Page 12 of Through the Water

I wanted freedom.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that call?” He asked, his mouth tipping up in a smile that conveyed nothing.

Was he angry?

Did he know how I’d ended up here?

Tristan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head as if he’d been granted a direct line into my thoughts. The nurse continued beaming, unaware of our silent conversation.

No to what—both? One?

Tell me!I wanted to scream.

“Melanie,” Tristan stated, turning his attention back to the nurse and signaling the end of our little discussion. “Would you mind if I prayed?”

Melanie readily agreed, jarring the side of the bed with her hip in her hurry to reach Tristan’s outstretched hand. I winced as the pain in my head expanded like an overfilled balloon, but instead of fading to black, the room seemed to grow brighter.

Or maybe it was just Tristan’s unnaturally white teeth.

“Heavenly Father—”

I added my own silent prayer. Obviously, it had been too much to ask for freedom. At this point, I was willing to settle for unconsciousness.

The rhythmic beeping from the machines made tuning out his words easier than I imagined. The nurse might have believed differently, but if he was here, then I was not safe.

And all the prayers in the world wouldn’t take away from the genuine possibility that this time, he’d gone too far.

He reached for my hand as he spoke, letting his beady eyes search my face. I’d seen this look more than once, an unspoken reminder to stick to the script. Suddenly afraid of what he might see reflected in my own eyes, I turned away from his probing gaze.

Knowing I hadn’t said a word was one thing. Convincing him of the fact was a completely different animal.

I glanced up when Tristan’s voice cracked in the middle of his impassioned monologue, surprised to find he wasn’t glaring at me in suspicion. Not even close. I watched in a sort of horrified fascination as moisture pooled in his blue eyes before spilling over onto his lashes.

Tristan James did not cry.

Ever.

On the morning Mama passed, his eyes had remained completely dry. He’d seemed almost relieved to be free of the invalid wife and her accusations.

The memories cropped up sporadically, but my thoughts were still very much jumbled together like skeins of yarn in a wicker basket. Tugging on the string of one fact didn’t lead to the next. It only seemed to further entangle the threads of the others. Mama had been gone for years, but the memory of her death was as fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday.

I fought against the sudden surge of panic and looked down to where my hand rested in Tristan’s, studying every line until I became convinced that I was, in fact, still an adult. For reasons I couldn’t explain, the past had taken a firm hold over my mind, distorting reality.

“And Father, we—we just need—” Tristan tried covering his mouth, but he was too late.

What happened? I knew my lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear the sound of my voice.

“Ariana.” He squeezed my fingers with a hiccuped breath. “You were driving the convertible and lost—you lost control, sweetheart.”

It didn’t make any sense. If I went anywhere, I would have taken the Audi. I shook my head, mouthing, No, I wouldn’t have—

It only hurts if you let it…

The heat in my chest moved up to my esophagus, yet I remained silent. I freed my hand from his and rubbed frantically at the base of my throat.

Tristan’s face crumpled again, and he dropped his eyes down to the sheet. “You… you didn’t have a seatbelt on and your head—” His words trailed off in a sob of fragmented sentences before Melanie intervened.

“Ariana, you hit your head. The doctors had to remove a piece of your skull to help with the swelling. If the pressure on your brain remains low, I expect they’ll look at scheduling a surgery soon to replace it.”

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