Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Changing into soft cotton pajamas that smell like roses, I slide under crisp sheets. Tears soak the pillow as I pull it over my head to hide the sobs my heart insists on making.
The tear-stained pillowcase will wash. The ache won’t.
Chapter 13
Everett
Kara’s text lights my phone at 5:42 a.m.
She’s gone.
I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers. The next bubble pops up before dread finishes forming.
Note on the counter. Says she’s going back to her old life.
Gone? What the fuck? She said she needed space—why didn’t I question it more?
The answer is immediate: because I was too wrapped up in anger and frustration over my parents’ manipulation.
I suddenly recall her bright smile—too bright—when I interrupted her in my father’s office.
Your father was telling me about the lake and his plans.
And suddenly, I know. My chest hollows out. He did something. Said something to upset her, to make her doubt us, our relationship. He sent her running. But why would he be talking to Ariel about the lake?
I’m on my feet before my brain catches up, shoving my legs into jeans, grabbing keys, wallet, and phone.
Another message from Kara: Where are you?
On my way, I type, already halfway out the door.
The sky promises a storm to match the one churning inside me. My car unlocks with a chirp that sounds too cheerful for what’s in my chest.
By the time I hit Fable Forest Boulevard, the first sheet of rain slams down, a curtain that drops and doesn’t rise. Thunder walks the rooftops. The wipers can’t keep up.
When I pull into Kara’s apartment lot, she’s waiting under the awning in a sweatshirt and yesterday’s eyeliner, hair in a knot, clutching a folded square of paper like it’s a fragile bone.
“She left before I woke up,” Kara says, breath fogging in the damp as she hands me the note.
Thank you. You were kind when you didn’t have to be. I’m sorry for the trouble. Please take care of him. — A.
“Take care of him,” I echo, and the words land like a stone in my stomach.
Kara tucks her hands into her sleeves, eyes glossy but steady. “Find her, Ev. She loves you.”
I don’t say I know, I love her too. I say, “I know where she’s gone.”
The rain is a wall of water when I reach the marina. The lake thrashes under the storm. The wind pushes hard, like it wants me to go home.
I jog the length of my dock, calling her name. “Ariel! Ariel, please!”
No answer. Masts creak. Halyards snap. I get to my slip and stop.
Oyster shells glisten on the soaked planks. Nestled among them are pearls. One black. Two champagne. One silver as a raindrop. Suddenly, I know—Ariel is the one who gifted me the oysters with their pearls each time I took the boat out. They’re significant somehow. But why?
I scan the lake, the shoreline, frantically searching for her. Then I see her. She’s waist-deep in the black water, arms open like she’s trying to talk to it, beg it to listen.
“Ariel!” My voice battles the wind.
She doesn’t turn.
For one heartbeat, lightning throws her into relief—pale skin, hair dark with rain, eyes fixed somewhere far away, beyond this world.
I move instinctively, shoes forgotten, jacket gone, diving...
The shock of the cold takes my breath, but I find her. My hands close around her wrist, and she startles, twisting toward me, lips forming my name.
“Everett—”
“I’ve got you,” I say, half breath, half promise.
I pull her in, get her arms around my neck, and kick hard toward the dock. The storm shoves against us, but she doesn’t fight me. She’s trembling, whispering something I can’t make out.
When we break the surface again near the ladder, I push her up first. I haul myself after her, and she collapses against my chest, sobbing.
The lake roars behind us, but she’s here, breathing, real, and I’m not letting her go.
“I thought I could go back,” she gasps. “But no one answered. I’m alone.”
My chest tightens painfully at her mournful expression. I tuck her wet hair behind her ear, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “You’re not alone. Not ever again.”
Ariel shakes her head. “You don’t understand. I can’t stay up here. I have to go back down there or he’ll destroy everything.” She points at the lake.
For a moment, I fear for her sanity, but the fear of hypothermia takes priority.
“Sweetheart, you’re soaked,” I murmur, gathering her stiff frame into my arms. “Let me get you home before you catch your death.”
She nods vacantly. “Home, yes.”
I take her hand and steer her toward the car. Grabbing a blanket from the trunk, I wrap it around her and settle her in the passenger seat before driving home in record time.
Half an hour later, we’re both dry and in clean clothes. I tug Ariel onto my lap as she goes to sit beside me on the couch.