Chapter 4 Hallie
HALLIE
I stared at the door as if we were about to do battle. And maybe we were. I’d done just as I’d said I would and had taken things one step at a time all morning. But this was the most daunting. The one it felt as though I couldn’t turn back from.
Forcing my hand from my side, I rested it on the doorknob, but I couldn’t get it to turn. I focused on the silver metal peeking through my pale fingers as if I could move it with my mind. I bit the inside of my cheek and twisted.
Bright sunlight hit my face, and the smell of fresh pine air filled my nose. They both helped. But it still took a beat of three for me to step outside.
I tapped my pocket, feeling the keycard there, and shut the door behind me. The click of the lock sounded like a cannon in my ears.
“Just three blocks,” I told myself.
I started moving before I had a chance to rush back into my motel room.
I picked up a brisk pace, knowing the sooner I arrived at my destination, the better it would be.
There weren’t a ton of people out—most were probably sleeping in.
But there were enough to make me feel relatively safe yet not claustrophobic.
People lifted their hands in a wave or bobbed their heads in a nod, even though they didn’t know me from Adam. It was jarring at first, but memories swept back in from time spent in the nearby area growing up. I remembered how warm and welcoming people were.
I missed that. Wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up in a place like this, where everyone knew your name and looked out for you.
Rounding the corner, I caught sight of the sign for the café. A burst of pleasure and pride swept through me. My therapist had drilled into me that I needed to celebrate every win, no matter how small.
I’d driven halfway across the country. I’d stayed alone in motels. I was interviewing for a job that I thought I’d absolutely love. And I was trying a new coffee shop in what could potentially be my new home. I deserved a damn double chocolate muffin.
The bell over the door tinkled as I opened it. There were a handful of patrons inside, but it wasn’t overly crowded. A small line had formed at the register, and a woman stood behind it, moving between taking orders and grabbing coffees and food.
I crossed the warm and inviting space to stand behind three women who looked a few years older than me. They huddled together, talking and laughing.
“Do you really think Aspen wants food from her workplace on her wedding day?” a petite blonde asked.
“These are the best baked goods in town, G,” a raven-haired woman argued.
The third woman laughed, swiping a hand over her pregnant belly. “I’m so hungry, I might hurt you if you make me go somewhere else right now.”
The blonde grinned. “I know that hangry feeling. Thankfully, Caden fed me before I left.”
The dark-haired woman shot the pregnant woman a smile. “Is Holt falling down on the job, Wren?”
She shook her head. “He left early to get the hotel suite ready with Caden. They’ve got a whole spread up there.”
The blonde straightened. “We can’t let them outdo us. We’re getting one of everything.”
The other two women burst into laughter.
My heart ached as I watched them, all continuing to laugh as they ordered. How long had it been since I’d had that easy camaraderie with anyone? A weight settled in my stomach. More than five years now.
I bungled things every time I tried to make a friend. I’d have an anxiety attack, or people would get annoyed that there was so much I didn’t feel comfortable doing. Eventually, I just stopped trying.
“Can I help you?”
A woman’s voice from behind the counter broke into my spiraling thoughts.
“Sorry, I, uh… Um.”
The blonde I’d seen earlier glanced over at me as they waited for their food. She sent me a kind smile. “It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I come here all the time. I recommend the cheddar scallion biscuit and the double chocolate muffin.”
I nodded once more, resembling a deranged bobblehead yet again. “I’ll do that. And tea, please. Something decaffeinated.”
The last thing my anxiety needed was caffeine.
The blonde shot me a wider smile. “I hope you like them.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, trying to force my mouth into an answering grin. I wasn’t sure I pulled it off.
“That’ll be eleven-fifty,” the barista said.
I fumbled with my wallet, finally grabbing my debit card on the second try. I offered it to the woman, and she quickly swiped it, then handed it back, moving with expert ease as she gathered my order.
I typed in a generous tip and shoved everything back into my purse. By the time I had that sorted, the barista was sliding a plate and cup across the counter. “Here you go. Just bring the mug up if you want more hot water.”
“Thank you.” I could feel the line forming behind me, so I hurried out of the way and toward a table in the corner. One side of it was against the wall, and the other a window, so I felt protected on both sides.
I sank onto the chair with the wall to my back. It gave me a view of the street with the lake across the way and the rest of the café. The lake was completely frozen over, creating a gorgeous, light blue surface. My mouth curved as I saw a couple of kids skating near the shore.
Turning back to my meal, I broke off a piece of the biscuit and popped it into my mouth. Flavors burst on my tongue. The cheese, the scallions…and I thought maybe a hint of garlic, too. It was incredible.
