20. Chapter 20
Skye
S kye’s ears rang as she tried to process what she heard.
Devastated didn’t begin to cover it. The solid foundation of her entire world collapsed beneath her, and she free-fell into an abyss of swirling darkness.
She always had a protective net, something to keep her from hitting rock bottom and never recovering, but any safety measure she’d constructed over time had snapped, leaving her flailing and screaming into nothingness.
She locked her eyes with Rabble’s for only a moment.
In his stormy gray gaze, she saw the same wreckage she knew her own reflected.
How dare he have the nerve to look as crushed as she felt!
He had kept this secret for years, to protect her.
In the process, he completely and totally wrecked her.
For years and years, Skye thought she was the problem, like she was the damaged and unwanted one. The one who would never be good enough.
Skye stepped back, tripping over her feet before turning and bolting away.
She ran as far and fast as she could. She made it to the end of the street, the sound of angry voices following her around the corner as she ran toward the cottage district.
She bypassed her cottage and let her feet carry her where they willed.
Her shoes slapped against the black-topped road that led out of town until she couldn’t breathe and her side pinched with pain.
Bending over at the waist, she rested her palms on her knees and gasped for air.
She couldn’t remember if she was supposed to bend over or lift her arms above her head.
She didn’t care. She was fleeing everything she thought she knew.
She ran for the naive girl who still believed in fairytales and happily ever after; for the girl who had so much love to give and just wanted to be loved in return; for the girl who had cautiously lifted her head these last few days, hoping that maybe this was it.
That girl now lay broken on the ground, right along with the pieces of her heart.
Skye’s knees gave out, and she dropped onto a patch of grass to the side of the blacktop, continuing to take in great wheezing gulps of air and praying she didn’t hyperventilate.
What was wrong with her? Was she not enough?
Was she not worthy of love? Had everything been a lie, their time together, talking late into the night, their lovemaking that was so full of passion and emotion that Skye had very nearly cried? Did Rabble truly not love her?
None of that felt right. Then again, how could she trust her heart to tell her what was right and wrong if the traitor led her down this path of grief?
She didn’t know how long she sat there, gazing unseeingly at the tall waving stalks of wild grasses that grew along the road before finally struggling to her feet.
Shadow from the reedy plants cast shadows on the asphalt.
Several hours must have passed as she’d sat still, her mind a swirling mess of self-doubt, loathing, and heartbreak.
Her limbs, her head, her heart, all of her felt so very heavy.
The walk home took much longer, her tired legs hauling her body forward one exhausted step at a time.
Her strength flagged as she reached her cottage, unlocked the door, and collapsed onto her favorite reading chair, face down.
Shoes still on, she surrendered to the blissful unconsciousness sleep would bring, which she desperately needed and wanted.
Early morning phone calls roused her from her chair.
She slid her eyes open, the lids dragging and gritty.
On top of the emotional pain curling inside her, Skye could barely move after sleeping in such an awkward position.
The chair was perfect for reading but not so great for long nights of restless sleep.
She groaned, lifting up onto her elbows, and squinted at the phone screen, still groggy from sleep.
Apparently, her phone had a busy afternoon and night while she’d been busy drowning.
The majority of the missed calls and unread texts were from Rabble, a distressed plea in every single one.
She listened to each voicemail, her own personal kind of torture.
At times, she could have sworn his voice sounded choked and thick, that maybe he was on the brink of tears like she was.
His despair seeped through the speaker, wrapping around her sorrow and adding to the weight pressing down on her.
Her friends had also left voicemails and dozens of text messages, some just asking for a sign of life. They each wanted to know how they could help and if she needed anything. She didn’t have an answer for them though.
Skye created a group text to her friends and typed, “I’m not okay, but I will be.”
Her fingers faltered as she pressed the buttons to send the lie. She wouldn’t be okay. That simply wasn’t possible.
Even Declan had called, though he hadn’t left a message. Her mother had left several hateful voicemails mixed in with the entire mess, and Skye seriously contemplated pitching her phone in the trash can.
She peeled off her dirty clothes, dusty and sweaty from her impromptu afternoon run the previous day, and left them in a heap on the bathroom floor.
The mirror above the sink reflected her blank and hopeless eyes back at her and she took in the heavy purple stains under her blue eyes.
The way the previous night’s tears left trails down her cheeks to the corners of her downturned mouth.
Stepping into a scalding hot shower, she prayed the water would wash away the grime that to clung to her skin and soul.
With the water beating down on her, Skye sat under the spray with her knees pulled to her chest and let the tears spill over again, blending in seamlessly with the rivulets that ran down her face.
Too soon, the water turned cold and goosebumps formed across her body.
She toweled off and lay on her bed, clutching the terry cloth fabric to her chest. Breathing deeply, Skye stared at the ceiling fan as it made its never-ending circle above her.
Despite knowing how painful it would be, she wanted to see Rabble. With the anger and sadness firmly set in, she needed to speak with him, to hear in his own words what possessed him to make a deal with the devil, with her father.
Skye dressed in her comfiest pair of leggings and a favorite T-shirt, a tie-dyed souvenir from a charity 5k run she participated in years ago.
The familiar shirt added a layer of comfort and security, and she finally thought maybe she could face Rabble without turning into a whimpering pile of mush.
She brushed the stubborn tangles from her hair before she braided it back, feeling more like herself than she had since Rabble returned to Shiloh Hills.
Knowing she needed to speak with him turned out to be an entirely different monster than actually messaging him to set up a time to meet.
She turned on her cleaning playlist and plugged her phone in, glancing at the screen intermittently as she tried to gather the courage to text him.
Although she procrastinated, she justified taking her time by being productive, tackling the mundane task of washing dishes.
Was this the time to be washing dishes? Perhaps not.
