Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
SIERRA
The tenderness of our night of lovemaking lingers in my body. It’s as sweet as the scent of maple syrup from our breakfast.
I’m smiling entirely too much as I walk to the coffeepot and pour another cup of Cole’s delicious coffee before I head to the shower.
I have a date with a bottle of conditioner and a comb.
It’s time to do some serious de-tangling after last night.
Mid-stride, I stop and turn back. “Cole…”
He glances up from his laptop.
“You never told me about my parents. We got into another discussion on the way back here yesterday.”
His emotions shutter. A look takes over that I’m now beginning to recognize. Cole’s making a decision behind closed doors, and I’m not invited to the meeting.
My skin pricks with frustration. “You can’t just say you’re going to tell me, then not.”
He nods at the chair in front of him. His tone is serious. “Sit down.”
I’m stuck for a second. My feet won’t work. It’s the look on his face. Grim.
The tone he used ramps up the quiver of worry coursing through my chest.
No more smiles here. That last sip of coffee now feels like ice in my throat. The extra caffeine feels like an overdose of speed.
I shiver.
When Cole’s eyes shift again, they’re not remote anymore, they’re determined, but not a good determined. The kind of look when someone’s about to do something they abhor.
With careful precision, he closes the laptop and slides it aside.
My throat dries.
It’s just me and him, face to face. Nothing to buffer what he’s about to say.
Dread is expanding in my belly, second by second. If he doesn’t hurry, I might be engulfed by the blackness of it. “Just do it. Tell me. Get on with it.”
The two words he says next drive into my heart like a spear thrown at close range.
“Murder-suicide.”
Oh god.
Two words that no one ever wants to hear.
A strange sound in my ear registers first.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
It’s my teeth clacking together. I clench them to make them stop.
The next sound is the clock ticking on the wall. Louder than ever before.
“Go on.” My vocal cords somehow manage to grind out my own two words before I lock my teeth together again.
Cole’s dark eyes still hold mine. “You sure?”
No. Yes.
Nervously, I nod. “It’s time.”
He spreads both his large hands flat on the table. “You came from a home filled with domestic violence. Drugs. Alcoholism. Your father murdered your mother and killed himself.”
My teeth aren’t clenched anymore. They’re chattering. Fast. Like jackhammers.
“How old… How old was I?”
The violent look on Cole’s face says he’d like to kill someone himself. And all bets are on my father. “Twelve.”
Suddenly, my lungs feel clogged. I lean over and gasp for breath.
No. Twelve. How horrible.
When his chair crashes backward onto the floor, I hold up a hand. “No! Just let me breathe. I need to just be with this.”
As I huddle over my own knees, the sound of Cole’s boots pacing the kitchen gives me something to anchor myself to.
But the number twelve is all I can think about.
My heart aches for the twelve-year-old girl inside of me.
But I’m equally shattered that I don’t remember them. At all. The hollow feeling inside of me threatens to take over.
Maybe I should be happy that I don’t remember. But it feels wrong. Even if it was only sadness. Or rage. It’s all gone.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Cole says with a voice full of self-loathing. “I definitely shouldn’t have told you the way I did. That was heartless of me.”
“No. You did the right thing.”
My legs tremble as I push up off of the chair. “I need space. Time to accept that I’m truly alone in the world. A girl with no roots. Space to accept that I don’t even feel grief for the people who created me.”
He moves toward me. His eyes are shining. “You’re not alone, Sierra.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “You can’t know what this is like. You’re never going to be alone.”
“Sierra—”
His fist clenches at his sides, he swallows hard. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Stop, Cole. You can’t protect me.”
Stepping back, his gaze turns as stormy as hurricane skies. “Alright. I—I’m sorry. If you need to talk. I’m here.”
I take a stumbling step toward the kitchen door. But I don’t walk out of the room. Instead, I turn back to find him watching me.
“Am I an only child?”
His throat tenses again as he swallows roughly. The shutters drop hard and fast.
Anger flares hot in my veins. I hate this, dammit. I hate not knowing and him knowing everything. My voice comes out as a shout. “Tell me!”
His jaw hardens. His exhale fills the silent room. “No.”
“No, I’m not an only child or no, you’re not telling me?”
“I’m not talking about this right now.”
Fury tears through me. “You have no right to keep this from me.”
Ramming a hand into his hair, he studies me. “It’s a can of fucking worms.”
