Page 22 of The Last One You Loved
Fuck,fuck, fuck!
She hadn’t moved from in front of the house.
A swarm of mixed emotions blew through me, panic being the loudest. I couldn’t afford to have her there. Not with Sybil one town over and on a rampage after I’d lost my temper. Not when it could mean losing the best thing in my life. The most important.
But underneath the panic and anger was a tiny flick of joy and relief. She was here. For years, I’d hoped she’d stroll back into Willow Creek. That she’d ask me to forgive the hurtful words and the way she’d pushed me aside. For months after she’d told me not to ever contact her again, I’d pretty much shut down emotionally, losing myself in my job, waiting for her to bring me back to life. But it hadn’t been her who’d returned me to the land of the living. It had been Mila.
McKenna’s shocked, exhausted expression in my entryway flashed in front of my eyes. She’d looked worn in a way her mother normally did—dark circles under her lashes, pain in her eyes. She’d been too thin, as if no one had been watching over her to make sure she remembered to eat. She had to be in trouble if she’d actually come back to Willow Creek. Nothing but a threat of hellfire and damnation would have brought her back otherwise.
She’d had a key to my house.
That made me frown.
The house had changed hands several times in the couple years before I’d bought it. The local real estate management group had owned it last, and I hadn’t changed the locks. In hindsight, that was pretty stupid, but it was Willow Creek, for God’s sake. Break-ins were rare, and everybody knew I was the sheriff. It wasn’t like they were just going to waltz into my place.
Except, McKenna Lloyd had.
Shit. Why? Why was she here now?
“Daddy!” Mila’s little voice was demanding and impatient.
I made my way back into the family room, kissed her on the top of her head, and made a comment about Scooby that satisfied her. But then, I was drawn to the diamond-paned window looking out at the street.
She was still there. The sun had barely set, so there was enough light for me to see she had her forehead on the steering wheel and her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. McKenna was crying…and she never cried. She’d been fierce and brave. Taking the beatings. Taking the verbal abuse. Hiding away all the pain with a face that showed nothing.
Goddamn, it sent swirls of emotions through me. Guilt. Protectiveness. A desire to comfort her. I clenched my teeth together so tight I was sure they were going to break.
A little hand slipped into mine, and I looked down at my daughter and nearly burst into tears myself. The relief I’d felt this afternoon when I’d come home and found her baking with Rianne had been overwhelming. The feel of her tiny body hugging me had righted everything in my world. There was no way in hell I was letting anyone take her from me. I’d run away to some non-extradition country if I had to. I now understood, completely, parents who kidnapped their kids, because I’d do the same. She wasmylittle girl.
“She’s still here? Why didn’t you invite her in? She was pretty. How do you know her?” The barrage of questions hit me one after another.
Answers I couldn’t give her. Answers I’d never be able to tell McKenna either, not without risking Mila.
“I used to know her a long time ago. But she was looking for a different house,” I said, settling for half-truths.
“She looks sad,” Mila said, and her happy voice filled with dejection at the thought of someone else hurting. She’d always been that way, easily feeling others’ emotions. My mama called her an empath, said her life would be full of emotions. I wasn’t sure I liked that idea. I wanted her to only have one emotion?happiness.
I looked back out at the street. McKenna was still crying.
I sighed, warring with myself, the urge to go to her and the urge to send her packing still swimming together.
“Stay here,” I said to Mila. “Don’t leave this room. Don’t get another cookie. Don’t budge from the couch. Do you understand?”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, pulling Chester the Unicorn to her chest, sitting on the couch, and nibbling on the corner of her thumb. It was progress from sucking it, but it was still a habit I needed to break her of eventually.
I slipped on a pair of sneakers I’d left by the door after my run that morning and headed down the walk toward the street. McKenna didn’t see me coming, not even when I was standing by the driver’s side door. I knocked on the glass, and she jumped a mile, putting a hand to her chest.
I motioned for her to roll down the window with my heart hammering so hard I could barely hear anything but the thudding in my eardrums. My gut twisted as I stared at her beautiful face splotched with red and eyes that were still streaming. I didn’t want to help her—for more reasons than I could count. Because she’d hurt me in ways no one ever had. Because I couldn’t risk her being here. But even knowing both those things, I ached to reach out and pull her to me and try and soothe away her pain. To put those lips that had haunted my dreams for years up against mine and slide home. To feel joined again to the person I’d thought made up my other half and who’d been missing for a decade.
Not missing, I reminded myself. Missing implied they hadn’t wanted to be gone.
“You’re still here,” I said, trying to keep all the emotions out of my voice.
“Y-yes,” she hiccupped. “Sorry. Was melting down. Give me a minute to figure out where to go, and then I’ll be out of your hair. Your wife probably freaked out. Some random woman showing up with her luggage.”
My gut twisted, but I didn’t correct her misunderstanding.
“Why were you at my place?” I asked.
