Page 51 of Aiden

I can tell he’s flexing his muscles on purpose. Aiden would crush him like a bug. I take my lip out from between my teeth and change the subject. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s great! She’d actually love to see you. Want to come over for dinner tomorrow? You and Mrs. Banks.”

I try to think of the best excuse I can but I’m coming up short. Besides, he’ll just ask Mom if I say no, and everyone knows Pamela Banks would never turn down a dinner invite because it’s rude.

I never told Mom Caleb and I dated. She always thought we were best friends. That way, he could come over and stay however late he wanted. It’s not like we ever did anything crazy; I kissed him but that’s it. Now I wish I had told her.

I hesitate for a moment before giving in, not figuring a way out. “Sure.”

He flashes me one victory smile. “See you later.”

I head inside, climb into my pajamas and sink into the warm bed. Speaking to Dad takes a load off me. I know he hears me; I just wish he was still here. It’s easy to pretend he’s here with Mom while I’m away at college, their laughter filling the house. But now, it feels empty. Mom tries her best, but we’ll always be a puzzle with a hundred missing pieces without him.

My heart aches for Aiden, but I can’t shake the nightmares. I’ve woken up screaming multiple times. Luckily, Mom believes me when I tell her it’s PTSD. I hate using Dad’s death as an excuse, but telling her the truth, that I was kidnapped, would break her. She’s always been so supportive of my decisions; I don’t want her to be paranoid.

A light knock on the front door prompts me to crawl out of bed. Mom’s at work and my heart pounds with anticipation that it may possibly be Aiden.

It isn’t.

Instead, a small Tiffany blue box sits on the front porch with a note attached.

You’re still mine as much as I’m still yours. Wear this so everyone else knows it too.

Aiden’s handwriting. I can’t help my smile.

I know that he knows where I am. It’s hard to not miss the black glossy escalade parked out front since I arrived. I didn’t have my ID on me when I was taken so I know they don’t know my address, and Ashley told them my name was Claire. But the extra security makes me feel better. Like Aiden is here himself, protecting me.

Gift in hand, I smile brightly at the car parked down the street and return inside. I carefully open the Tiffany box, too cute to tear into and ruin. I open the jewelry box and gasp when I see the beautiful necklace.

A delicate rose gold padlock is attached to a thin rose gold chain. The lock is closed, and the word ‘Aiden’ is embedded into the gold across the front. I put it on and admire how it looks against my skin. It’s small and subtle. Just perfect.

I resist the urge to call him, to tell him how much I loved it. I’m sticking firm to my decision. I will not be a burden in his life.

∞∞∞

Mom arrives home after a busy day at work, her dark hair pulled back haphazardly. She looks exhausted.

The countertops are lined with macaroons and cupcakes after I spend the day baking to keep myself busy.

“Looks like we’re having sweets for dinner.” Mom laughs as she examines the treats dotting every inch of her kitchen, before picking up a macaroon and happily biting into it.

“Wow, Emma! These are deli–”

A loud knock on the door cuts her off and she makes her way back to the door. I hear it creak open before she speaks again, her voice is full of surprise.

“Mr. Scott?”

That name. Could It be?

My brain tells my feet to slow, but they don’t listen. I glide out of the kitchen and into the hallway. That’s when I see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looks unusually casual in his black shirt and dark jeans, but still heavenly. His eyes are pleading as he looks between Mom and I.

He’s here.

…I never showed Mom a picture of him, let alone told her his name. Definitely not his last name. So how does she know?

His deep velvet voice fills the house. “I’m sorry, Miss. Banks. I need to have a talk with your daughter.”

He walks right past her and straight for me. Mom’s face is twisted in confusion, as is mine, as he wraps me in a tight hug.

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