“Dammit, Cole! You have no right—”
Déjà vu hits me.
My insides start to shake like there’s an earthquake. We’ve fought like this before. I feel it in my marrow. And the rage is still burning inside of me from something in the past.
Something so hot flashes through me that I lose all control. I lash out at the first thing I see. The stainless trash can.
My bare foot slams into the thing, sending it across the floor in a horrendous crash.
Cole’s on me the next instant, grabbing my wrist and backing me into the corner with his gigantic body.
I’m soon blocked in, trapped by that gigantic brick wall of muscle. “Slow down there, Stinger. Get that red-headed temper under control. I know you’re upset, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I try to wiggle free. “Go screw yourself, Cole. Let me go.”
“No. We’re going to talk about this like adults.”
I turn my face away from his. Fury boils in my veins.
The child in me wants to pummel him with my fists. Which I know is stupid and irrational. The adult in me wants to get in his truck and leave.
Energy crackles between us. Deadly as lightning. I can’t take it anymore. I snap. He’s close, but I still shout at him. “Tell me!”
His chest heaves against me. Those deadly eyes of his narrow on me. Through gritted teeth, he says, “Hate me if you want. You’re not winning this argument, Sierra. You’re not ready to know.”
He suddenly steps back. But the electricity between us still crackles around my skin. I don’t turn to watch him leave, but I know he’s going out when I hear the keys jangle as he picks them off the hall table.
The mudroom door opens and closes as my heart pounds a war march in my ears.
* * *
If he won’t tell me, I’m going to find out. Flipping open Cole’s laptop, I take matters into my own hands. I’m getting my life back on track. No matter how bad the history behind me is.
The steady chop of an axe on wood tells me what he’s doing to relieve his anger. Chopping firewood out back.
Which is good. It gives me time to get online. Fortunately, Cole told me his password earlier so I could do some online shopping. But the only thing I want now is information.
The laptop hums as I hurry to type words in the Google search bar. “Murder-suicide, Sierra Lynn Owens.”
Nothing.
I try some other combinations.
A handful of results come up, a mishmash of unrelated names included. None of them are old enough to be the right story. None of them involve parents who left behind orphaned children.
I jam my hand into my hair. Frustration makes my neck ache.
The whap of axe against wood outside the window continues. Hard. Fast. Angry.
Finally, I give up on the murder-suicide and turn to the obvious searches. Sierra Owens, pilot, Air Force.
Ninety-one results appear.
Clicking on the first link brings up a profile on the Air Force website.
My breath stills. A chill hits my skin.
The first listing is a highlight about women pilots. Hair tucked neatly in a bun, I’m wearing a flight suit. I press play on a video link in the story.
“I’m Lieutenant Sierra Owens, Call sign Stinger. I’m an Air Force fighter pilot. I have the best job in the world because I love the thrill of flying and love knowing I’m helping to keep people safe around the world.”
Tears rise to my eyes as I watch the video again.
Wow. That’s me.
My voice sounds so foreign to my own ears. The void in my memory feels extra big after listening to myself.
After the stunned feeling wears off, I dig in a little deeper and search the words Sierra Owens, accident. No results.
Sierra Owens, missing. No results.
Hm. Maybe they didn’t release my name.
I key in: woman found, boating accident, Virginia, November.
Four news stories appear. Two of them are brief news clips from television.
A serious-looking woman on the screen says, “A female Air Force officer was found unconscious in the bay today after a boating accident. Initially, she was admitted to a local hospital as a Jane Doe, and later identified by her commanders as a missing person when she didn’t report for duty.
Additional information will be shared as investigators uncover the details. And now, for the weather.”
The chill on my skin seeps into the pit of my stomach. My body sways. The memory of salt-water in my mouth makes me queasy.
Clicking on the second story, I get only one additional detail. “A witness reported seeing a similar boat with two passengers earlier that day. However, the thirty-four-year-old woman was the only one found at the accident scene. Authorities are searching for additional information.”
My head swims as I search in my mind for something, anything, at all that might be a clue.
Come on. Remember something.
Why was I boating?
In the winter, no less.
I’m staring blankly at the screen when I realize the chopping has stopped. The mudroom door opens.
Quickly, I close the browser window and the screen of the laptop. When I stand up from the table, Cole’s watching me, thunderclouds surround him.