30. Chapter 30
Oh. My. God.
“This is just fucking adorable,” Keri says as we stand at the back of the activity room in the Pine Tree Falls Library.
“I know. I reached out to the author to see if she’d come speak to the kids and maybe read her book, but she said she had something even better.”
Around thirty kids are scattered over the multicolored carpet, laughing and cheering as puppets act out a popular children’s book.
“I wonder how one becomes a puppeteer,” Keri muses, and I roll my eyes.
“Don’t even think about it. You have enough irons in the fire.”
Besides being my cousin, Keri is also a real estate agent, a mom, and the mayor of Pine Tree Falls.
“I’m just curious,” she huffs. “I mean, we had a career fair every year in high school, but never once was playing with dolls presented as a career option.”
“That’s true.”
Keri suddenly snaps her fingers and hisses, “Kyle!” Her five-year-old son, who’s sitting near the back, looks over his shoulder with faux innocence, even though his hand is a mere inch from a little girl’s head.
“Don’t you dare pull Sarah’s hair,” his mother mouths, and the little stinker flashes Keri a mischievous smile.
But he returns his hand to his lap and resumes watching the puppet show.
“You’re such a meanie,” I tease, and my cousin surreptitiously scratches her nose with her middle finger .
A couple minutes later, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell phone, checking the screen. “Yes,” she says quietly with a fist pump.
“Sold another house?” I ask, and she nods happily.
“That red brick one in your neighborhood. A lady bought it, though her son is the one I dealt with.” She fans her face. “Swear to god, that man is hotter than a firecracker. If I were a single woman, I would have thrown my panties at him. Want me to introduce you?”
“Nope,” I say immediately, “but you can help me hand out these books.” I’m not in the mood for any fixups.
The show ends, and the author is taking the small stage to introduce the puppeteers and then talk about her story. She brought enough books for every kid in attendance to go home with a free one.
Keri and I pass them out, and my heart swells at their excitement. I love seeing kids develop a passion for books and reading. As the author, a middle-aged former teacher named Lilah, talks animatedly to the children, I check my phone and see an email from my beta reader, Eden.
Hey, I know this is out of the blue, but can we have an online chat when you get home from work?
A little thrill works down my spine. Before she became a beta reader, Eden Osbourne was one of my ARC readers since the beginning of my writing career over a decade ago, but I’ve never seen her face.
That’s not completely unusual in the online book community though, especially if the person reads spicy romance and doesn't want someone from their real life to recognize them.
I send her back a message, and we arrange for a time. Then I go back to work.
I sit at my computer at home wearing one of Reno’s T-shirts.
He’d slipped it over my head before we went to sit out on the porch one night, and I loved how soft and comfy it was, so he let me keep it.
He’d been wearing it before we… well, you know…
and his strong, masculine scent clung to the fabric.
I dip my chin down to take a whiff and can barely detect him anymore, which makes me sad.
That’s when I put my fingers to my keyboard.
My writing has been fueled by sadness and grief since I got home from the island.
This story is so much different from what I usually write, filled with the pain of true love lost.
At some point, I’m going to have to turn the story around and find my character a happily ever after, but at this point, I simply can’t fathom how to do that. My emotional capacity does not extend to anything other than the ache inside me. So I use it.
By the time my alarm sounds to let me know it’s almost time to meet with Eden, my eyes hurt from crying so much. Going into the bathroom, I splash some cool water on my face and dab a bit of concealer over the dark circles beneath my eyes.
“That’ll have to do,” I sigh at my unsmiling reflection. It’s hard to remember the last time I put on anything but a facade of happiness. I know when it was, but it seems like a decade ago instead of almost a week.
I miss him so much.
Before I can start crying again, I paste on the mask of a smile that barely conceals the torrent of emotions I feel on the inside and return to my computer. Clicking on the link for the online meeting, I take a deep breath.
For some reason, I’m nervous about this. There’s no reason to be, but I can’t stop the fluttering inside my belly.
The screen changes, and a woman appears. She’s pretty, with stylishly short dark hair like Lori Petty in Point Break .
