12. Andie
Speaking the words out loud makes everything feel so real.
I’ve never told anyone about what happened that day I ran away to my gran’s house for the final time. I’ve never spoken the truth, and any time Gran tried to fish for more information, I shut it down. I don’t think she ever knew there was a man there to begin with.
So when Elijah slowly puts his phone down and fully faces me, I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen.
“What do you mean you killed him?”
“I got so tired of him scaring me that I did the same to him. Except, when I did it, he fell over and died. Right there on the floor of the trailer we were living in. I put on his stupid skull mask and hid around the corner, then jumped out at him right as he went to stumble toward the couch.”
“He died.”
“Yes. He had a heart attack. But no one ever found out it was me who gave it to him.” I stare down at my mug, wondering just how bad this makes me look in Elijah’s eyes.
“So you’ve been blaming yourself for killing this man all these years?”
I look up at him, completely surprised to see there is no judgment in his gaze. “If I hadn’t scared him, he might not have had a heart attack.”
“You don’t know that. What did your mother do?”
“I have no clue. When I realized what happened, I grabbed what little stuff I had and ran back to Gran’s house.”
“Did Edna ever ask? Did you tell her?”
“No. She asked why I left, but I told her that I just didn’t want to live there anymore. I’m sure she had her suspicions as to why, but I doubt her only granddaughter murdering a man was one of them.”
“You didn’t murder him.” Elijah pushes up from his chair and grips the railing. Jaw tight, he stares out over the ocean as a light breeze toys with the strands of his brown hair. I can sense the anger radiating off of him, but where every other man I’ve ever known would have likely laughed at me or been horrified by my bitter admission, Elijah is the picture of control.
“You were a child defending herself.”
“I killed a man and never reported it. I left him dead on the floor.”
“That doesn’t make it murder.”
I shake my head. This secret is a weight I’ve carried for far too long, and saying it out loud feels an awful lot like letting it go—even if I know I never will be able to fully release the guilt.
“I may not have used a weapon, Elijah, but I’m the reason he’s dead.”
“You’ve been shouldering the weight of this for a long time, Andie. Could you have called for help? Sure. But the bottom line is that you were a tormented child who was afraid. You can’t expect to react to certain situations as an adult would have.”
But even as he speaks words I know to be true, a thought creeps into my head that has haunted me. I’m the reason a man is dead. I killed him. That makes me a murderer, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the incident.
“You need to pray,” he tells me.
“Pray?” I nearly laugh. “That’s your answer to me telling you I killed someone?”
“You need to talk to God, Andie. He’s the only one who is going to be able to help you with what you’re battling.”
“I’ve managed to bury it this long.” The truth is I’m afraid. I do believe in God. I always have. Do I doubt my worth? Yes. Do I fight against the thoughts that I’m somehow a mistake? Absolutely. But neither of those even comes close to the guilt I carry from knowing I have sinned so vastly I could drown beneath the weight of it.
My throat constricts, and I try to stand. Elijah reaches out and gently grips my arm. I pause in place, breathing in the scent of the salty sea air wrapping around us like a blanket. The tension between us as we stand here, his hand on my arm, our gazes locked, is potent.
“You have to let go of the past, Andie. Otherwise, it’s going to drag you down. You don’t stand a chance at breaking through the storm if you have your past shackled around your ankles.”
When I don’t respond, he releases me. I slip back inside and head into the bathroom. As I stand there, hidden behind a closed door, a single tear slips down my cheek.
* * *
“Miss Montgomery,”Mia greets as she steps up to the porch.
“How was the trip?” Despite the seven-hour drive here from New York, she looks completely pressed. A dark sleek skirt outlines her hips, and a bright pink, long-sleeved shirt hugs her torso. The heels she wears are taller than anything I would even wear, and not a single strand of her dark hair is out of place.
“It was pleasant.” She offers me a binder. “Here are the letters you messaged me about.”
“How did you get these printed already?”
“Wi-Fi in the car,” she replies. “And I never go anywhere without a printer.”
“Efficient.”
“It makes no sense to be anything but,” she replies. As always, Mia is all business, but as she turns toward the ocean view from the front of the lighthouse, even she looks impressed.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Not a bad view,” she replies. “Where would you like to get started?”
“The sheriff is going to send a deputy with us over to my gran’s house.”
The door opens behind me.
“Change of plans, I’m going with you.” Michael bites into an apple and grins at the both of us. He’s handsome, ruggedly so, and beyond charming. But even as I can appreciate both of those facts about him, it’s the former Army Ranger currently sleeping upstairs who holds all my attention.
Even as I wish I could keep my thoughts off of him.
Especially after everything I told him last night. We haven’t spoken since, and the vulnerability I’m feeling is not sitting easy with me.
“Sheriff Vick said he was sending a deputy.”
“He did. But I called and said I’d go. Lance is monitoring the systems from his place while Elijah sleeps, so you’re getting me as your bodyguard.” He grins again, and I glance over at Mia, who actually looks flustered beneath the veteran’s charming smile.
“Bodyguard? You really think I need one?” But even as I say the words, I know it’s true. The stabbed image of me was a direct threat.
“It’s what I do,” he replies. “I’ll grab my jacket and drive you both over.”
“Did you bring anything but heels and business clothes?” I ask Mia. The thought of her walking through the destruction of Gran’s house in three-inch heels makes my feet hurt even though I’m wearing tennis shoes.
“I did. Slacks and flats.”
“Great. Then you should probably change. You’re going to make me hurt just watching you.”
She looks down at her outfit then back at me. “Okay. I can head back to the BB. You can send me your grandmother’s address, and I can meet you both there.”
“Sounds good. An hour?” Hopefully, that will buy me some time to go through another letter before we leave.
