Page 18 of Broken Strings

His stronger accent makes me grin. “Okay then, I’ll bite. How do you know me? Becauseclearly, I don’t know you.”

His smile dims, his dark eyes too, and something like sadness flashes across his features.

“I’ve known Mr North—Caden—for a long ass time, if you’ll pardon my language. I’m fortunate enough to call that man my friend, and as such, I’ve been to his house—as a guest, mind you. I’ve seen the image of his childhood sweetheart. The one that hangs right inside the door. With his brother and his ex-wife alongside. Andyou,lady, are the image of that girl.”

I suck in a harsh breath. “His childhood love was Layla. Everyone knows that.”

Even now, blatantly caught, I perpetuate the lie Uncle Noah managed to spin to the press. To help cover my disappearance. My sense of loyalty won’t leave me, even in desperate times like these.

“To hear Cade tell it, there’s a whole other story, ma’am.” And without taking a breath, he continues. “We’re here.”

Ford pulls to a slow halt, shutting off the engine and sliding from the vehicle, leaving me alone for a moment to gather my splintering thoughts.

Now isnotthe time to fall to shit, Summer. Get it to-fucking-gether.

I glance behind the car, finding Ford speaking into a walkie-talkie that he’s pulled from somewhere, nodding as though the person on the receiving end can see him. Once he’s finished, he opens the door, standing back to allow me to exit.

“If it’s not too forward, ma’am…”

His words stop me, the sincerity in his tone tugging at my heartstrings. I nod helplessly.

“You could be Miss Bella’s mother. He’d surely wish you were. The similarities are uncanny.”

My stomach roils, threatening to expel the aeroplane food I was not able to consume as I nod, in what I pray is a grateful manner.

Ford rounds the car, slides into the driver's seat, and pulls away down the tarmacked driveway with ease, unknowing of how unsettled I am following that interaction.

He never forgot me.

I put one foot in front of the other by sheer force of will.

He has a picture of me in his foyer.

When my knees wobble, I’m entirely sure I can’t go any further, so I stop, gasping for breath as though I’ve just run a marathon.

His daughter looks likeme.

Fuck, if that last one doesn’t make my gut clench in agony as images of everything we could have shared—if not for that fateful day—fly through my mind at the speed of lightning.

My palms are clammy as I stand my ground, knowing I’ve come this far for a reason, and in remembering that, I straighten my spine with renewed purpose, ready to face the past.

* * *

Archer’s hand holds my wrist firmly in his grasp, and I will myself to remain calm. To hold my shit together.

“Archer, what the fuck, man?”

I go on the offensive, but it’s useless. He twists my wrist harshly, making me cry out.

“Ouch, you’rehurtingme.”

Layla turns back from Caden for a moment, and I swear she sees what’s happening, but turns back to the river, continuing to shout at Caden to move his ass.

“You see, little deer. I’m well aware that Caden has been…let’s say, dipping his ink into the familial well…”

He trails off, and my suspicions are confirmed. He really does know.

“And it’s past time to share that with me.”

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