But her eyes… I know those eyes even though I haven’t seen them in seventeen years. It takes me a long second for the pieces to snap into place.
Oh.
My.
God.
My jaw is hanging open because I’m staring at the face of my missing best friend, Evie Bouvier.
“Eeeee!” I squeak out, unable to form her entire name, so I try again. “Eeeevie!”
Her lips press together and she nods. “It’s me.”
Those two words solidify what I already know because that’s her voice! That’s my bestie’s voice!
And I burst into tears, a tragic geyser of emotion that erupts like Old Faithful from my eyeballs.
I smash my knuckles against my lips so hard I taste blood, but not even that can contain my sobs. Evie’s beautiful heart-shaped face—aged slightly from time—crumples into a mixture of joy and sadness, and she’s crying too.
We simply stare at each other and bawl our faces off for a long while, neither of us uttering a word.
Finally, I pull my fist from my lips, inhale deeply, and say, “Well, I see you haven’t lost your flair for the dramatic.”
That instantly transforms the mood, and our tears turn into laughter.
Like the crazy, out-of-control laughter we used to share as kids and teenagers.
Evie has the kind of laugh that can only be described as infectious, but it’s the kind of virus you want to catch because it’s loud and lively and fun .
With my hand against my pounding chest, I heave out the last few guffaws before asking the questions I’ve carried in my heart for years. “What happened to you, Evie? Where have you been?”
Her smile turns sad, and she swivels her eyes upward, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before turning those cerulean orbs back on me.
“I was kidnapped.” I gasp, but she continues. “By human traffickers. That guy I danced with at the beach bonfire that last night, Felipe, he was one of them.”
I didn’t think my heart could hurt any worse than it had for the past six days, but I was wrong. The pain radiates outward until my bones hurt. “Evie, noooo,” I cry, the damn tears back now.
My friend nods. “But I’m okay, Juli. I promise.
Some dickhead bought me, but before I could be delivered to him, an angel rescued me.
” Her gaze darts from the screen, and a faint smile appears on her lips.
I get the feeling she’s looking at someone else in the room.
“A very dark angel, but he was the only one who could save me.”
“I don’t… I don’t know what that means,” I tell her.
She returns her eyes to me and puffs out a raspberry.
“It’s a long-ass story, but here’s the quick version.
I lost my phone at the bonfire, and when I went back down there to look for it, Felipe and his asshole friend snatched me.
” Evie’s bottom teeth saw back and forth over her top lip for a second.
“They put me on a boat, and I was eventually transported to New Orleans.”
“Did they… hurt you?” I rasp out, needing to know but also not sure if I can handle the truth.
Evie leans forward so her face takes up the entire screen. “I was not sexually assaulted, Juli.” Relief floods through me, and I cover both eyes with my hands, feeling the hot sting of tears against my palms.
“O-okay,” I stammer, sliding my hands down my cheeks and attempting to find some damn backbone for my friend.
“I’m not saying they were very nice to me, but at least they didn’t touch me like that.” She blows out a long exhale through her nose. “ Anyway, they told me I had been purchased by someone, and he’d be there to pick me up.”
“What kind of asshole,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“The worst kind you can imagine,” Evie says with a humorless laugh. “This next part, I need it to stay between us, okay? Not everything we did after that was entirely legal.”
I cross my fingers and tap them against my heart. “I swear, Evie. I would help you bury a body and then take the secret to my grave.” That earns me a small smile, and then something she said hits me. “Who’s we?”
“Dane Osbourne, my husband.”
“You’re married?” I shriek, though I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s in her thirties like me.
“Yes, to the man who showed up and rescued me.”
“Your dark angel,” I repeat, and she nods.
“Yes, he… took care of Felipe and the other guy.” Her eyes widen significantly, and she doesn’t have to spell out what she meant by took care of them.
“Good,” I grunt out. “I hope it was painful.”
Evie just smiles. “The guy who purchased me like I was a fucking cow is— was —a very dangerous man. The kind who doesn’t tolerate being crossed. The kind who would target my family and friends if he ever found out I was still alive.”
Her chin quivers, but she carries on with her heartbreaking story.
