Page 46 of Haunted Hearts
“Nothing. He’s an asshole. All I want is for him to nix that stupid lab.”
Autumn studies me. She certainly doesn’t need wine to say what’s on her mind, but she’s even more loose lipped after a couple glasses. “I know you think preserving the library is the only way to keep a connection with your mom, but… it seems like there’s got to be another way.”
“What? Like sitting around reminiscing with my dad over photo albums? Get real.”
I haven’t spoken to my dad since he called me that morning at Brewed Awakening, wanting to introduce me to whoever it is he’s “seeing.” I know I should call him, but I’m still resistant to the thought of him being with anyone but my mom. There’s also the fact I’m still hurt by how checked out he was for so long.
Autumn snorts. “Come on, Lydia. You know that’s not what I’m saying. I just… I don’t know, maybe there’s a different way you can honor her memory.”
I don’t want to entertain the thought because I know what she’s trying to get at. I eye her suspiciously. “I thought you just said there was hope for the library.”
“I did, but I just want you to be prepared. You know, so you don’t knee Will in the balls and get arrested for assault. And speaking of Will’s balls…”
“Nope! We’re not going to sit here and talk about Will Holloway’s testicles.”
I knock my head back and finish the wine in my glass. We’re going to need to open another bottle if Autumn’s going to keep talking about Will all night.
Even if itwasjust sex, there’s no forgetting how safe I felt, sitting in his lap with his arms around me, the waves crashing onto the shore. The warmth of our bodies in the chill of the night air was like a microcosm of the safety we brought each other. For even those few moments, we were each other’s shelter amidst the turmoil.
Jesus Christ, I need to get it together. This wine is turning me into a total sap. I grab the bottle and swig directly from it while Autumn cackles.
We spend the rest of the weekend like that, drinking wine and laughing, chatting and poking good-natured fun at one another. Autumn doesn’t bring up Will again, and neither do I. Because I don’t need to—no matter what I do, his face is in my head. I can even feel the memory of his low, gruff voice rumbling through my chest as he lies on top of me.
I don’t even know what can be done about the library by now. Getting the board to change their design plans now feels like a distant pipe dream, and I’m realizing just how helpless I am to change any of it. But still, knowing that Will’s helping theprocess along, that he’s playing nice with Ethan Wilde and the rest of them, that they’repayinghim and he’s selling out…
It's lonely as hell.
And there’s not enough wine in the world to make me forget him.
twenty-five
LYDIA
Lydia: Will… Can we talk?
Lydia: I know whatever this is has to be over, but I just…
Lydia: Ugh. I hate where we left things.
Lydia: Disregard. That was the wine talking.
It’s Sunday night when I leave Autumn’s lake house and drive back to Hawthorne Bay proper. Her husband is still in New York, but I’m nervous about what I’ll find out when I show up at work tomorrow morning and figure the least I can do is get a full night of sleep. If my mind can stop racing, that is.
I’ve heard nothing from Will since he left my house yesterday—which isn’t unusual, but a part of me still hoped he’d reply to my tipsy texts. But what’s left to say? I’ve made it very clear how much preserving the library means to me, and he’s made it very clear that he’s going after that project of Ethan Wilde’s—meaning he’s got to suck up to the guy. There for a couple weeksI’d allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d listen. That I’d finally be someone’s first choice…
That maybe the gentle way that Will Holloway traced his rough hands across my body had less to do with lust and more to do with the connection I must have only imagined he felt. ThatIfelt.
Well, joke’s on me. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I should’ve known better.
The lights of Hawthorne Bay have all come on as I pull off the highway and turn onto the main thoroughfare. The full moon is high in the sky, and windows glow faintly in the cool autumn night, their cozy, warm lights shining out across the harbor. The town is quiet, with everyone snug in their living rooms or sitting down at their dinner tables, gathered around fireplaces or TV screens.
Suddenly, it makes me ache for my childhood, for the kind of home life I only briefly had. I ache for my mother, for the safety of the library, the space where my mother once breathed. I know there’s a glimmer of her soul left inside. I can feel it.
A ding sounds over the speakers of my car as I pull into my driveway, headlights bobbing in the darkness. I reach absently for my phone, open my email to see what the ding was about. I don’t recognize the name of the sender, but it’s got a ton of replies to it, so it must be some kind of mass email thread. I click on it and immediately wish I wouldn’t have. Ethan Wilde’s name is at the top of the first email.
What the… fuck…?
From: Ethan Wilde
