21. Chapter 21 #2
“I have to go get Bekah,” Declan said, his voice low as he jumped off of the railing and clapped Rabble on the shoulder. A gesture, not of forgiveness exactly, but of understanding and acceptance. Rabble would take it.
Dash sat next to Rabble on the swing, “Rab.”
Rabble braced himself.
“You don’t get to make those decisions for Skye.”
Shock barreled through him, “What?”
Dash met his eyes, the frankness there that Rabble usually found comforting now made his heart pound.
“You don’t get to make those decisions for Skye, any more than her father does.
Love is more than blind protection. That instinct is strong, especially in men like us, but when it comes down to loving someone, sometimes the ability to let them meet challenges head on, no matter how difficult it is for us, it’s part of the package deal. ”
A quiet fell between them, each lost in their own thoughts. Rabble turned Dash’s words over in his head, examining them through the fog of the mistakes he’d made. Neither spoke until Declan returned with Bekah.
Bekah, despite her disapproving look in his direction forced a bag of chips and a bottle of water on Rabble when he refused lunch. The chips tasted like sawdust, the water like acid.
Bekah glanced at her phone for the tenth time, and she flicked a worried gaze at Declan each time. She was waiting for a response from Skye.
“She won’t answer me either,” Rabble said, his voice ragged.
Bekah turned toward him, worrying her lip. “No offense, but do you blame her?”
Flinching, Rabble had to give her that one, especially considering her own experiences with two-faced jackasses.
Bekah seemed poised to speak again but the subtle shake of Declan’s head had her pausing and reconsidering her words.
Even though Rabble appreciated his brother looking out for him, he wouldn’t blame Skye if she never spoke to him again. Maybe she packed everything and left town. He wouldn’t condemn her for that either.
Bekah tried Skye’s phone a few more times before Declan drove her to The Wild Bride to help Elyza with the shop.
The glaring rift between Rabble and Skye couldn’t stop everyone else’s lives from continuing.
It seemed odd that they could keep going, just another day in their existence as the world spun around him, even though Rabble felt like his world was ending.
Rabble eventually moved from his vigil on the porch swing, wandering inside to change shirts and sulk. He poured himself some coffee and returned outside where he sat on the stairs and stared out over the backyard. When the back door slammed shut again, he didn’t turn around.
“Brought you dinner.” Mrs. Basket said, passing him a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel.
“I messed up,” he said, hanging his head.
“You did.” She agreed, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. “But you’ll fix it.”
Then she passed him a small black felt box.
He recognized it instantly and his eyes widened as he glanced between her and the box he now clutched alongside his sandwich.
He set the sandwich atop one knee and carefully lifted the box lid, his fingers shaking ever so slightly.
There, nestled atop a pillow of black satin, sat the simple ring he’d purchased long ago.
“Sylvie—,” words failed him.
“I thought I’d save it for a rainy day.”
He sucked on the inside of his cheek, refusing to let the sob out as it crawled up his throat. His sorrow must have shone in his eyes though because she patted his shoulder again, and studied the clear sky, then him, “I’d say it’s a pretty rainy day, my dear.”
That sob he’d tried so hard to hold back, choked out of him and she ruffled his hair with a hand the way she used to when she’d said her piece, before standing slowly and wandering back inside, closing the door silently behind her.
It took several deep breaths before Rabble could think clearly enough to close the lid to the ring box and slide it into his pocket.
Then, he unwrapped the triple peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chuckled.
Mrs. Basket always knew what to say when he was having a hard day. Famished, he devoured every bite.
Later, when the sun began to sink behind the bed and breakfast, Rabble overheard Elyza’s muffled voice in the dining room, something about Skye not returning anyone’s messages.
He frowned. That didn’t make sense. Sure, she had every right to ignore him. But Skye spent most days worrying about everyone else but herself. Even if she needed time to be alone, she’d never leave her friends to panic over her, not for this long.
Fear became a living, breathing demon inside him. That voice in his head, the one that told him when he needed to be scared out of his mind, the one that kept him alive in the military, screamed at him to get to his feet.
Running inside, he threw his coffee in the kitchen sink, not stopping when he heard the telltale crack of the ceramic mug shattering against the metal tub, and sprinted into the dining room where Dash tried to calm his sister and Declan stood protectively in front of Bekah, her shoulders shrinking inward.
“I’m on it,” Rabble said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “You guys stay here with them.”
Dash pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call Kellyn, make sure she’s okay. Just in case.”
Rabble nodded. While Declan reassured Bekah that no one had tripped the cottage’s alarms, that her ex had nothing to do with whatever was going on with Skye, Rabble bolted for the front door.
He jammed his truck key in the ignition and peeled off toward Skye’s cottage without bothering with trying to call.
She hadn’t answered anyone before, and he doubted she’d start answering for him.
The alarms in his head kept blaring, getting louder the closer he got to her home.
He parked on the curb; his front tire having jumped the curb entirely to sit atop the grass of the yard.
Rabble took the concrete steps to her door two at a time.
He swung his fist up to knock, stopping just shy of tapping his fingers against the wood.
The door sat ajar from its frame, leaving a thin gap where the latch hadn’t caught.
His whole being froze, and the voice in his head went from screaming to radio silence. He reached for his sidearm, only it wasn’t there. A rookie mistake, he cursed to himself. He wouldn’t let that stop him from breaching the house right then and there.
With two fingers, Rabble slowly urged the door open, listening past the squeaking of its hinges for any noise from within.
Hearing nothing, he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the small living room, which she artfully put together.
Her home looked well maintained, cared for.
But in the center of the floor lay her phone, abandoned, the screen cracked as if someone had stomped on it. His breath caught in his throat.
Quickly, Rabble cleared the living room. Against his training, he rushed through the open rooms and followed a short hallway to the single bedroom kept neat in a lived-in way with wrinkles in the sheets and clothes on the floor. The bathroom appeared the same way.
The kitchen also seemed to be in order, aside from the candle left burning on the counter.
The sink was clean. But in the left basin, her keys lay in a heap, making the alarm bells in his head ring double-time.
Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Dash’s number, put the speaker to his ear, and prayed to whichever gods might be listening that his brother answered quickly.
“Yeah,” Dash said, his simple greeting coming through on the first ring.
Rabble’s voice cracked and scraped like he hadn’t used it in days. “She’s gone.”
“We’re on our way.”