Page 11 of Reclaim Me

I’ve barely settled the flowers against the cold, granite slab when the first drop of rain breaks free from the gray clouds looming overhead and lands on my head in a fat, wet drop and rolls into my eye. Rising to my feet, I wipe the drop away, only for it to be replaced by several more in the span of a second. A clap of thunder sounds out, and the skies open up completely, prompting me to sprint up the path toward the parking lot. Ahead of me, there’s a little girl holding the hand of a woman who is all but dragging her over the freshly formed puddles.

“Mommy, slow down. I want to splash,” the girl pleads, her little legs working overtime to keep up with the long strides the woman is taking.

“Riley, no, you don’t have on your rain boots,” her mother replies, and I stop short, cocking my head to the side as the notes of her voice make their way to my ears, slipping in between heavy raindrops and claps of thunder with the sole intention of sending sparks of recognition down my spine.

The pause costs me precious time, allowing more rain to soak through my shirt and the duo in front of me to make it to their car, which is, by some twist of fate, right beside mine. The familiar stranger is now digging her keys out of her purse while the little girl—Riley. Her daughter’s name is Riley—uses her mother’s distraction to her advantage, driving her feet through the rainwater gathered on the ground around the car and giggling with delight.

“Riley, please, stop. You’re going to be upset when you have to ride all the way home in wet socks.”

“They’re already wet, Mommy,” Riley returns quickly. A little too quickly for a child her age, but I guess that’s what happens when you have a mother like the one she does. You get to be all fire and sass, dancing in the rain without a care in the world.

Finally in possession of the keys, she unlocks the car and opens the rear passenger door, waving her hand to rush Riley into the dry confines of the vehicle. She goes without argument, happy to have gotten to splash in the puddles, even if it was for just a moment. When she’s settled in the seat, Riley’s eyes collide with mine. She stares me down fiercely, unafraid even though I’m a stranger.

“Mommy, who’s that man?” she asks, clicking her seat belt.

“What man, sweetie?”

Riley points at me, and I’m close now, closer than I should be to a stranger and her child. Closer than I should be to my lost love and the living, breathing representation of how far she’s moved on from me. Closer than I should be but still too far away.

She turns away from Riley, closing the door to put a barrier between her child and the threat she’s yet to identify. I stop near the trunk of my car and wait for her eyes to find my face. It takes too long because she starts at my feet, sizing me up the way I taught her to back when she spent all of her time inside the walls of the gym I named after the friend whose death brought her into my world.

In the time it takes her to meet my gaze, I’ve already marked every change she’s made to her appearance since the last time I saw her a little over a decade ago. She’s older, her brown eyes wiser, but she’s still just as beautiful as she was the day she left me. Her hair is longer, hanging in thick layers of coiled, black curls that cling to her shoulders, a striking contrast against her caramel skin.

Her almond eyes are narrowed when they finally land on my face. When she realizes that it’s me and not a complete stranger, they grow wide with recognition and surprise, but not fear.

“Hunter.” Her lips curve around my name, but the sound of it is washed away as the rain picks up.

The torrent catches us both off guard, but it’s still somehow the least surprising thing happening in this moment. We’re more shocked by each other. By the reality of sharing air with someone you haven’t seen or spoken to in years and, at least on my end, the pressing urge to know what it means for us both to be here—in New Haven, in this cemetery, in this moment—together after existing apart for so long.

“Rae.”

5

HUNTER

Then

Idon’t know anything about Rae Prince.

I’ve never seen her in person. Before I called Will’s phone, I didn’t even know she existed. Still, the moment I walk into the Waffle House right off of the highway, I know exactly who she is. Maybe it’s because she’s the only person looking like she’s about to meet up with a perfect stranger who, in their very first conversation, disclosed his intention to take his own life. It’s the wrinkles between her brows that give her away. The lip pulled between her teeth. The fingers tapping on the linoleum table top. The general air of uncertainty and regret lingering around the booth near the back of the restaurant she chose to sit in. She’s facing the door, watching the entrance, so she sees me at the same time I see her.

We both pause and share a look that’s meant to confirm what we already know. That I’m me, and she’s her. That we’re two strangers meeting under the strangest of circumstances. She lifts her hand and waves, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips before she strangles them into submission, forcing them to be something else, something more somber and fitting for the occasion.

My last supper.

How she convinced me to come here and share a meal with her, I’ll never know. One moment I was on the roof of the building Legacy told me she intended to buy just a week ago, ready to put an end to it all, and the next I was agreeing to greasy hash browns and limp waffles all so Will’s sister could feel good about letting me go off and die.

Because I still want to die…maybe.

Well, it’s not so much of a want as it is a need. I need to go, to leave this world before I can hurt anyone else, before I can fail anyone else like I failed Legacy.

“You need a seat, sweetheart?” A waitress calls from behind the counter. She’s got red, curly hair and frown lines in her ruddy skin as deep as the creases in her uniform.

“Nah.” I tilt my chin in Rae’s direction. “I’m meeting someone.”

Speaking the words out loud is enough to get my feet moving, and in seconds, I’m casting a large shadow over Rae’s table. She gazes up at me with almond-shaped eyes the color of roasted hazelnuts, and where I expect to find even a sliver of fear or intimidation because of my size and stature, I see nothing but interest and concern.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” I ask, giving her an out because God knows if I was in her situation, I’d want one.

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