Because I Can (Necklace Trilogy 2)

“Oh God, it’s not what you think, Dash. I went out for a bit and went into a coffee shop and realized I left my wallet here. I just wanted to get it and be out of here. I have an Uber waiting on me. I wasn’t taking any chances of being here alone. And I didn’t want to bother you when you were with Tyler. I’m leaving now—”

“Just wait there. I’m coming to get you.”

He hangs up. A sure sign he is not happy. Damn it, I shouldn’t have come. I pull up the Uber app, text the driver an update, and tip her generously. I set my phone down and my hand lands on the notebook. Frowning, I pick it up and open it. The first page reads:

Nashville.

This is for my mother who believed that the best way to know ourselves is with words, our own words.

I suck in a breath, recognizing the handwriting I’ve seen through my work. This is Allison’s journal, and these are her words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I’m holding Allison’s journal. And while I respect anyone’s and everyone’s right to privacy, it feels like more of her words could answer so many questions, maybe they even tell me that she is safe. Justifying my temptation to read onward, I flip the page to find a mere one paragraph of writing that starts with: My first day in Nashville.

Why am I here, in a city, I’ve never known before now?

Well, for starters, Nashville is far from Houston, where I’m from.

My God, I think. If this really is Allison’s journal, I’m shocked that I got the whole Texas thing right with Jessie. There is so much about me and her that coincides in an almost freakish way, and I can’t help it, I begin to read again.

Because I needed to get away, her words read. I needed a new start. I needed away from everything that once was and no longer is. As for the city, my first impression is that the food is amazing. The energy of the city is amazing. Country music is everywhere. I need a pair of boots. I need a hat. I need a place to live. The Airbnb I’m staying in is small and simple, and no place I can call home. It’s a good neighborhood though. I might try to stay around here.

My brow furrows with her reference to an Airbnb. Is this Allison’s journal? Am I wrong about the familiar writing? I glance at the cover and the pages, and it looks fairly new. And certainly, Airbnbs haven’t been around for long either, so this writing can’t be overly dated. It must be hers, but then again, I don’t know how long she was even in this house. Maybe there was another tenant before her. Maybe more than one.

My gaze returns to the text and I continue reading:

That’s all. I have nothing else to say. I think I’m bad at this. Writing down my thoughts feels strange and unnatural, but somehow, it’s as if I’m writing to my mother. I like that feeling. I miss her. I miss you, Mom. Nothing has been the same since you left.

My heart squeezes with the pain and loneliness radiating off the page. Allison, or whoever wrote this, loved and lost their mother. I can’t lose my mom, I can barely even think about it. I can’t think about it. I flip the page and read:

Him.

Tall and good-looking, he personifies my definition of the perfect man, all masculinity, confidence, and power, in one hot package. The moment I saw him, my heart beat faster. We were in the elevator of all places, just me and him. We faced each other, stared at each other, and never said a word. Who does that, right? Just stand there and stare at each other? There was a pulse between us though, this tick of sexual tension as if we could come together and start ravishing each other with kisses any moment. And then the doors opened and a crush of people entered the car. I couldn’t see him anymore and when everyone cleared out another stop later, he was gone. That might seem like the end of the story, but it’s not. I saw him again. But that’s a story for another day.

She met “him” in an elevator, the way I first met Dash. And like her, Allison, I am still certain, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. There’s a wave of awareness that washes over me and I look up, and as if I’ve willed him to my side, Dash is standing in the doorway. God, he’s good-looking. Tall, gorgeous, broad, talented, and human in ways too few people allow themselves to be. I shut the notebook, set it aside, and with no hesitation at all, I’m in front of Dash, wrapping my arms around him.