Page 16 of Sparrow

THE SEA BREEZEhas always been therapeutic for me. The scent of the saltwater in the air gives me a sense of safety. A sense of home.

When I left Jaxon two weeks ago, and heard that song on the radio on the way to Nora’s place, my world shifted on its axis. I knew then and there; I needed to come back here. There was a string tied around my heart and the other end was here in Georgia, slowly winding up and pulling me back. I just needed to find the strength to lift my feet off the ground and let it freely bring me home.

Leaving California was easier than I thought it would be. After a long conversation and many tears with Nora, she booked a one-way flight for me, while I spoke with an attorney and set the divorce in motion. I signed my portion of the papers and set it up to have his portion sent to his attorney. We had no children, no joint assets; my name wasn’t on any of the car titles or mortgages. Jaxon was a control freak; now it’s working in my favor. My lawyer says I could potentially never have to lay eyes on him again.

Three days after signing my freedom papers, I left California with two suitcases, the clothes on my back, and a new lease on life. I was going to follow my dad’s advice, still ringing in my ears every, single, day.

Live your life, Amelia. Don’t stop living it.

The moment I stepped off the plane and into the Georgia heat, I smiled. A real smile. Not the fake one I had to plaster on around Jaxon’s colleagues. Not the forced one I had to wear when Jaxon actually pretended to be a good husband. No. A real smile. One that hurt my cheeks. One that I could feel in my eyes and ears.

I was home.

I booked a room at a hotel on the River Walk. I wanted to stand on the balcony and let the sounds of Savannah consume me: horses’ hooves clicking off the cobblestone. Enthusiastic singing from the very inebriated patrons on the ‘pedal pub.’ The street musicians playing on the corner for tips. The chatter. The laughing. The conversation. Everything that makes Savannah what it is—Perfect.

I ventured out to Tybee Island as soon as I settled. I needed the ocean. I needed the peace. I needed to find a place to live...and what better place is there?

I toured apartments, viewed small cottages and bungalows; I even looked at single rooms for rent, but nothing spoke to me. I had resigned myself to the fact that I’d likely have to look for a place on the outskirts of downtown Savannah when I passed Sandlewood Court. My heart leapt into my throat and I couldn’t resist.

I would sneak onto this street when I was a teenager to admire the house on the corner. The blue one with the white porch and private beach access. It was my dream home. Living there was a pipe dream...or so I thought.

The ‘For Sale’ sign was like a glowing, neon flashing light. It even chanted out loud, “Buy me, Amelia. Buy me.”

So...I finally put my untouched inheritance to use and bought it.

Now, here I stand, way too early on a Monday morning, on my bright white porch, sipping a cup of coffee, waiting on the tech from Kane Security to come install my alarm system. I didn’t want to have to get one but...my past experiences dictate that I do.

I place my coffee on the rail and pile my red hair into a messy bun atop my head. My face is fresh and makeup free. I’m dressed in cutoff shorts and a loose fitting red and black sports team tee that hangs off one shoulder, and my feet are bare, save for bright blue toenail polish.

This is me. Not the battered Malibu Barbie Jaxon wanted me to be. No. I am being myself. I am living my life. I am free.

I lift my coffee back to my lips and walk around to the side of the wraparound porch. The side that faces the water. I watch the waves crash against the sand over and over. The ocean is an amazing beast. It’s so beautiful and majestic, but it could swallow you whole without a second look. I close my eyes and breathe.

All too soon, my solace is interrupted by someone knocking on my front door. I leave my coffee on the railing and round back to the front of the porch to greet the person I assume is from the security company.

“Sorry, I was on the other—” I freeze, mid-sentence. My heart jumps into my throat, while my stomach completely bottoms out—I can only manage one word, “Gray?”

***

(Grayson)

If I couldn’t smell the scent of her coconut shampoo in the breeze, I’d swear I was having a nervous fucking breakdown.

“Mills?”

“Yeah...It’s me.” She stands in one place, clearly as stunned as I am.

“Is this your place? You live here?” I ask. Holy fuck. She’s standing in front of me.

“It is. I moved in last night.” The wind catches a tendril of her hair, pulls it from the bun on top of her head, and it flutters against her cheek, causing her to promptly blow it out of the way.

Her hand flies up to her neck, like it’s a nervous habit, and plays with the necklace she’s wearing.

My eyes drop down just for a moment and I see it, clear as day. She’s wearing the sparrow necklace I gave her before I left all those years ago.

That necklace. Holy shit.

She still has it.

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