Perfect Wreckage (Wrecked #2) - Catherine Cowles Page 0,8

guys get some good weather.” I didn’t know why I shared the sentiment, it wasn’t like my mother went for long walks on the beach. She might deign to play a game of tennis or join my father on the golf course, but sand was a no-go zone for her.

“I’m sure we will. Look, I’m actually calling for a purpose.”

That pressure at my temples intensified, building in a steady beat behind my skull. “All right.”

“I ran into Alicia in town.”

My hold on the wheel tightened. “I don’t need to hear about her.”

“She and Brent broke up. She asked after you, so I passed along your new number.”

I let out a slew of curses under my breath. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“She made a mistake, Crosby. None of us is perfect. Surely, you don’t claim to be.”

A mistake was a single lapse in judgement. It wasn’t a two-year affair while my ring had been on the woman’s finger. “Then you go ahead and spend lots of quality time with Alicia. I’ll be passing on that.” It also meant that I’d likely have to change my phone number. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m at the office.”

I hung up without waiting for her goodbye. My parents had always loved Alicia and all she represented: that their son was settling down, getting serious about his law career. When we were together, my parents had seemed genuinely interested in me for the first time in my life. I talked business with Dad while Alicia and my mom would chatter on about the season’s galas. I became more like them when I was with her. It didn’t matter to my parents at all that I was slowly dying inside the whole time.

I didn’t make the turn into my office’s small gravel lot. Instead, I headed for the mountain. I needed a taste of the freedom I’d gained that I now so fiercely defended. Today, I needed some one-on-one time with a rockface to drown out all the memories threatening to suffocate me.

3

Kenna

“This blasted piece looks like it should fit, but it doesn’t. I think this puzzle is rigged.”

Harriet chuckled and set down her tea. “Should I have Caelyn come over for another yoga session? It seems you’ve lost your Zen.”

I scowled at Harriet. “You’re a traitor, you know that?”

She gave me an innocent smile. “What? I happen to like the gentle moves she takes me through.”

“Freaking pretzel twisting,” I mumbled. Harriet knew I hated the non-sport, and I think she got some perverse pleasure out of seeing me struggle to sit still for that hour. But it was good for Harriet, and Caelyn could always use the extra money the private sessions brought in. Taking care of her three siblings on a single salary was challenging on the best days.

Harriet only laughed harder. “What did yoga ever do to you?”

“It makes me feel itchy.”

“Itchy?”

“Yes. Like my skin’s too tight for my body or something. Give me a run or a swim over yoga any day.”

Harriet was silent for a moment as she studied me. “I think it’s good for you. You have to be alone with your thoughts.”

I’d always fought the silence. Stillness brought with it a steady stream of memories and self-analysis. I was a little better at enduring it now, but there had been a time I would’ve done anything to escape it.

“You have to face things, sweet girl. Looking away doesn’t make things disappear.”

Harriet had said those words to me time and again as I lay in my bed upstairs, refusing to leave. There’d been an endless cycle of mindless television on my screen. I’d even kept it on while I slept, the little bit of rest I could catch hold of anyway.

“I look at the things I have to.” I hated the worry that lit her features, didn’t want to add an ounce of stress to her shoulders. “I do. It’s nothing like it used to be.”

Harriet placed a hand over mine, gently squeezing. “I know. You’ve worked so hard to overcome your losses. You’re the strongest woman I know. But it’s okay to still mourn.”

I swallowed against the emotion gathering in my throat, the memories trying to claw their way free.

“You never talk about her.”

Her. My baby. My little girl. The one I’d lost just one week after finding out that the little bean inside my belly was a she. One week after I’d begun thinking of names.

I shoved it down. Because if I let it out, pulled that cork

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