Page 88 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“You’re not as strong as you think you are,” he observed.
“Strong enough.” Ava tilted her chin up in quiet defiance.
“You survived.” Noah’s little finger brushed against hers from their position on the floor.
Ava was breathless for quite a different reason.
His finger stroked her hand. A gentle rhythmic sweep that both soothed and stoked something inside her.
“Everyone survives in their own way.” Ava’s words drifted between them. “You’re surviving too.”
Noah’s eyes flared to life. His chest rose and fell. Ava could hear his breathing. Could feel his full hand now as it crept slowly to cover her own.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he mumbled. His forehead tilted toward hers.
Ava stared into the depths of his eyes. Reading between the little flames that sparked there. A line of hurt threaded through them, of regret.
“You’re a piece of work for a preacher,” she muttered, not knowing what else to say.
Noah’s hand lightly massaged hers.
Ava couldn’t move away. Didn’t want to. There was a wistfulmagic in the night. A wishing. A wishing for a sweet release from the pain that had drafted its way into their very different souls and claimed them for a lifetime of wondering. The asking ofwhy?The secrets harbored deep within, stunting even the flicker of hope.
“I’d best get back to bed,” Noah said. But he didn’t move. Didn’t even twitch. His fingers continued to caress hers.
Hypnotized by his presence, Ava turned her hand over so their fingers could link. Noah’s eyes slid shut. He was warring against something. Warring against himself, against this moment. Ava shifted to her knees. She reached out, tentative, pushing back a loose strand of dark hair from his forehead.
“Ava?” Noah’s eyes were still closed. He leaned into her hand.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Please.” His voice shook a bit. “Don’t.”
She should listen. But she’d never taken direction well. Ava trailed her fingertips down the side of Noah’s face, feeling the stubble beneath her skin, the flex of his jaw, and the corded strength of his neck.
“You’re going to be the death of me.” Noah’s eyes popped open, and the intensity in them startled her.
Ava withdrew, pulling her hand back.
His eyes half begged her to obey him, while the other half dared her to defy the truth of the moment.
Ava struggled to her feet, her bare toes catching on the hemline of her nightgown. She stumbled, reaching for Noah’s shoulder. He swept upward, his hands settling on her waist to steady her. The warmth from his hands burned through the thin cotton of her nightgown.
“I didn’t kill ’em.” She stated it more to bring herself back to the reality of the night. The cold, stark truth of it.
Noah’s hand drifted to the small of her back, urging her toward him. He drew himself to his feet. Her chest brushed his. Ava’s eyes widened. Noah leaned into her, his lips against her ear.
“I believe you. Now let me go.”
Ava made quick work of obeying this time. She backed away, as did the preacher. He exited her room quickly, shutting the door, the latch clicking loudly in the stillness. Ava’s skin tingled. Her heart pounded. Every part of her was awakened, and this time it was less of a nightmare and more like a murky daydream.
36
Wren
“They’re doingwhatwhen?” Wren straightened from her slump at the Blythe kitchen table. She watched her dad lift his head at the announcement as Pippin entered the family kitchen. For the hundredth time that morning, she regretted the complimentary night’s stay at her family’s house instead of remaining at the Markhams’. She’d wanted to give Eddie and his dad time together—especially since, per Patty’s request, the memorial service wouldn’t be held until the end of the camp’s summer program. Praise and worship, she requested, along with a camp family cookout. Typical Patty. But it made closure difficult, with the event looming weeks away still.
Tristan Blythe removed his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Today?”