“That seems like an appropriate amount of time. I will see you both then.” She saunters down the path toward her car. I face Michael and offer him the binder.
“What are these?” He bites into the apple to hold it in his mouth as he opens the binder. Then he pulls the fruit away and chews the piece left in his mouth.
“Letters I’ve received over the years. Threats.”
“Great. Thanks.” He looks up as Mia backs her sedan out of the drive. “She’s all work, huh?”
“Always. It’s what makes her such a great assistant.”
“Hmm.” But he doesn’t say anything else, just turns and heads back into the lighthouse.
I follow then slip up the stairs. Elijah is asleep, but if I can get in and grab the box, I can slip back out without waking him. Just outside the door, I remove my shoes then slowly open the door.
He’s sleeping soundly on the bed, and I’m glad to see it since we argued over him trying to sleep on the floor. Slowly and soundlessly, I make my way over to the dresser and grab the box. But just as I’m reaching for it, Elijah lets out a distressed cry that tears the heart out of my chest.
I turn toward him, expecting him to be awake in whatever grief he’s suffering, but his eyes are closed. Sweat shimmers on his body in the dim light sneaking in from outside, and his expression is contorted in anguish.
Both hands fist in the covers, and he groans again.
He shoves the covers down from his chest, and I suck in a breath when I get an up close and personal look at the torn but healed flesh. Thick, gnarly scars climb up his side. Some are punctures; others look like tears. And the largest is a burn of some kind. What happened to him?
He cries out again, and I step forward.
“Elijah?” I reach out and gently touch his exposed shoulder.
His eyes fly open, but the look in them is one of fury. He throws himself up and slams me to the floor. My vision blurs as my head hits, and I scream.
“What are you doing here!” he bellows. There are no traces of the man I’ve come to know in the furious gaze staring down at me.
“Elijah!” Michael rushes in and grabs him around the waist. He yanks him back, and Elijah lands like a predator, bouncing back up. “You are at home,” he tells him as he keeps his distance, placing himself between me and Elijah. “Brother. You’re home,” he says again, maintaining his calm tone.
Elijah’s breath begins to wheeze, and he leans back against the wall, slumping down and drawing his knees up to his chest. He puts his head between his knees and breathes deeply. In and out. In and out.
“Come here,” Michael orders me.
I remain where I am.
“Andie. He’s fine now.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Elijah’s shoulders shudder, and Michael turns away from me to wrap both arms around his friend.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Your name,” Michael starts.
Elijah’s voice is shaky as he says, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
“Give us this day, our daily bread,” Michael continues.
“And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” I say, crossing over to Elijah’s side. I reach out and touch his arm, but he doesn’t look at me. Michael’s appreciative smile says it all though.
“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” Michael says.
“For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever,” I say.
“Amen,” we all say at the same time.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then Michael stands. “I’m going to get you some water.” He looks at me, so I nod, letting him know I’m okay.
As soon as he’s gone, I move around to kneel in front of Elijah. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
Elijah shakes his head.
“I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine.” He’s angry. Though I get the sense he’s not mad at me.
“It’s not. I should have left you alone so you could sleep.” Even though I’m still afraid to touch him, I reach up and run my hands down his muscled arms.
“I could have hurt you.”
“But you didn’t.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I can’t?—”
“Elijah, it’s fine.” My heart still pounds, but I wrap my arms around him anyway, pulling him in for a hug that feels just as foreign to me as I imagine it does to him. But within seconds, his arms come around me.
I sink into the embrace, enjoying these moments of quiet before he pulls away.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Fine.”
“You hit the ground.” He reaches out and runs a hand over the back of my head. I hiss through clenched teeth then let out an uncomfortable laugh when he withdraws his hand like he just touched a live wire.
“Just a bump,” I insist.
Elijah pushes off the floor and pulls me up. My gaze travels over his scarred torso and the burn marks on the left side of his abdomen.
“IED,” he replies. “My last tour.”
“I’m so sorry, Elijah.”
“I survived,” he says then reaches into his closet and withdraws a shirt. After tugging it over his head, he pulls me toward the door.
“You need to get back into bed. Michael went to get you water.”
“You need ice,” he replies.
We get downstairs right as Michael hangs up his phone. “Sorry, was headed up.”
“She needs an ice pack.”
“Head?” he asks.
“It’s just a bump,” I insist.
Elijah heads into the kitchen and opens the freezer, removing a wound care ice pack. After wrapping it in a napkin, he offers it to me. “Keep it on your head. We should call Doc.”
“I don’t need Doc,” I insist. “I promise.”
“She seems fine,” Michael says.
“Why were you upstairs?” Elijah asks.
“I was getting my gran’s letters. I wanted to read some before we head over to her house. I’m sorry. It was foolish. Selfish.”
“It’s fine,” Elijah says, but his tone is different now than it’s been the last few days. He’s closer to the man I met in the parking lot of the church. Cool. Detached.
“I’ll just go get the box.” Leaving the two of them downstairs, I go up and grab the box. Once I’ve picked it up, I turn and nearly jump out of my own skin when I see Michael standing in the doorway.
“Elijah’s been through things,” he says. “We all have. But for him, it’s all still very, very real.” When I don’t respond, he walks farther into the room. “Aside from me and Lance, Edna was the only person he’s ever been close to. Until you.”
“We’re not close.”
“You’re close enough,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to see that. But I hope it doesn’t change the way you see him. He deserves to not be seen only as his suffering.”
He leaves, not giving me a chance to respond.
The fact is that I don’t see Elijah as his suffering.
If anything, knowing that he struggles with his past only makes me feel as though we might actually have things in common.
Because the thing is—I’m haunted too.