Page 57 of Shattered Dreams

“Oh.”

If Gage dumps me, I guess it would be better to know.

It’s stupid, but I miss him. Miss his soft flannel shirts, the way his beard scratches at my skin. Especially when he’s between my legs, licking me. I never had it so good than when he ate me out while I was sitting on the vanity in the bathroom. The way he pushed his fingers inside me, twisting them as he sucked on my clit. I came so hard my cum ran down his wrist. It was the sexiest thing I have ever seen.

A whimper escapes from the back of my throat. His hands on me is what I live for. His kisses keep me alive.

“It’s going to be okay, Zarah. I promise. You’re doing the right thing.”

She always says that, but it never feels like it is. What feels like the right thing is believing Gage when he says he loves me the way I am. Believing him when he says he wants us to build a life together while we cuddle under the covers in the dark after making love. Believing him when he says he’ll never leave me.

Those things feel right, letting myself go and trusting he’ll be there to catch me when I fall. He’s never not come for me when I called.

Heartsick, I doze as she drives.

She sharply turns a corner, jostling me against the door, and I blink the fogginess out of my brain. A huge lake house looms through the trees, the second-story windows sparkling in the setting sun. According to the clock on the dash, we’ve been driving for more than four hours. Four hours on the road, in a direction I lost when I fell asleep. Apprehension wiggles in my gut. We’re all alone out here.

There’s no way I can go home if she won’t drive me back.

I swallow. We didn’t stop for something to eat or anything to drink, and she never asked if I had to go to the bathroom. My bladder feels ready to burst.

She smiles and coasts the rest of the way into the drive, rock and ice crunching under the tires. The lake is a snow-covered sheet beyond the house, and there’s no sign of another cabin, another person, anywhere.

“Let’s get your bags inside. I have the perfect bedroom in mind for you. It has its own clawfoot bathtub in the bathroom. Perhaps not what you’re used to, but we’ll make it work.” Killing the engine, she turns to me. “I’m happy you’re here, Zarah.”

She kisses my cheek, and the scent of her perfume, while it has never bothered me before, queasily churns my stomach.

I slide out of the truck, and she leaves me to carry my suitcases up the porch and into the house by myself. Is this when the lessons start? She never seemed to resent my money, but maybe now that we’re alone her jealousy will seep out. It usually does with anyone I meet.

Not Stella, though. She disliked the way we lived, and it helped me grow close to her, knowing it was our friendship she valued and not anything else. Gage never cared, never askedme for a dime. The kitchen table was my idea, and I didn’t realize until afterward, but his auto insurance covered most of his new truck. He let Zane take care of the difference between what his insurance company paid and the kind of truck my brother wanted him to buy. Otherwise, had Gage chosen a more conservative truck, he wouldn’t have needed Zane’s money at all.

When I asked what I could give him, all he said he wanted was a vacation so we could be together. To love me as the fish swam beneath us.

I already miss him so much, and I saw him just last night. Two weeks without him seems like an eternity.

“This is the downstairs. The living room, and the kitchen is through those doors. Feel free to look around and to help yourself to anything you want—food, books—there’s a TV in the den at the back of the house. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, but you’ll have some time alone, too. If you go outside, please let me know. I don’t want you to get turned around out there.” She smiles, and I don’t detect anything other than concern and hospitality.

Maybe I imagined her prickliness because I don’t want to be here.

“You can take your jacket and boots off. I’ll show you the upstairs.”

I unzip my boots and hang my jacket in a closet that’s almost empty. No one lives here full-time. We pay Jerricka a lot of money in fees, and she has several other high-profile clients. She can well afford a place like this and to hire a caretaker to keep it up all year round.

I grasp the handle of one suitcase—this time she carries the other—and she leads me up the stairs. It’s a very pretty house. Light and airy, watercolor prints hanging on the walls. Something my mother would have found pleasure in. Sometimes thoughts of her come out of nowhere and pierce my heart. I missher terribly, and I wipe a tear off my cheek. I don’t want Jerricka to notice me crying.

She tilts her head to a bedroom on the left and I step inside. The king bed fills half the room, and a huge dresser uses up most of the remaining space. The windows look over the snowy woods, and the red and grey squirrels scampering along the bare branches remind me of Baby and Gage and our walks.

“I think you’ll be comfortable here,” she says, poking me, wanting a reaction.

“Yes, it’s nice, thank you.”

My heart isn’t in this at all.

“Why don’t you freshen up, then meet me in the kitchen. We’ll do the blood test right away. Whether or not you’re pregnant will determine how my treatment plan will go during these next two weeks.”

“All right.”

She backs away and shuts the door, leaving me standing alone, afraid and unsure.

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