30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,79
twenty-four-hour job when he’s here. Let’s just say Marcus throws himself into his work—a permanent distraction, if you will.”
“Workaholic. Got it.” I raise my index finger in understanding.
“This case he’s working on this week was really hard on him. It’s important, Abigail, and he has to stay here and close it. I can’t have his head chasing dreams of being with you. I need him to focus and do his job.”
“It’s a horrible case.”
“It is, and this one brings back memories of Victoria’s death for him.”
“Why?”
“Because Victoria was abducted and killed, Abigail.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, no!” My mouth falls open and my breath hitches in my throat.
“I’m afraid so …”
“The day my dad died,” I mutter.
“She was found the day after your dad died. Nobody realised she was missing until morning. It’s sad, really. A night on the town with friends turned into such a tragedy. Marcus was supposed to stay on the coast that weekend, but Victoria made sure he went back to Brisbane to study. He had an important exam the following Monday. She was always looking out for him like that.” He gives a rueful smile. “She was stubborn like you, Abigail, and although Marcus tried to get her to let him stay, she wouldn’t have it. Naturally, Marcus has blamed himself for everything.” A beat passes. “The coroner was able to establish she died the day before. That brought Marcus some peace, I guess, mainly because she only suffered a few hours and not days.”
“Oh my God. Poor Marcus. I can’t imagine.” I sit, shell-shocked.
“You were the person who kept him strong. He’s a kind and giving man, our Marcus, and he needed someone to need him more than his grief, so it didn’t engulf his existence. You were his saviour as much as I believe he was yours.”
“And then I forgot him—us. Disposed of all our memories like they were rubbish. I’m a horrible person,” I cry out, dropping my head into my hands.
“I need to make him stay in Sydney, and I will. He must see this case out for personal closure. You can understand why now, right?”
I nod slowly.
“I promise once it’s finished, I’ll return him to you, if you promise to leave him now and make no contact.”
“I promise.” I sniffle.
“Please, Abigail, you need to remember what happened, all of it, but you need to do so without Marcus by your side.”
“I’m trying,” I scream as my heart throbs to the beat of my pulse.
“That’s all I ask … It’s time to go now.”
“Now?” I croak out between sobs.
“Yes. Leave Marcus alone, and I’ll return him once he’s done here.”
I nod.
His sister was murdered. My dad didn’t die of an aneurysm. Mum, Sammy … everyone has been keeping secrets, and I have a fucking sister. How is this my life?
THIRTY-TWO
Homecoming
I watch the raindrops dribble down the window, but apart from that, there is only darkness.
The pilot is very kind. He was introduced to me as “the captain.” I’m pretty sure this is a name for someone who controls ships, not planes, but I go with it. I was referred to as “Marcus’s Abigail.” It seems Marcus has spoken to many about me.
The plane is very small. It’s the smallest plane I’ve ever travelled on, an old double-propelled thing. Every pocket of air causes us to bump and jump around with the turbulence.
After thirty minutes, our smooth runs out. The storm has abated. I allow myself to close my heavy eyes in hope of sleep, praying it relieves the feeling of the grains of sand seemingly caught under my eyelids.
“I love the highway, Dad.” I smiled with my hand dancing through the wind out of the open window. The greenest of green scenery raced by.
“Me too, sweetheart.” Dad looked in his element with the steering column of Rodger, his beloved navy Dodge D5, between his fingers.
“So are you going to tell me why we’re going into Brisbane yet? No,” I snapped, tapping my finger against my chin. “Let’s see if I can guess. A shopping spree … my graduation present … no, my eighteenth birthday present?”
“Wrong, wrong, and wrong,” he answered cheekily as I looked at his neatly trimmed beard and his bright green eyes.
My lower lip dropped, and I pouted, the pout that made Dad give me anything I wanted.
“Hey, quit it with that face, young lady.” He grinned.
“I love you, Dad.”
“Ditto,” he replied as the sunlight danced like sugar plums around his head.