there’s an understanding of the heaviness of that weight. Even when you can’t relate to the same experiences, you can relate to the feeling of carrying it with you. My anxiety has always felt like a burden that I bear and it’s a constant reminder that my brain is wired differently. I know that Lyla’s trauma is similar in that she has carried it with her every day. We haven’t spoken about her dad since the night I saw the scars and I know that’s intentional. It makes her uncomfortable to give that man space in her life after everything he’s done to her.

I evaluate the beautiful woman sitting beside me and wonder what else she’s keeping close to her chest. I know that I’m receiving half truths and little pieces of information that she trusts me with, but not the whole story. Luckily, I’m a patient man. I will wait to earn her trust and show her that I’m someone she can talk to. She’s already opened up to me more than anyone else in this town, and perhaps anyone else in her life. She radiates strength and I get the sense that she has carried this burden entirely on her own for a long time.

Well, not for much longer. Because Lyla isn’t alone anymore. She has me.

“Tell me more about your mom,” she says suddenly.

“What do you want to know?”

“What was it like growing up with her as a mom? She sounds amazing and I want to know more about her.”

I think of what to say, what moments to choose. There were too many to count and I realize just how lucky I am. A smile overtakes my face as I think of a certain memory.

“She always threw my sister and I the most incredible birthday parties. She would spend months planning them, making sure everything was perfect for us. I remember for my thirteenth birthday, I desperately wanted to go to Hawaii, but we didn’t have enough money. So my mom planned a luau themed birthday party instead. Grass skirts, leis, coconut cups, the whole nine yards. She set up a big blow up pool for us to run around in. She even hired a fire dancer from the city to come to our backyard and put on a performance.

“It was one of the best birthdays I ever had. She always showed her love for us through planning them, or cooking for us, or reading to us before bed…” I trail off as the flood of emotions sweep through my body. I clear my throat before continuing.

“She always wanted us to know how adored we were. There wasn’t a single moment growing up that I felt unloved, and I’m thankful for that.”

Tears well in Lyla’s eyes as she says, “I wish I could have met her.”

“Me too. She would have loved you. ”

She looks down at her hands and wrings them together. It’s one of her habits when she’s deep in thought.

“Tell me a good memory from your childhood.” I whisper.

Her eyes flick to mine before returning to her hands. She stays silent for a moment before finally breaking the tension.

“My mom took me to buy art supplies for the first time when I was nine. I was having ‘behavioral issues’ the therapist said.” She scoffs at the memory. “They wanted me to channel my energy into art. She argued with my dad about it for weeks before finally taking me. I walked into the store and went to the art supplies and picked up my first pencils and sketchbook. I remember it was a brown, leather bound book with ties on the side. I was so excited to bring it home with me and fill it with drawings. It was the first time I felt passionate about something, and the first time I felt like I was doing something for me.”

“That sounds like a good day.”

“Well, most of it was, yes.”

I hesitate before asking, “What do you mean?”

“My dad found my supplies later that night. Apparently my mom had taken me without his consent.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “He threw my supplies, including that beautiful sketchbook, straight into our fire pit.”

I inhale sharply and clench my fists. What kind of man treats a child, his child, that way?

“I’m sorry, Lyla. I can’t imagine how it felt growing up with that monster.”

She gives me a sad smile and says, “I haven’t told many people about that day. How he raged as he tossed the items into the fire. How he slapped my mom and told her to stop being so soft on me.” She takes a deep breath. “How he gave me a black eye for screaming at him to leave her alone.”

I shake my head and run my hands through my hair. I could bury that fucker for what he put her through.

“I’ve never had a birthday party,” she blurts .

My head shoots up and my eyes widen. “What? Really?”

She shakes her head. “I was too scared to bring my friends to my house or have them around my parents. Plus, we could never afford it. We were always having our utilities shut off or skipping groceries for the week. So, no, I’ve never had a birthday party.”

“What about after he left?”

“My mom was a shell of a human. She still is. I never wanted to ask her to plan one. My friends back home don’t even know when my birthday is, since I never celebrated.” She shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

I can’t even begin to comprehend everything this woman has lived through. She’s one of the best people I know, and I don’t understand how people can’t see her value. She confided in me last week that her friends hadn’t called her since she moved here. That bothered me, and now finding out they never even asked when her birthday was? Anger lashes through me and I have to take deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

“You’re worthy of so much more, Lyla.” I lock eyes with her. “You deserve more.”

I see her throat work as she swallows and whispers, “Thank you.”