CHAPTER 39 CORALINE
CORALINE
It’s official. I’m no longer married.
And tonight I’m celebrating being free from Liam.
A single divorced woman who may have left her heart in Alaska and came back to Texas with the ability to see ghosts. Ever since the car crash, I see ghosts all the time. I’ve gone to multiple doctors and therapists about it, but no one can give me a clear reason as to why I have this ability.
Some spirits are nice and just seem lonely or lost. Either way, they’re always fleeting.
It’s rare for one to linger longer than a few minutes.
Others carry evil and darkness. I found a way to shut those out for the most part, just by singing my favorite song in my head or out loud. It silences the bad ghosts.
They all have one thing in common: they don’t speak.
My sister, Everly, hasn’t left my side since I got back home. We moved in together, renting a home near my parents’ place on the outskirts of San Antonio. It’s a three-bedroom house in a quiet neighborhood. Everly lets me use the third room for my art.
Thanks to a handsome man named Gavin Ariksen, I create again. I draw. I write. And most importantly, I dream. My muse inspired me to find myself. My art is flourishing.
Those few weeks in Alaska changed me in amazing ways.
There hasn’t been one day that I don’t think about him. Every time I’m at a grocery store, or in the car, or whenever I spot a deer on the side of the road…when I’m doing anything really, I think of him. Most of the time, I think: this moment would be so much better if he were next to me.
It was only supposed to be a few days of space. Then one week turned into a month, then two months turned into six. It’s been six months since I left Alaska. We didn’t even get to exchange numbers. I left after he poured his heart out to me. He deserves a better woman.
Someone who isn’t scared.
And yet the thought of him with another woman eats at me on the inside.
I don’t want him to move on. I don’t want to picture him kissing another person.
I selfishly hope he still thinks of me as much as I think about him.
I hope he remembers every single detail of the way he felt while inside me because I remember it.
I’ve tried to move on and tell myself he’ll get bored.
He’ll leave me just like my ex-husband did.
I’m scared to get attached because of it.
Yet, as time went by, the more I lied to myself, the more I realized I fell in love with Gavin.
Our connection was on a soul level, and when it came to our lustful chemistry, it felt like fireworks every time we collided and clawed at each other.
Months have gone by, and I haven’t heard from him.
This convinced me he moved on, too. Why wouldn’t he?
I broke his heart after he begged me to stay.
He lost Merelyn. He’s going through a hard time, and I left him.
Why would he still want me after that? Maybe he hasn’t moved on. Maybe, he’s thinking about me, too?
Is he back at work in the middle of the ocean? Or is he home? I do miss the cute little town of Sleepy Coldwater, where I could drink the best coffee I’ve ever had on gloomy days that felt perfect for getting lost in a book. My lips lift into a small smile.
Still, I meant it when I said I needed a break when all the truths came to light, after weeks of bliss.
Gavin lured me in secretly and threatened to keep me with him.
Merelyn and Maya are dead.
I need to heal on my own. I need to believe in myself on my own, even if it means walking away from a man who is a force of nature.
He’s been in love with me long before we met.
It makes sense why he felt so strong and profound when it came to me.
It kills me inside to know he’s alone up in those mountains.
I kept my promise. I sought help after I left and came back to San Antonio. I have a therapist I see weekly; I let my family in on days I don’t feel the strongest. I run one mile every day. I don’t stop dreaming.
Learning to love myself without depending on another person for my happiness brought me peace. I knew I needed to work hard independently, so my happiness isn’t placed in another person.
My phone vibrates just as soon as I’m done applying a red lip.
My hair is more curly than usual after taking it out of an overnight braid.
After being in a relationship with a man who condemned my curves, it did something to my brain after hearing it every single day.
I lost myself, but just one night of Gavin worshipping my body snapped me out of that insecure mindset.
There was never anything wrong with me. I love my curvy body, bigger breasts, and stretch marks.
I’m wearing bell-bottom jeans with a belt, cowgirl boots, and a white V-neck blouse.
Everly:
Hurry. We have to leave for the rodeo in the next five minutes.
Me:
Just finished. I just need to grab my purse.
Everly:
I’ll wait for you in the car.
I press the button on the side of my phone and tuck it into my back pocket.
Closing my lipstick, I saunter into my office.
My boots clack against the tile as I walk past ten oil paintings of Sleepy Coldwater, a portrait of Merelyn, another one of Gavin drinking black coffee, the mountains I saw every night and every morning, and finally his home. I call it: The Cabin in the Storm.
I run my hands over it. These pieces are for me. I promised I’d draw Merelyn, and I kept it.
Life is good. Life is okay again. But it’s dull, and I know exactly why. The reason? A tall man with glowing blue eyes and a smile that always holds me hostage. He probably wants nothing to do with me after I left.
I…miss him. I miss him so bad it hurts, and even if I wanted to reach out, I don’t have a way to.
My sister’s car horn blares through the walls. She’s so impatient. The drive is about thirty minutes away, but even so, we’re still going to make it on time. I grab my purse off my desk and swoop it over my shoulder.
The smell of dirt, popcorn, and beer surrounds us while we sit on the metal stands.
With a Shiner Bock in hand, I straighten, looking at the last bull rider leaving the arena.
The chaps at the bottom of his jeans are flowing in the summer wind.
It’s a packed night, with hardly any room to move, let alone breathe in the Texas humidity.
“He was so good!” Everly exclaims, throwing a handful of buttered popcorn in her mouth. “There’s one more bull rider before it moves on to the next event.”
“What’s next?” I ask, taking another swig.
“Bareback riding,” she replies, shifting in her seat, already looking at the cowboys lining up. George Strait plays loudly through the speakers behind the announcer’s voice. He’s introducing each contender by name and where they’re from.
Suddenly, that same cold, paralyzing feeling spears through me. Goosebumps prick my skin, as everything around me feels eerie. I remember this like deja vu.
The feeling of being watched.
I lean into Everly until my shoulder brushes against hers.
“What’s wrong?” She quirks a brow. Her tone is already shifting into a protective one. After everything that happened, it brought my older sister closer to me.
I shrug to reassure her.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” I say loosely.
The horn blares, signaling the last bull rider.
It pulls our attention and distracts me from that familiar feeling I only got when I was in the cabin.
The mad bull bursts through the gate, kicking, doing everything and anything to get the cowboy off his back.
Its hooves blast off from the ground each time, bucking and moving.
Just watching this happen to the man riding hurts my back.
The seconds feel like minutes as I watch from a distance.
Slow and agonizing. Everyone begins clapping, whistling, and cheering, encouraging the man below.
If this is the way I feel, I can’t imagine how it feels for the one riding.
Once it hits four seconds on the massive digital clock, the bull flings the rider into the air.
I cover my mouth with my palm as the entire arena echoes with “ooos”.
His body hits the ground, but it doesn’t take him long to scurry off the dirt.
He climbs the gate and is over it in seconds with a look of relief all over his sweaty, gleaming face.
His mouth gapes open as he clutches his ribs.
The next rider is up. I sit down scrolling through e-mails when my heart seizes in my chest at the next words that come out of the speakers.
“Gavin Ariksen. From Sleepy Coldwater, Alaska.”