Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
THEA
I’m not entirely sure a whole moving trailer is necessary.
I can always have movers send me the rest of my stuff later—but I also don’t want to have any connection to here once I’m gone.
Lucas is getting exactly what he wants, even though he’s barely ever here.
I’m not even sure where to start. We’re going to be working into the early hours of the morning to get things packed up and in the trailer and truck, although maybe it’ll go by quicker than I think since there are apparently four of us.
Dylan said that they brought a friend along, someone who helped Fletcher in getting her out after she was kidnapped, so that’s helpful, even if it does make me feel weird that someone I don’t know is going to be rummaging through my life.
But maybe that’s fitting since I feel so disconnected from everything here anyway.
Dylan swears he’s trustworthy and I believe her, if everything she’s told me about how he helped her once she was saved is true.
It’s just that I don’t know how I feel about exposing a part of myself I’d rather keep hidden.
I’ve always been so used to things being uniform and exactly how they should be…
and right now they are not. Though I guess I don’t have much of a choice.
The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can leave, and that’s all that matters.
Dylan comes back inside as I pick up a stack of books from the shelf in the living room that runs across the length of the wall.
Their spines are worn and their edges are frayed, in desperate need of mending due to how many times I’ve read them, but that’s what makes them special.
I place them into a box I put together labeled Essentials, but the irony isn’t lost on me.
Half the stuff I’m packing doesn’t feel essential anymore.
It’s just…stuff. Stuff I thought I needed to build a life here with the man I loved and thought loved me back.
But it all feels more like dead weight. I continue along the bookshelf, compiling what books are mine into boxes before folding them up and taping them.
I feel the heaviness of her gaze on my back as she watches me, and I hate it.
I hate the pity rolling off of her. I’ve never needed anybody to take care of me besides myself—at least that’s what I used to think—and the fact that I feel so vulnerable is unsettling and unfamiliar.
Did I really become so dependent in my relationship with Lucas that I lost myself in him?
No. I felt secure, there’s a difference.
Is there? the annoying voice in my head responds.
I stop mid-motion, still feeling her eyes on me, one hand hovering over a tattered paperback, the other gripping the edge of the shelf.
“Dylan,” I say finally, my voice sharper than I intend, but I don’t turn around.
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it. ”
There’s a pause as I wait for her to respond, her feet shuffling behind me before she says, “I’m just trying to figure out how else to help. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
I exhale sharply, my grip on the shelf tightening. I’m frustrated, but not with her. “You’re already doing enough. You drove down here, you’re taking me back with you. You’re helping me pack all this stuff.”
But she’s always been good at seeing through my bullshit.
It’s as though I can sense that she knows everything I’m not saying and she proves it with her next sentence.
“Stuff. That’s all you keep calling it. But we both know it’s more than that.
Otherwise, why keep it? Why pack it at all?
” Her voice is soft, non-judgmental as she responds.
“There’s no shame in keeping sentimental ties to what your life used to be. ”
“I don’t need a lecture right now, Dylan.” I still can’t bring myself to look at her though. If she’s hurt by my outburst, she doesn’t show it.
“It’s not a lecture,” she says, her tone soft and patient in a way that makes me want to scream.
“I’m just saying you don’t have to pretend.
You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be sad.
Hell, you’re even allowed to fall apart.
But you don’t have to do it with your arms full of even more baggage, trying to be something we both know you’re not right now.
You can feel all of those things and still miss what used to be, because they are parts of the life that has shaped who you are now.
You can grieve what you used to have and who he used to be.
But I need you to lean on me a little bit here, Thea.
I need you to trust me that you’re going to be alright without him. ”
The mention of him at that very moment snaps something fragile in me that I’ve been holding onto.
“You think this is about him?” I whirl around to face her finally.
“This is about me trying to figure out how to live my life without all of this—without all the lies, the pretending, the…everything. You make it sound easy.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, just watches me with steady eyes that make me feel like I’m coming undone. “I never said it was easy. In fact, I think it’s hard as hell. But I also think you’re strong enough to do it. And you don’t have anything to prove otherwise.”
The weight of her words presses against the weight of the books, the boxes, the past. I stare at one of the taped up boxes. “What if I don’t know who I am without all of this?” The question falls out before I can stop it, raw and unguarded.
Dylan steps closer until she’s beside me, reaching for some books on the shelf as she helps me pack. “Then maybe it’s time to find out. Take what still feels like yours, and the rest? Maybe it’s okay to let go.”
For the next two hours we work from the living room to the kitchen, and finally the bedroom.
The guys are taking longer than we anticipated, and we can’t move any of the larger pieces of furniture that belong to me until they get here, so packing up the smaller items is going quicker than I thought.
Dylan went into what was supposed to be the nursery to get most of the belongings we had bought for the baby and brought them out to the living room, setting them by the front door because it’s still painful for me to step foot in there at any given time.
She also brought out her urn, placing it gently on the table.
There’s a picture of our daughter on the side with an imprint of her foot that we had done in the hospital before they took her away.
Engraved above that is the date of her birth and of her death, along with her name. Hallie Jane Taylor.
I have to take a deep breath and walk away to prevent any tears that are threatening to spill over.
At least we had purchased two different ones as we weren’t sure which one we wanted to place her ashes in.
This means that I will be able to leave Lucas with some, too.
Even though he’s betrayed me in the worst way possible, she was, is, still his daughter and I know he grieves even if he doesn’t show it the way I do.
“She was beautiful…” Dylan murmurs from behind me as she observes the photo, and I have to bite my tongue because I’m afraid if I open my mouth to speak a wail is going to escape instead of what I want to say.
Instead, I just offer her a small smile and nod.
Just then, brake lights illuminate the driveway as Fletcher and their friend back in with the trailer. Thank god for twenty-four-seven rental services. “It’s about damn time,” Dylan sighs as she walks to the front door to open it for them. Fletcher steps in first, giving me a curt dip of his chin.
“Hey, Thea. Good to see you.” If only it weren’t under these circumstances. I’m happy for Dylan, that she managed to find someone who would do anything for her. And I do mean anything. The man straight up reminds me of a knight in shining armor, albeit a dark knight.
One that wears leather jackets in lieu of chainmail and instead of riding in on a horse, he has a motorcycle.
Well, he doesn’t really have a motorcycle but if I had to describe him that’s how I would.
He’s stoic and fiercely protective of those he cares about.
He’s the kind that would kill for them and he has done exactly that for Dylan.
Although it still weirds me the fuck out that he was the one stalking her for those weeks.
It’s easy to forget and just as easy to remember all at the same time based on the look in his eyes as he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
But behind that you can see the kind of devotion that blurs the line between love and obsession.
Whatever, as long as she’s happy. One of us deserves to be.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask, noting that he hadn’t followed Fletcher through the door.
Yet, not ten seconds later Alaska rushes through the door and straight for me. I’m mid kneel when I hear additional footsteps coming over the threshold.
“Sorry, she wanted to sniff every spot even though she did that when…” His voice fades out which causes me to divert my attention from Alaska to the newcomer.
My eyes initially snag on his shoes before they climb up over strong legs.
His thighs strain against the material of his jeans, his muscles flexing as he shifts.
My eyes continue to climb the length of his body until I’m met with icy blue eyes partially covered by blond hair that is in need of a haircut.
But that isn’t what causes my body to seize up—what causes that is the fact that I know those tortured blue eyes.
“Nathan?”