Page 43 of Crashing Into Me
“Did you do something?”
Her eyes, already wide, grew impossibly larger, darting away from his penetrating stare.
“Of course not, Kayden,” she protested, her voice rising, suddenly sharp with feigned indignation. “Why would you say something like that to me? How could you even think?—?”
“Because you’ve done worse in the past, mother,” he cut her off, his voice thick with unshed tears, but laced with an edge of cold fury.
The memories of Kim and other manipulations flashed through his mind, hot and bitter. His head was spinning, theworld tilting on its axis. This was all wrong.Lana wouldn’t. Could she?
“I swear to you, Kayden. On everything,” Maureen insisted, her hand rising to her chest, her words a desperate scramble to reassure. “I don’t know what happened. She was here when we left, and she didn’t give any indication that she was going to leave you.”
Kayden ran both hands through his hair, tugging at the roots, a silent scream of frustration. He grabbed his cell phone, his thumb slamming down on the screen. He hit “Lana,” the contact shining like a beacon of false hope, but the phone just rang. Each trill was a spike of agony, a confirmation of her absence.
“Please pick up the phone, baby. Pick up!” His voice was a ragged whisper of a prayer.
He pressed the call button again, his desperation mounting, but only got the generic, tinny voicemail message.This person is unavailable.
“Damn it!” he screamed, a primal roar that tore through the air.
With a wild, desperate cry, he brought the phone down, smashing it to the imported hardwood floor, where it erupted into a hundred glittering pieces. The sharp, violent crack startled Maureen, making her jump, and a small cry escaped her lips. She had never seen him react that way before about anything, not even the news of his brother’s accident, only a quiet, simmering rage then. This was different.
This was an utter breakdown.What have I done?she asked herself, the cold dread finally gripping her heart as her son sank to his knees in the expansive living room, his broad shoulders shaking, a ragged, heartbroken wail tearing from his soul.
It was in that harrowing moment, as Kayden's cries filled the house, that Kim walked through the front door. Her usually impeccable facade was undisturbed, no evidence of her earlierbrawl with Lana apparent on her face. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, immediately took in the scene: Kayden on the floor, broken glass near his hand, Maureen standing rigid, eyes the size of saucers.
A triumphant gleam, quickly masked, flickered in Kim’s gaze. She subtly motioned her eyes towards Kayden, a silent instruction for Kim to approach him. Slowly, deliberately, Kim walked over to him, her movements graceful and unhurried. She knelt beside him, a picture of false compassion.
“What happened, Kay?” she asked, her voice a soft, honeyed whisper, laced with an almost sickening sweetness.
This plan was working better than anticipated,she thought to herself, a thrill of power coiling in her gut.Much, much better.Kayden looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, clouded with an overwhelming mix of grief and confusion. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell her to go away, to leave him to his misery.
But the words were caught in his throat, a tight, burning knot of agony. He couldn't get anything out. He began to slow his breathing, a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control, and wiped his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. With a monumental effort, he pushed himself up from the hardwood floor, his muscles protesting, and composed himself, his shoulders stiff, his jaw tight.
“She’s gone,” he replied, the words flat, devoid of emotion, like a dead leaf falling.
Without another glance at either woman, he walked outside into the winter garden, the glass doors clicking shut behind him with an ominous finality. Once outside, the crisp, cold air hit him, a shocking slap to the face. Kayden took slow, deep, shuddering breaths, trying to clear the fog of despair from his mind, to make sense of what had gone wrong.Maybe he really didn’t know her,a cruel voice whispered in his head.
Perhaps he scared her off somehow.He shook the thought, violent and desperate, from his mind; he couldn’t accept that, not after everything. They had shared too much, revealed too many raw, vulnerable pieces of themselves to each other for it all to have been a lie.
Why would she lead me on, only to disappear? Why make plans for a future she never intended on having?The questions circled like vultures. Maybe she couldn’t handle the type of life he wanted, the endless demands of his world, or she couldn’t spend the rest of her life with an eternal fuck-up like him. Whatever the reason, his chest ached with a profound, terrifying numbness. A vital part of him died in that silent, frozen garden, just like the vibrant flowers now withered away by the unforgiving snow.
