Chapter 2 - The Four Years He Lost
Damian raised his gun.
“Don’t.”
The man across the alley smiled.
His hand came out slowly.
Empty.
Then he dropped a photograph onto the pavement.
“I only came to deliver a message.”
Damian’s voice was cold.
“You’re dead.”
“Apparently not.”
Claire looked between them.
“Who is he?”
Damian never took his eyes off the man.
“Elias Vane.”
Claire knew the name.
Everyone who had ever lived near Damian’s world knew it.
Elias Vane had once been Damian’s father’s most trusted lieutenant.
Then he had disappeared after a warehouse explosion four years earlier.
The official story said his body had burned beyond recognition.
Damian had attended the funeral.
Claire remembered him coming home afterward.
He had sat in silence for three hours.
Now Elias stood twenty yards away smiling like a ghost.
“You have a beautiful daughter,” Elias said.
Damian’s gun lifted.
“Say another word about her.”
Elias laughed.
“There he is.”
Claire grabbed Damian’s arm.
“Don’t.”
He looked at her.
“Not here.”
Damian’s breathing slowed.
Elias watched them.
“That was always your weakness, Damian.”
“What?”
“You loved things.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“I learned better.”
“No. You learned to pretend.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Elias stepped toward his car.
“You should ask your wife why she really disappeared.”
Claire’s stomach dropped.
Damian looked at her.
Elias opened the driver’s door.
“And Claire?”
She stared at him.
“He never stopped looking.”
Then he got inside and drove away.
Damian stood frozen.
Claire looked at him.
“What did he mean?”
“Not here.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“And last time I was right.”
“You don’t get to decide what I know.”
“No, but I get to decide whether our daughter hears it.”
Our daughter.
Claire flinched at the words.
Damian noticed.
He looked toward the road where Mara’s truck had vanished.
“Where is she going?”
“My house.”
“We’re not going there.”
Claire’s anger returned instantly.
“Yes, we are.”
“They know where you live.”
“You don’t know that.”
“They know your café.”
“They followed you.”
“No.”
“How can you possibly know?”
“Because that photograph was taken four years ago.”
Claire stared.
Damian pointed at the picture on the ground.
“They were watching you before today.”
The sirens grew louder.
Damian picked up the photograph.
On the back, a date had been written.
October 14.
Four years earlier.
The exact night Claire left him.
Damian’s fingers tightened.
“I need to get you somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
She folded her arms.
“You don’t get to walk back into my life and start giving orders.”
“I’m not trying to control you.”
“That is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to keep Lily alive.”
The name stopped both of them.
Damian swallowed.
“Lily.”
It sounded strange in his voice.
Soft.
Almost sacred.
Claire looked away.
Police cars turned onto the coastal road.
Damian holstered his weapon.
“Do the police here know you?”
“The sheriff eats breakfast at my café.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know who I can trust.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“You still think like this.”
“I survived because I think like this.”
“And everyone around you suffers because you do.”
He took the accusation without defending himself.
That bothered Claire more than anger would have.
Sheriff Owen Mercer arrived first.
He was in his fifties, broad-shouldered, gray-haired, and perpetually unimpressed.
He saw Claire.
Then Damian.
Then the shattered windows.
Then the gun under Damian’s jacket.
“Claire?”
“I’m fine.”
“Who is he?”
Damian answered.
“Damian Blackwood.”
Mercer’s expression changed.
Claire noticed.
“You know him?”
“I know the name.”
Damian nodded.
“Then you know this isn’t random.”
Mercer looked at Claire.
“Is Lily safe?”
“With Mara.”
“Good.”
Damian turned sharply.
“How does he know my daughter?”
Claire glared at him.
“Because he’s lived here for twenty years.”
Mercer stared at Damian.
“You have a daughter?”
Damian went quiet.
Claire answered.
“Yes.”
The sheriff understood immediately.
“Oh.”
Damian looked at Claire.
“How many people know?”
“Everyone here.”
His face tightened.
“Fantastic.”
Mercer stepped closer.
“Mr. Blackwood, you want to tell me why somebody opened fire on my favorite café?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer won’t work.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Mercer looked at Claire.
“You trust him?”
“No.”
Damian’s face didn’t change.
But Claire saw it hurt.
Mercer nodded.
“Then he doesn’t go near Lily.”
Damian’s eyes hardened.
“That isn’t your decision.”
“It is while I’m wearing this badge.”
Claire stepped between them.
“Stop.”
Both men did.
“I’m going to Lily.”
Damian shook his head.
“Not your house.”
Claire looked at Mercer.
“He’s probably right.”