My stomach rumbled, demanding more. I pulled out my book and lost myself in good food and a young adult story about a battle between angel races. Before long, I’d drained my tea and finished both pastries.
I checked my watch, and my eyes widened. It was almost nine-thirty. I had to be at my interview by ten. I stood quickly, grabbing my plate and mug to take to a bussing station.
“Was the book good?” I started at the deep voice, whirling and almost sending my dishes flying.
The man chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My mouth went dry, and I struggled to swallow. He was older than me by five years or so. Definitely around thirty. He wore a police uniform that should’ve put me at ease.
“Way to go,” the man beside him chided as he fought a grin. He, too, wore a police uniform and balanced a to-go cup of coffee in his hand.
The first man scowled at his friend but then turned back to me. He extended an arm, his brown gaze scanning me from head to toe. “I’m Reed. Reed Hall.”
I stared down at the proffered palm as if it were a snake. Forcing my gaze up, I lifted my dishes as an excuse not to take the offered hand. “Hallie.”
Reed grinned. “Nice to meet you, Hallie. You visiting, or—?”
The barista bustled into our space. “Oh. Here, let me take those.”
I wanted to weep with appreciation. “Thank you.”
The second she took my dishes, I grabbed my purse and coat and bolted for the door, not giving a damn that I was likely the rudest person Reed had ever met.
Hurrying down the street, I focused on my breaths.
I zeroed in on the feeling of my lungs expanding and contracting inside my ribs and tried to make sure no movement was too quick.
As I approached the motel’s parking lot, I felt for my keys in my purse and beeped my locks.
Within seconds, I was in my old-model sedan.
Locking the door behind me, I gripped the steering wheel. “You’re fine. He was only being friendly.”
The burn was back behind my eyes. A nice stranger—a police officer, no less—had sent me running. A single tear slipped free, and I quickly wiped it away. Two steps forward and one step back.
But it was still progress. At least, that was what my therapist would say. Still, I hated those bursts of weakness.
“Focus on what’s next. What’s the next step?”
I released the wheel and twisted toward the file folder on my passenger seat. I’d printed out directions to everywhere I needed to go, just in case service wasn’t great, my phone died, I lost it, or—it didn’t matter. They were my backup.
Pulling out the directions to the Hartley home, I scanned the sheet. I’d already gone over it at least a dozen times, but once more wouldn’t hurt. The house was up the mountain a bit but not too high. Thankfully, there was no snow on the roads.
I shivered as a memory slammed into me. Cold. So cold, it hurt. The wind whipping against my mutilated flesh.
No. Not now. Not ever. I wasn’t going back there.
I quickly typed the address into my phone—my car was too old for a GPS—and started the engine. I didn’t give myself a chance to descend into anxiety. Instead, I carefully backed out of the parking spot and headed on my way as the navigation’s British voice called out directions.
The drive itself was stunning. I had to force myself to keep my eyes on the road and not get distracted by the scenery. It only took about fifteen minutes to make it to the driveway. A mailbox had Hartley and the house number printed on it, so I knew I was in the right place.
Turning onto the gravel drive, I gripped the wheel tighter. When the house came into view, I sucked in a breath. It was gorgeous. All dark wood and glass, as if someone had taken a rustic farmhouse and brought it into the modern day.
There was a massive porch at the front of the house with an array of chairs and a swing. A child’s bike leaned against the steps, and a few other toys and sports paraphernalia lay around. It looked beautiful but lived in. Not like the museum Emerson and I had grown up in.
Behind the main house and higher on the mountainside was a large barn in the same dark wood. To the right of the house sat a small guest cottage that I figured would be mine if I got the job. It was quaint and well-kept, and I knew it must have a lake view.
Hope bubbled up inside me. It had been so long since I’d felt it. The sensation was utterly foreign. But I would hold on to it with everything I had.
I shut off my car and flipped down the visor. I quickly checked my teeth for chocolate—that wouldn’t be the first impression I wanted to make.
When I saw I was safe, I snapped the visor up and grabbed my purse. This was it. I squeezed my eyes closed. “Please, don’t let me mess this up.”
As I opened my eyes, I released the car door and stepped out. My boots crunched on the gravel as I headed for the steps. When I made it to the top, the front door swung open.
I had no time to prepare or steel myself. It wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Because when I saw the man filling the doorway, I gasped. The familiar dark hair, with just a little silver at the temples. The strong, stubbled jaw. The nose that still looked as if it had been broken once.
And those eyes.
The eyes that had shown me kindness after enduring thirty-three days of brutal cruelty. The eyes that had given me hope. The eyes that had saved me.
“Blue.”