A DARK WEEKhad crawled by since Lana had left Hamby, each day a brutal, indistinguishable replica of the last. Sometimes, he woke in the suffocating silence of the night, his hand instinctively reaching across the vast, empty expanse of his king-sized bed, only to find nothing but cold sheets. In those moments, a terrifying doubt would creep in:had she ever truly been real?Was she just a figment of his fevered imagination, a beautiful, impossible dream conjured by his desperate need for light? The phantom scent of her, the echo of her laugh, taunted him from the corners of the room.
His mother, Maureen, had been a constant, and unsettling, presence. She moved through the house with a quiet efficiency, always there with a fresh cup of coffee or a clipped update on the contracts and legalities of KDN and Capshaw Realty. She was a distraction, a necessary anchor, but her presencewas a constant, sharp-edged reminder of what had happened, and his suspicion of her motives never really diminished. The paperwork, the endless phone calls, the dizzying figures; they kept his mind busy, numb, preventing him from spiraling completely into the abyss that bubbled beneath his carefully constructed composure.
But even the busiest days couldn't prevent the frantic search. Lana’s voicemail had long since been too full to accept any more of his increasingly desperate messages, each one a raw plea, a whispered memory, a demand for answers. He got no responses from the barrage of Instagram direct messages he’d sent, his thumb hovering over her ghost-like profile picture. He had contacted three private investigators—expensive, renowned, discreet—pouring money into a bottomless well of hope.
Yet, none had come up with anything beyond dead ends. He’d called the hospital where she worked, his voice a tight knot of controlled panic, only to be met with professional politeness and the infuriating mantra that she “wasn’t available.” When he explained, through gritted teeth, that she might be missing, they told him she hadn’t yet returned to work and, citing privacy, couldn’t provide any further information. The cold, sterile efficiency of their replies fueled his growing dread.
He even had Taylor run a license check on her; a desperate, last-ditch effort he’d once thought beneath him. His heart had hammered against his ribs when they retrieved her address, a surge of elation so potent it almost brought him to his knees. Hope, sharp and exhilarating, had pierced through the numbness. He immediately dispatched a trusted colleague to her apartment building. The call back had been swift, crushing. Vacant. She had moved. His hope evaporated, leaving behind a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.How hard could it be to find a registered nurse in Florida?He roared at the empty office walls, the question mocking him with its impossible simplicity.
Kim was around a lot these days as well. A pervasive scent of expensive perfume and false concern. She was "helping his mother settle her affairs for retirement," her presence a constant, veiled threat that made Kayden’s skin crawl. He didn’t trust her. Not an inch, and he never would. Some things you leave behind for good, some toxic residue you cleanse from your life, and Kim, with her history and her calculating eyes, was one of them. He felt her subtle probes, her attempts to insert herself into the void Lana had left, and he bristled, his every instinct screaming caution.
On the other hand, the contracting crew had finally broken through the icy ground at Aunt Mae’s diner, the harsh sounds of machinery a jarring but welcome disruption. The work had officially begun, a tangible start amidst his personal turmoil. It would take a few weeks for the complete takeover to be legal, but he was starting off strong, making progress, and it was the only bright area of his life at the moment, a small, cold comfort in the surrounding darkness.
But even with the distractions, Kayden couldn’t escape Lana’s face. Her perfect, beautiful, smiling face. It was burned behind his eyelids, haunting his waking hours and invading his dreams. He was truly more worried about her than anything now, a searing, visceral fear that eclipsed even his own heartbreak.Did she make it home OK? How was she? Why did she leave me?The questions were a relentless drumbeat in his skull, chasing away sleep and silencing reason.
He sat hunched over his drawing table, surrounded by the blueprints for their house on the hill; the housetheywere supposed to build, the hometheywould share. His fingers traced the lines of the master bedroom, the spacious kitchen where he imagined her laughing, the garden where they would sit. Each detail was a fresh stab of pain, a reminder of their future snatched away. He daydreamed, not just about her face,but about her hands in his, her head on his shoulder, the easy rhythm of their life. He wouldn't give up on her, not now. Probably not ever. The blueprints, now stained with a single, traitorous tear, were no longer just plans; they were a promise. His promise to find her.