Did doing something simple like rinsing suds off of clean dishes feel good, steadying?
Absolutely. And Skye needed that right now.
She needed anything that could ground her, remind her she wasn’t that girl anymore.
She wasn’t waiting for that boy to run away with her, to take her away from the house that had become a prison.
And Rabble was no longer that lonely boy who wouldn’t have been a match for the snake that was her father. That man could lie and cheat with the best of them, and he would do anything to get his way, including bribing and threatening a vulnerable teenager.
Dishes washed, dried, and put away, Skye lit a floral-scented three-wick candle then straightened the pillows and folded the multitude of blankets on the couch.
Putting off her conversation with Rabble could last only so much longer as she ran out of chores.
A small part of her, the part that doubted his intentions despite his words, worried he would laugh at her, call her childish, and defend his actions.
Another part, in the darkest recesses of her heart, felt ashamed that she ran away without asking questions or answering the many messages her friends and Rabble had left her.
Ignoring every single one of them made her sick, but being a relatively private person, she couldn’t stand the idea of her friends fawning all over her right now. She’d message them later tonight.
Once she finished cleaning every corner of the cottage, Skye spent too many minutes working up the courage to unplug her phone from its charging cord in the kitchen and call Rabble. It was time. She shouldn’t, and couldn’t, procrastinate anymore.
Skye dialed Rabble’s number, ending the call after a second before it could ring through.
Maybe this conversation would be best held in person, where she could look into his eyes and read his emotion in the gray clouds that resided there.
Determined to speak with him face to face, she grabbed her phone and keys from the bamboo bowl by the door, then turned to the new alarm system.
The illuminated blue buttons on the keypad mocked her with their simplistic complexity.
Dash had explained how the alarm system worked.
Skye stared at the keypad, willing it to share its secrets and help her remember the code for securing the system.
The six-digit code came to her, number by number until she remembered the entire thing and swung open the door to leave.
“Dylan?” Surprise stole her brainpower and made her freeze just inside the door.
He flashed a nice smile, not the one he reserved for public relations situations, but something glittered in the blue depths that made Skye fidget nervously.
“Can I come in?” he asked, gesturing to the living room behind her.
Skye glanced over her shoulder at her safe space, her sanctuary, and cringed. “I was actually just going out.”
The smile didn’t falter, though his voice lost some of its cheery edge. “It will only take a moment.”
She wanted to say no, but maybe giving in would make him go away faster. “Okay.”
As she stepped out of the doorframe, Dylan sauntered inside, and she closed the door behind him.
When she pivoted to face him, he moved further into the living room, his gaze raking over the titles on her bookshelves, and he sneered with scorn at her reading choices.
She had no doubt, the titles were beneath him.
“Can I help you, Dylan?” Skye shifted from foot to foot.
Now that she’d decided to speak with Rabble, that was all she wanted to do. She wasn’t interested in a conversation with her ex-boyfriend, especially considering his involvement in her father’s disgusting plot to remove Rabble from her life, again.
“You know,” he said, straightening the perfectly cuffed sleeves of his button-down, “had you married me like your parents wanted, you never would’ve had to live in this hovel.”
Skye reared back as if he had slapped her. “Excuse me? I wouldn’t call it a hovel.”
She loved her cottage and worked tirelessly to restore its current glory.
She’d chosen the furniture based on comfort, not style, and the colors and textures of the rooms and furnishings were complimentary muted tones of soft green, blues, and grays.
Her home radiated peace and comfort, exactly the type of place she desired after a long day around her amazing and chaotic job.
Dylan clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Poor, simple Skye. You just don’t get it.”
Her stomach cramped, this conversation felt wrong on every level. “I think you should leave.”
Dylan’s suave, gentlemanly illusion dropped like a curtain falling away from a broken window.
The act was over, the politician nowhere to be found.
Skye bet the bored, exasperated look pulling at the corners of his mouth was his primary expression, not the placating smile he displayed to everyone in public.
He stepped toward her. “Do you even realize the kind of political alliance our marriage would create? How much power your father and mine would have; how much I would have? And how that will benefit you too?”
“Political alliance? I’ve never cared about that. And we haven’t dated in years. No one said anything about marriage except for my delusional parents.”
“Skye, honey, you live with your head buried in the sand, wasting your time teaching, not paying attention to what’s happening behind the scenes. I gave you space to do as you pleased, but it’s time to move forward, to accept that our marriage is inevitable.”
Her head spun from the words spewing from his mouth, and she grasped the doorknob behind her back. “You need to leave.” Each word was clipped, not allowing any room for miscommunication.
Skye twisted the doorknob and pulled it toward her, her eye on the alarm system’s panic button.
But the door hadn’t opened more than a few centimeters before Dylan slammed into her body, banging the door shut.
Her head smacked the solid wood with a loud crack, and Skye saw stars.
If only she’d agreed to let Dash install the video surveillance too.
He gripped her shoulders tightly, his fingertips digging into her arms hard enough to bruise, and he shook her. “Why must you be so stubborn?”
She cried out as her head cracked against the door again, but he cupped his hand over her mouth, so she did the first thing that came to mind: She bit down. Hard.
Dylan gave a sharp shout of pain, and Skye enjoyed a moment of satisfaction until he slapped her across the face.
Her jaw throbbed, and she struggled, bucking and squirming against his hold.
He jerked on the phone she held in a death grip and threw it across the room.
Her keys followed, flying through the air, landing with a loud clang in the kitchen.
Fight, fight! her brain shouted.
Skye opened her mouth, another scream building in her throat. But quick as a snake, Dylan jabbed at her shoulder, plunging a tiny needle beneath her skin, the feeling like a bee sting, and her scream turned into a yelp. Her head swam, her vision went fuzzy, and Skye sank into darkness.