Page 53 of Buried Roots

To Owen’s credit, he waits a beat before kneeling in front of me and pulling me into a hug. “Can we go now?”

I stop fighting, letting him hold me. I force myself to breathe in rhythm with him—slow and deep. With tears welling my eyes, I melt into his arms out of exhaustion and defeat.

“You don’t have to do this right now.”

I close my eyes and take controlled breaths. I force my mind to go blank until the banging in my chest slows. I steady my voice when I say, “Sorry. The shock threw me. I swear to god, I could see it. I could smell it. I could feel it. Like it just happened yesterday.”

“What isit? What happened?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not leaving until I figure it out.” I have to do this because I don’t have the choice not to.

“If you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving.” Owen’s voice is steady, unaffected. “Are we in this together?”

“Yup. Let’s pull the Band-Aid off.”

Once we’re back in the basement, I’m shivering and chilly, wishing I had a sweater on. I know Icannotbe cold because a minute ago, I was just too hot outside. I wave my arms, shaking the shock away.

Now, with Owen by my side, I head straight to the wall of the laundry room that’s clearly been patched. Tears form in my eyes again, and my throat closes as I run my fingers over the jagged edges of the spackle. “This used to be a hole the bad man made with his fist. He swung and missed my mom.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I knew him. I just remember that he hit her, and she fell to the floor.” I look at Owen, my lips quivering. “She was lying there, not moving. I thought she was dead.”

“What else do you remember?” He pulls me close, and I try to release the tension gripping my spine. “She was trying to stop him from taking me.”

Owen brushes a stray piece of hair off my forehead. “Can you see what he looks like?”

“He had blond hair. Gloves. They terrified me. He terrified me. When he grabbed me and put something over my mouth, I screamed so loud my throat was raw. I woke up in a strange place.” I pull away and look at Owen as the truth rattles my bones. “He kidnapped me.”

19

The Dinner

Asthetreeswhizby, I’m so lost in my thoughts I’m beyond words. We’re on our way back to Violet Moon, but we stopped at the Women’s Bright Futures home and asked about Annie’s photo. Just as we suspected, they aren’t allowed to divulge information about any of their residents, past or present. After that, I was so bone dead exhausted, I asked Owen to drive.

“Talk to me, Queens.” Owen glances at me before returning his eyes to the road.

His command opens the floodgates, as my brain won’t stop. Who was the man who kidnapped me? And what happened to my mom after that man hurt her? But all I say is, “I’m fine. Just a lot to process. I mean, who am I even?”

“Hold on.” Owen drives a bit before pulling the car off the road on a large shoulder. After putting it in park, he unfastens his seat belt and leans in to cup my face. “You’re Willow Dawson. The woman who can get a car out of a ditch in four-inch heels. Don’t forget that.”

His words ground me, comfort me, just like always. But then a fearful and thrilling realization hits. Somewhere along the way, Owen has grown from a roll in the hay to my guy. And what am I supposed to do with that? I don’t know, but I take a breath and utter, “I’m Willow Dawson.”

“Good. That’s my girl. Now think, what should we do next?”

“I need to find my adoption papers.”

“Right. They’d fill holes, some really important ones, like who your dad is.”

“Yes.” Getting my adoption records—a task I can focus on. “Closed adoptions in Georgia require a court order.”

“That definitely sounds like a job for Mr. Livingston.” Owen gives methatlook again. “Did I mention you’re a badass?”

“No. And you can keep saying it if you want.” I take his hand and give it a squeeze. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“No problem.” He smiles, but then it fades. He stares ahead, clearly deep in thought. Then, his face clouds over, and I feel a distinct shift of mood. Finally, he says, “Stealing from The Malted Moon wasn’t the only time I got in trouble growing up.” His voice is strained.

“It wasn’t?” I glance at him, surprised.

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