Page 78 of The Wrong Heart

My chest ignites with a blaze of potent remorse, crawling upwards and singeing the back of my throat. A small cry slips out—the sort of cry that just hangs there, wretched and painful, contaminating everything within reach.

I feel him then, coasting up beside me.

Parker.

It’s a distorted comfort, one I want to soak up, like the way the water swallows the colors of the sun. But I want to repel it at the same time.

This is another man.

This is a man who isn’t my husband, isn’t my best friend, isn’t the love of my life.

This is a stranger, essentially, a stranger who is the opposite of Charlie in every way.

And yet, I need him right now. I need him to be my anchor.

Parker stares out at the darkening lake, stiff and rigid, his eyes dancing over to me when I peer up at him. He cases me, from my windswept hair to my parted lips, landing on my arm that is draped across my midsection, fingers latched onto my opposite elbow. His gaze glints beneath the dimming sky. “What did it feel like?”

His voice is low, throaty and almost tremulous. I blink up at him, processing his question, not understanding. Then I hold my arm out as I follow his stare. My jagged scar is on full display, bathed in dusk. “The knife?” I murmur, croaking out the words.

Parker’s eyebrows dip, but his gaze slides back up to mine. “To love someone that much.”

My heart seizes, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. I’m forced to look away as I pull my lips between my teeth, holding back another mournful cry.

“Sorry. You should go dance now.”

Swallowing, I glance back up at Parker, who has returned his attention to the lake. He teeters on the balls of his feet, his jaw clenching. I’m startled by his words as the chilly water laps at my toes—he’s never apologized for anything before, but he apologizes for this. For his brush with vulnerability, his tender curiosity. That’s nothing to be sorry for.

“It felt like completion,” I tell him, explaining it the only way that makes sense. “It felt like a pinnacle. Like everything in your life has come full circle, and this person is the culmination of every dream, every plea, every dandelion wish.

“And when your dreams dissolve, and the wishes scatter, it’s hard to find joy in anything else. How can you ever obtain completion again when you’re missing the biggest piece?” A ragged sigh escapes me, and I watch the emotions play across his face, a melancholy reflection pulling at his features. “I have to believe there’s still joy in the journey—thisnewjourney—and that life isn’t all about the finished puzzle. There’s just as much fulfillment in putting it together.”

Parker’s eye twitches, his gaze lowering to the soggy sand, and when he finally looks back up at me, I smile.

I smile wide, I smile proud, I smile through the tears—because that’s what it’s all about.

“It’s time to dance,” I declare.

A squeal breaks free when I skip into the lake, my legs blasted with the ice cold water, my fears washing away with every step.

I spin to look at Parker. He stands at the shoreline, watching me dip deeper into the water until it skims my waist. I splash my arms up, the frosty droplets dappling my hair, tearing another squeal out of me, and I twirl in unsteady circles, my toes sinking into the murky floor.

More laughter, more releasing, more dancing.

I jump and hop and move and spin. My blouse sticks to me as the ends of my hair skate along the lake, spraying and misting with every inelegant rotation. I’m purging my sickness, exorcising my demons, with eyes closed tight and my heart thundering its cleansing beats… I’m flying free.

I’m swimming.

I’m about to dive in, to fully immerse myself in the dark water, when I make a final spin and…

He’s there.

My body collides with his hard frame, my palms planting against his chest as a startled gasp slips out.

Parker grips my upper arms to steady me, his eyes gleaming with something new. Something undiscovered—something reserved for only me.

“You came,” I whisper, wide-eyed and spellbound.

His hands slide down my arms, resting at my elbows. “I’m regretting it already. Wet jeans are a bitch.”

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