Page 8 of Sneak Attack

Marley’s home was on a small, no-wake bay on Pheasant Lake. Where the other side of the lake held resorts and the constant hum of lake activity from March to November, this small bay was always gentle. Peaceful.

It was the same now, and the muscles in my shoulders and back that knitted themselves into knots yesterday slowly unfurled as we walked.

Marley must have sensed my need for quiet, because instead of jumping into the conversation I knew she wanted to have, she didn’t. We spoke of nothing important and whispered about the weather and fall coming soon. Her favorite parts of fall and which trees turned the best colors. At her first yawn, I guided us back to the house and I was now cleaning the kitchen while she napped in her bedroom.

Cancer. Glioblastoma in her brain that was discovered far too late for any effective surgery, and she was opposed to any chemotherapy to shrink it.

Women so special shouldn’t be destroyed so slowly or viciously. On the table, she had a list of doctors, her upcoming appointments, and her medicines all lined up on a lazy Susan with weekly pill organizers ready to be filled. I’d sit down and have her walk me through them when she woke so I could ensure I didn’t mess it up, but someone had taken the time to type up an organized spreadsheet and tuck it between the pills.

There was also my own list of things I was working on other than just grocery lists and medicines. I was back to take care of Marley because she didn’t have blood relatives remaining, but I still needed to find something to keep me sane.

Which meant hunting down the local humane societies or vet clinics to see if they needed volunteers. I would have to eventually go back to work, but volunteering would do for a while.

My head was down in my phone, pulling up Google Maps listings of all the shelters within fifteen miles, that when a firm knock hit the front door, shaking the glass storm door outside, I barely paused.

I should have.

I should have known better.

I should have realized that a delivery man wouldn’t knock on the door or that Marley wouldn’t have unannounced visitors.

But I wasn’t thinking fast enough for that.

Truth be told, I hadn’t done a lot of thinking ever since I agreed to stay with her.

Which was why I opened the door, head still down at my phone, and before I caught a whiff of scent or heard him speak or took notice at all of who was at her door, I already knew it was him.

Cole. His mere presence was enough to have the floor beneath my feet shifting.

“I didn’t think you’d have the guts to answer the door or show your face around here ever again.”

Seven years.

Seven years since I heard his voice. Since I saw the tortured look in his eyes when I told him I was leaving.

Seven years since I’d seen the man I loved in person and not on a television screen, and that was the first thing he said to me.

Not that I didn’t deserve it.

“Marley’s sleeping.” It was as much of a dismissal as it was a warning.

He stepped into the home like he had every right to be there—and he did—because that was Marley’s rule. Everyone was always welcome, and I had no doubt he’d done his fair share of taking care of her over the years.

The move was abrupt. Each swift and steady movement from him jolted me backward until I was grabbing onto the railing for dear life, and Cole was standing in Marley’s entryway, glaring at me like I was gum on the bottom of his shoe.

Pretty much the way he looked at me the last time we spoke.

Time had been good to Cole. So had life. That wasn’t a surprise, but staring at me then, he sucked the oxygen straight from my lungs and the entire room around us, making my chest seize and my legs turn to jelly.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He was supposed to not want anything to do with me.

“What do you want, Eden?”

“I’m here to help Marley.”

“Bullshit. You stopped giving a shit about her the same as you stopped giving a shit about this town and the destruction you left us all to deal with the second y’all left.”

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