Chapter Fifty-two
“C ome on, Sav,” Willow says gently at the door, “Just let me in so we can talk.”
It’s been two days since Bast demanded I come stay here and I’ve barely left the room. I am exhausted, especially after I was woken up at three this morning from a dream that wasn’t a dream at all.
It was a memory, of Killian and me shopping for my house, of him showing me his little book of sketches, dozens and dozens of them after I’d told him I didn’t believe he knew what he was talking about when it came to art.
‘Proof enough, Tiny Dancer?’ He’d whispered, his fingers lightly tracing my ribcage , ‘Or would you like to feed me more so I can immortalize us forever? ’
I shiver as the sound of his voice echoes through my head.
‘You are art. A masterpiece I will never tire of creating.’
Fresh hot tears track down my cheeks. I am so sick of crying but with each new memory I regain, the more it hurts and the more they come. It’s like my own story is unfolding inside my brain, a book being written and I know the pain is only going to get worse. I haven’t spoken to him since I left to come here a couple days ago though he’s tried. I’ve since switched my cell off.
“Savannah,” Willow sighs, “Please.”
Swatting at the tears on my cheeks, I uncurl my legs from beneath me and stretch as I stand, body stiff from lack of exercise before I cross to the door and flick the lock, opening it to find her and my niece on the other side. Hope is a sleeping bundle in her arms, a flash of red hair to match her mother’s poking out the top of swaddled blankets.
“Here,” She gently but surely, shoves my baby niece into my arms, forcing me to take her.
“What are you doing?” I whisper hiss, fumbling to get my arms around the baby without waking her.
“If you’re holding her, you’re less likely to storm off,” She smiles at me triumphantly, “Or lock me out.”
“That’s cheating,” I grumble, gently rocking the baby even though she’s still sound asleep, “I can’t believe you’d use your daughter like that.”
Willow scoffs “I’ll use whatever means necessary to get you to talk to me, Savannah, plus babies make everything better, don’t you feel better already?”
I narrow my eyes, “No.”
“Liar.”
With a flick of her red hair, Willow lets herself in and crosses to the bed where she climbs on top of the mattress and folds her legs under herself, “Now we have a lot to talk about, don’t you think?”
“Have you seen him?” I ask quietly as I make my way to her, gently getting onto the bed before I rest my back on the headboard and get comfortable with Hope in my arms.
“Earlier,” She cocks her head, “Bast wouldn’t let him in.”
I nod, “How was he?”
“Why don’t you call him?”
I shake my head, “I don’t think I can talk to him yet.”
“Do you remember anything?” She asks.
“Some things, there’s still bits I’m missing but little pieces are coming back to me.”
“I can’t even imagine…” She lets out a long breath, “You must be so confused.”
“You have no idea,” I huff a humorless laugh, “ Thing is, I know I love him even if I don’t remember it, and everything is so twisted up, I feel heavy. And I’m so fucking sad, Willow.”
She reaches forward and touches my knee, urging me to continue.
“I’m sad for me, but I’m sad for him. I can’t even hate him for lying to me, even if I don’t understand why. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“You and Killian have always had something ; it may not have been obvious to everyone, but we saw it. He watches you, searches for you every time he walks into a room even when he knows you’re not there.”
“He created the art in my studio,” I look down at the sleeping baby, hoping it will help with the burn in my eyes.
“You remember that?”
“No,” A soft smile touches my lips, “I know it though. He promised me he’d create me anything I wanted.”
“I never pegged Kill to be an artist,” Willow laughs.
“No, me either,” I agree, “But he’s good, I’ve seen them.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“Have you ever felt tied to someone? Like it makes no sense, there’s no reason for it but no matter how hard you push back, it doesn’t go away?”
“Yes,” She whispers, “It’s how I feel with your brother.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I start to hand Hope back to her mother, “But I know I need time, I need my memories, and I need to figure out if whatever we had is strong enough for me to forgive him for lying.”