Page 24 of Echoes in the Storm

He sighs, pinching his nose with closed eyes as though I’m some child he can’t make head or tails of. “Two problems, Cam.” I feel scolded the second his eyes reopen on me with the tired frustration that I came to know well during our last few months living together. “One, I’d still know the money came from you, so that doesn’t really work as far as cutting ties completely.”

“Selling this house won’t erase who you were or what we had once,” I remind him.

“Two,” he snaps, frowning at my interruption. “I don’t think the bank would loan youthatsum of money on the promise of a few stray vagabonds stopping through every so often. You’d need a solid business plan to convince them it would turn enough profit to cover the investment, and I’m sorry, but a cute villa in the middle of nowhere doesn’t really fit the bill.”

Fuck him and his concrete boots made for stomping on my dreams. I honestly thought it was a solid plan. Look at the popularity of sites like Airbnb. People jump at the chance for a weekend away in a quiet oasis.

He takes my silence as acceptance, and slides the realtor profiles across the table toward me. “Pick one, Cam.”

Naturally, I point to the woman. “Her.”

He slumps back in the seat in true dramatic Jared style. “Really?”

I nod.

“I’ll call Terry in the morning.” He bunches the papers up, ready to leave.

“No. You’ll call Amanda.”

His glare is enough to strip paint. “Terry.”

“Damn it, Jared.” I push violently to my feet, my hands fisted at my sides. “It’s my house, more than yours. I own the majority share of it, and I say pick Amanda. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. You gave up that right when you checked out of your responsibilities as a husband.” A tear tracks over my cheek, but I refuse to wipe it away. Let him see the damage he’d caused. Let him see what he does in the vain hope that somewhere in that cold heart of his it still beats red.

“Ichecked out?” he roars, stamping a fist to his chest. “Well, shit, Cam. I was simply following suit, since you’d long checked out of being amother.”

“Get out.” My jaw aches from the pressure. “Get the fuck out of this house!”

He snatches the file with a flourish and storms from the room as my carefully contained guilt crashes forth over the walls of my denial in a tidal surge that the greatest engineer couldn’t have withheld.

I never checked out from my responsibilities as a mother. I might have failed our daughter, but fuck it all, Ineverstopped being her mamma. I loved her until that last breath, even as my own threatened never to come again. I still love her, and damn it, I’m still her mother. The love for a child doesn’t disappear after death. Some days, I believe it simply intensifies, until the ache of what is lost is all you can feel, hear, and taste.

My hand shakes so violently I can’t even hold my phone, let alone trust myself to tap my mother’s number to dial. All I want is to talk to somebody who I know will understand, someone who’ll have my back after that showdown. I need validation that Jaredisbeing unfair, and that I have every right to fight to stay in the house that acts as a shrine to my greatest mistake.

“You okay?”

The whispered question takes me by surprise. I never heard Duke come back inside. I’d totally forgotten he was here.

“Not really.” I offer a pathetic smile as I sniff and wipe away my tears.

“Want to talk about it?” He crouches down beside where I’ve crumpled onto the sofa.

“Not right now.” He frowns as I pat his knee twice and push to my feet. “How about we decide what we’re having for dinner tonight? I don’t think scrambled eggs will cut it two nights in a row, huh?”

He watches as I absently wander through to the kitchen, confusion clear in his richly coloured eyes. “You know”—his lazy grin returns—“there is more than one way to cook an egg.”

I can’t hold it back—I laugh at his ridiculous comeback. “Yeah?”

“Poached, fried, hard-boiled. I could get real fancy and do a platter with the whole lot assorted on it.” He follows to where I am, taking a seat at the counter same as last night.

“As appealing as that sounds, we need to have a proper meal. It’s a grocery day ritual. Tell me you do it, too.”

“Do what?” He rests his elbows on the counter, which only serves to showcase how broad his shoulders are.

“Make the most of having fresh food and whip up a healthy feast.”

Duke shakes his head. “Afraid not. I’ll let you in on a secret.”

I lean in conspiratorially. “Tell me.”