She is so amazingly strong. “Dane and I had to assume different identities and go into hiding. We made the man think we were dead so he wasn’t actively looking for us.
That’s why I couldn’t contact you or my family.
Jules, I am so, so sorry for that. I know you… you… were… so… worried.”
Evie’s breathing hitches between each word, and I shake my head. “Are you crazy? Don’t apologize to me for keeping yourself safe, Evie Bouvier. Don’t you dare!” My demand is delivered with a vehemence I feel to my soul .
She presses her fingers over her mouth and nods, whispering, “I know.” A man’s torso suddenly appears behind her, and large hands rest on her shoulders.
“Who is that?” I ask, snappier than I mean to, and Evie lets out a short laugh.
“This is my husband, Dane.” She looks up adoringly, and the man bends to kiss her softly on the lips. He’s freaking huge, with long black hair and a full beard. When he rests his chin on Evie’s shoulder and looks at me, his eyes are dark and dangerous. I suppress a shiver.
This is her husband? Holy hell, the man looks like he could eat someone and then pick his teeth with their bones.
“Hi, Juliette. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I… hi,” I say, a little flustered at the intensity of Evie’s husband.
She reaches back and pats his cheek. “Honey, stop looking like you’re about to do something felonious.”
“Sorry, Wildcat.” He kisses the side of her neck. “I’ll let you two talk.”
“Would you go get Paulie, please?”
“Who’s Paulie?” I ask when Dane disappears.
Evie’s lips widen into a grin. “He’s our baby boy.”
My hand goes to my throat and my voice turns raspy. “You have a baby?”
She nods happily. “He’s nine months old, and just the most beautiful little boy.” Glancing offscreen, her face visibly brightens. “There he is. Come to Mommy.”
Dane sets a little angel on her lap. The child has black hair like his father and blue eyes like his mom. He wears a mint-green onesie and flaps his arms happily.
“Well, hello, Paulie,” I coo, and he pokes his little pink tongue in and out of his mouth. “God, Evie, he is precious.”
Dane kneels beside Evie’s chair, his eyes affectionately on his little one. When Paulie grasps his dad’s finger and pulls it to his mouth, Dane’s smile mellows the harsh edges around his eyes, and he doesn’t look quite as intimidating. He looks more like a big, slightly scary teddy bear.
I croon and twiddle my fingers at Paulie, and he bounces and babbles. He loves attention and obviously gets plenty of it from his parents, who hang on his every movement and smile.
Something pools in my belly, a vivid longing I can’t quite explain.
When the baby tires and lets out a little whimper, he’s gone from Evie’s lap in an instant, and I hear what sounds like a lullaby in a deep, melodious voice.
“Is he singing to the baby?” I ask, barely managing not to squeal. Because sa-woon!
My best friend looks to the side as the singing drifts away, and then she returns her gaze to me, doing a little shoulder wiggle now that we’re alone.
“He always does that,” she gushes. “If Paulie shows even the slightest bit of displeasure, Dane has him on his shoulder, singing Italian lullabies. He’s going to spoil him to pieces.” Her sappy smile tells me she’s not all that worried about it though.
“He seems like a good dad.” I pause. “Is he a good husband?”
Evie crushes her eyelids closed, as if remembering something unpleasant. “He’s the absolute best, Jules.” She opens her eyes, which are now swimming with tears. “I had a bit of PTSD after… everything. A lot of triggers. I was afraid of the dark and of closed spaces.”
“Oh, honey,” I sob, my tears returning at the thought of what she’d gone through to give her those fears.
“I’m okay now, thanks to Dane. He was beside me, getting me through every nightmare and freak out.” A fat tear drops down her cheek. “He saved me in so many ways.”
“I guess your family knows you’re okay now?”
A smile peeks through my friend’s sorrow. “Yes, we’re back in New York. We’ve been living in the Florida Keys. The… situation changed, and we finally felt safe to come home. ”
“If I were there, I’d give you the biggest hug in the world,” I tell her, wiping beneath my eyes with my forefingers.
Evie leans forward and rests her chin on her hand, a smug grin creeping over her lips. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”