The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,15
that numbs my memories and keeps me sane. When I lived there, I felt lighter.
Free.
The Colorado heat doesn’t seem to agree with me. I should’ve come last May while it was still cool. As the minutes pass, I feel as if the ghosts of my past are chasing me. If I let them, they’ll trap me again and hold me hostage. Perhaps this time I won’t escape. If only I had listened to my instincts and searched for a job in San Francisco.
Instead, I’m back in hell.
The place where the memories become vivid and the monsters can easily find me.
I open my eyes as we drive west, toward the mountains. My grandmother used to say that the snowcapped peaks guarded us from bad spirits. I wish she were alive, so I could explain to her that not everyone is good, and evil lurks at every turn. The scenery is beautiful, peaceful. For the past five years the ocean breeze washed away my sorrows when the weight became too much.
Forget about them, Abigail. You’re not that kid anymore.
I watch the late summer sun setting. As the darkness traps the city, my chest heaves. The pain and fear squeeze my lungs tightly. I breathe and tug on my bracelet, counting the crystals as many times as possible. Why did I come back?
Because of him.
Weston Ahern.
The man who took me in along with his parents a few years ago, and not only offered me shelter, but a beautiful friendship as well. He’s kept me sane and safe since the moment we met almost six years ago. Wes is the one person I can trust. When I was about to graduate from college, he said it was up to me what I wanted to do. My options were infinite. The world was my playground.
“But I’d love to have you back home to Colorado,” he said.
I couldn’t disappoint him and jeopardize our friendship. After all these years, I wouldn’t be able to function without having him by my side. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to stay sane living in Denver. Although we know each other so well, he still doesn’t know anything about my past. It’s ridiculous that after so many years, I haven’t said a word. It’s too scary and complicated to share.
That’s exactly why I don’t ask about his origins. I’m fine to only know my Wes. He’s gentle, understanding, a little volatile, and uncommunicative with everyone—but me. We get each other. That’s what best friends are for. Who knew that despite our age difference we would become so indispensable in each other’s lives.
As the driver gets off I-25, I begin to pay attention to the road. Wes likes to take care of everything, which includes where I stay when we go on vacation. Moving back wasn’t any different. He promised to take care of all the details. When we turn west on Belleview, I wonder if we’re going to his parent’s old house. But Aaron makes an immediate left on Quebec Street instead.
We stop right in front of a high-rise next to a small shopping center. The tall building next to the small strip of shops looks familiar. I recall Landmark, the place where I came often with Wes to watch a movie or to grab a bite. I take my purse from the floor, setting my sunglasses back in their case. Then, after I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide to the other side of the car, Wes is the one who opens the passenger door and offers me his hand to help me out.
“Abby,” he greets me with that handsome smirk I adore.
“Wes,” I respond walking into his open arms. I breathe in his warm, earthy aroma. “I didn’t think I’d see you today?”
“Sorry for not meeting you at the airport. I had an emergency at the office,” he explains giving me a tight hug.
He lifts me off the ground and twirls me around. “You’re actually here. I can’t believe it.”
“I promised to move back, didn’t I?”
I link my arms around his waist and stare at those midnight blue eyes. It’s like looking into the deep ocean at night. They are warm, inviting, and mystical. Once my feet settle on the ground I glance over and admire his chiseled jaw covered with a dusting of facial hair. My eyes roam down his body. The black shirt he wears pulls nicely around the hard lines of his broad chest and hugs his flat stomach.