Page 65 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

“I don’t,” Elliot admitted, and then small flickerings of unfamiliar emotions ignited in his chest. He couldn’t place them, only experience them, so that’s what he did. He let the confusing waves of regret and relief rush through him. “Were you able to locate her?”

“She plummeted into the sea in the pitch dark. What do you think?”

Elliot winced as if the words slashed him. He knew Mother’s potential survival could—and would—complicate things for him, but Elliot didn’t want her to die. His freedom meant everything, but he didn’t want her life to be the cost.

“I’m sorry,” Elliot whispered. “I didn’t mean for her to—”

“Let me just stop you right there, son,” Clarence said. “Our home is in chaos. Beaus are running amuck because of your actions. And that woman . . .” He paused, sighing. “I do not have time to ease your guilty conscience. What do you want?”

“What woman?”

“Just tell me what you want,” Clarence demanded, ignoring Elliot’s question. “Are you calling to inform me you’re coming for us next? Are you going to set our family home ablaze in the middle of the night? Honestly, Elliot, you’re unhinged. What’s next on your diabolical agenda?”

Elliot sniffled. “My baby. I don’t know how I’m meant to give birth. Jared had all the paperwork in his home, and I can’t go back there.”

“No, I don’t imagine you can. Not after what you pulled.”

“I know, Clarence. But I don’t know how to deliver her, and I’m worried she won’t survive if I can’t get her out. I just need to know what to do. Did Mother leave any documentation in her office? Was she—”

“Master Price,” Clarence practically shouted, making Elliot’s hand shake. “You killed my mother, so I don’t care what happens to you or your child. I don’t have the luxury of extending sympathetic words of condolence. I can barely keep my head above water as it is. Now, if you have nothing else to say, I’m—” Clarence sucked in a sharp breath. “Dear God, that woman has lost the last of her waning mind. I’m sorry, Elliot, I don’t have time for this.”

The call ended, and it felt like every ounce of hope he’d been holding onto vanished. He put off calling Mother’s home because he knew there was little-to-no chance of her survival. The longer he held off, the longer he could pretend she was in her luxurious Louisiana mansion, actively forming plans for his capture.

Now she was officially gone. She was gone, and he could no longer count on the love and support of his brothers back home. Elliot may have gained a life with Alexander Davenport, but he lost everything else in the process, and his family lost their matriarch.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and slowly rose from their bed. Alexander was already gone, having offered to do the shopping down at the island’s market. Making his way to the closet, he resisted the familiar urge to curl up and hide, choosing instead to stand as tall as his body would allow. To keep his chin raised and eyes ahead, not like a submissive beau. Not as the battered and beaten victim of Jared Price’s cruelty. He would soldier on until he could no longer do so.

Elliot selected the same outfit he always selected on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays; a pair of stretchy khakis, a pink polo shirt, and a pair of comfortable flats. Once dressed, he styled his unruly waves into something somewhat presentable, grabbed his phone, and headed out, not locking the door behind him.

Elliot loved how safe the island felt. Aside from the rake incident during his last visit as Jared Price’s live-in punching bag, no one had a cruel word to say to him. He was building a life for himself, and he refused to see that life taken for granted. His fear would have to wait.

He walked into Twylah’s Sugarplum Treats two minutes before noon. The black-and-white checkered floor still sparkled from when he mopped the night before, despite Ms. Twylah’s insistence that he have a seat and elevate his feet. In the display cases were the many treats Ms. Twylah and Elliot made; his offerings were still sloppy as ever, but if Ms. Twylah was to be believed, he was getting better, and that was what counted.

“Good morning, sugar,” Ms. Twylah sang out as she looked up from a still-steaming tray of cookies. She grabbed a set of tongs and meticulously arranged the cookies on a platter. “What’s got you down in the dumps?”

Elliot cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”

She pointed at her eye. “The blue lights in your eyes. They’re flashing like crazy.”

“I’m fine.” Elliot didn’t enjoy lying, but he didn’t want to voice his fear. He didn’t want to give it a name, because doing so would make it real.

“You’re not,” she said, placing one leftover plum jam cookie on a napkin and setting it on the counter for him. He shuffled forward, his swollen ankles aching along the short journey. When he reached the counter, he took a bite of the cookie and purred like a kitten. Ms. Twylah’s treats never failed to put a smile on his face. They were always warm and gooey, and tasted like Christmas.

“I don’t wish to dwell on my upset. I want to be distracted.” He looked over her shoulder. Behind Ms. Twylah, there were three other trays of pastries that needed to be placed on display shelves. He wasn’t sure he wanted to work in the front of the bakery, though. With his melancholy mood overtaking him, Elliot believed he’d rather work in the back, baking delicious—though terribly unattractive—sweets for the citizens of Sugarplum Island. “I’m aiming forward.”

“You’re aiming for a kiss on the cheek for being adorable. That’s what you’re aiming for.”

Elliot blushed. For the past month, Elliot had been working side-by-side with Ms. Twylah. It had been one of the high points of his life. He felt he’d finally forged a family of sorts. Daily, Elliot came alive. He made friends with the locals, but more importantly, he made friends with his future mother-in-law.

Elliot rubbed his baby bump. He was so ready to meet his child. He was ready to hold her in his arms and swear his undying protection. But how could Elliot protect her in a world where he couldn’t even protect himself?

“You’re frightened, aren’t you?”

“Frightened of what?”

Ms. Twylah placed her hand on Elliot’s belly. “Being a parent. Raising her.”

“I want her very much,” Elliot argued, but Ms. Twylah was right. Elliot knew nothing of life. He’d never been around children before. Most parents kept their offspring at arm’s length from the ‘big, scary robot,’ as he’d heard some parents refer to him. He wasn’t sure how to raise a child, and he agreed with Alexander that Mother’s book was essentially filler with vague, deeply misogynistic themes. There were no instructions for feeding their child. No tips or pointers for teaching them right from wrong. What if Elliot mucked it all up and ended up raising a future warlord, hellbent on bringing about the end times? That was, if he could even get her out of his tummy to begin with. For all Elliot knew, she could be forced to remain there, growing larger and larger, pleading for relief through the window to his womb. He had to do something. He had to figure something out.

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