Damian almost smiled.
She pointed at him.
“Don’t enjoy that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Barely.”
For half a second, something absurd happened.
Claire remembered loving him.
Not the dangerous man.
Not the name.
The irritating husband who stole the blankets, burned toast, hated tomatoes, and pretended he did not like romantic movies.
Then she hated herself for remembering.
Mercer arranged for Lily and Mara to meet them at a small motel outside town.
Damian objected.
Claire ignored him.
By sunset they were inside two adjoining rooms.
Mercer stationed a deputy outside.
Damian checked every window, lock, vent, and hallway.
Claire watched.
“You think Elias is coming?”
“I think Elias already came.”
“What does that mean?”
“He wanted me to see him.”
“Why?”
“To scare me.”
“Did it work?”
Damian looked at her.
“Yes.”
Claire had never heard him admit fear.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Lily was in the next room watching cartoons with Mara.
Claire kept the connecting door open.
Damian stood by the window.
“Tell me what happened after I left.”
Claire laughed softly.
“That’s a large request.”
“I have four years.”
“You don’t.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of his answer disarmed her.
He sat in the chair opposite her.
“I want to know.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my daughter.”
“You don’t get to say that like you earned it.”
“I didn’t.”
Silence.
Claire looked toward the connecting room.
“Her first word was ‘light.’”
Damian froze.
Claire continued.
“She used to sit by the window and point at the lighthouse.”
His eyes dropped.
“She walked at thirteen months.”
Damian nodded slowly.
“She hated peas.”
A tiny smile appeared.
“So do I.”
“I know.”
Their eyes met.
Claire looked away.
“She had pneumonia when she was two.”
The smile vanished.
Damian gripped the arms of the chair.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that I slept in the hospital for five nights.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t defend himself.
Claire continued.
“She loves strawberry pancakes. She thinks whales can understand people. She hates thunder. She sleeps with a stuffed rabbit named Captain.”
Damian listened like a starving man being handed crumbs.
“What was her first Christmas like?”
Claire hesitated.
“Small.”
“Did she—”
“Damian.”
He stopped.
Her voice broke.
“You can’t ask me to hand you four years in one night.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
“You don’t know what it was like.”
“I want to.”
“No.”
His eyes lifted.
“Why?”
“Because then I might start believing you care.”
He stared at her.
“I do.”
“That’s the problem.”
The connecting door opened.
Lily stepped inside holding a stuffed rabbit.
She stopped when she saw Damian.
“Mommy?”
“It’s okay.”
Lily approached slowly.
Damian did not move.
She looked at his chair.
“Can I sit there?”
He stood immediately.
“Yes.”
She climbed into the chair.
Damian remained standing.
Lily studied him.
“Are you my daddy?”
Claire closed her eyes.
Damian looked at her.
She said nothing.
Lily waited.
Finally Damian knelt.
“Yes.”
The child blinked.
“Where were you?”
Damian’s face crumpled.
Claire turned away.
He could have lied.
Could have blamed Claire.
Could have blamed danger.
Could have protected himself.
He didn’t.
“I made a terrible mistake.”
Lily considered that.
“Did Mommy make one too?”
Damian looked at Claire.
“No.”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“This was mine.”
Lily hugged Captain Rabbit.
“Are you bad?”
Damian almost laughed.
It was a painful sound.
“Sometimes.”
“Mommy says people can do bad things and still do better.”
Claire glanced at her daughter.
“I said that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I broke your blue bowl.”
Damian smiled.
Lily smiled back.
The resemblance was devastating.
Same eyes.
Same crooked smile.
Same small crease near the left eyebrow.
Damian stared.
Then Lily reached out.
She touched his hand.
“Your fingers are cold.”
“I know.”
“Mine get cold too.”
Claire looked away.
Damian turned his hand over.
Lily placed her tiny palm inside his.
His breath caught.
Four years disappeared for one impossible second.
Then someone knocked on the motel door.
Three slow knocks.
Damian stood immediately.
Mercer was supposed to use two.
Claire rose.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
Damian drew his gun.
“Take Lily into the bathroom.”
Claire grabbed her daughter.
Another knock.
Then a voice came through the door.
A woman’s voice.
“Claire?”
Claire stopped.
She knew that voice.
Impossible.
The woman outside knocked again.
“Claire, open the door.”
Damian looked at her.
“Who is it?”
Claire’s face went white.
Because the woman standing outside had been the only person who knew she was pregnant before Damian did.
Claire whispered her name.
“Vivian.”
May you like
Damian’s eyes widened.
And the motel door handle slowly began to turn...
