Oh God, I should have gotten Audrey a baby rattle, or something neutral like that.
“Come on.” Dakota gives me an uncertain smile as she rings the bell. She eyes me under her lashes as we wait, and I wonder what she sees and how much she guesses.
I’m hard to place. Long dark hair that curls at the tips, dark eyes, skin like coffee with milk. My nose is narrow, my mouth small, my cheekbones sharp. My features don’t belong to any tribe. I don’t belong anywhere.
That point was driven home pretty hard when I lived in Philly. Back then, I thought that by leaving I’d find myself, find my place in the world. But I’m still looking for both. Still rootless. Still drifting, lost as ever.
The door clicks open, held by Tessa. She squeals like a little girl when she sees us and claps her hands. “You made it!”
I let her pull me inside.
Tessa has changed a lot in the past months, and I’m not only talking about her style. True, she now favors ripped jeans with cowboy boots and red sweaters that light up her face. She has added dark streaks to her blond hair, and outlines her blue eyes in black shadow. Today, huge silver hoops are dangling from her earlobes, and she’s twisted her hair up in a messy bun.
She’s never been prettier.
But the main change is the light of happiness in her eyes, a far cry from the sorrow I glimpsed in them in the past. Being with Dylan, the love of her life, has transformed her completely, giving her a halo of joy so bright I can’t help but smile as she ushers us inside the apartment.
Soft Celtic music drifts from the speakers in the corners of the small living room. There are maybe twelve girls packed in the small space, lounging around, talking. The only familiar faces, except Dakota and Tessa, are Erin and Audrey who are sitting on the sofa, poring over a catalogue of—wha
t else?—baby stuff.
We place our gifts on a table laden with packages, and I keep my smile on as we make a beeline for the couch.
I bend over to kiss Audrey’s cheek. She’s radiant, and oh wow, she’s so big I wince inwardly in sympathy. Can’t be easy to move about like that. But she’s obviously content, and I’m happy for her—so why does my mind keep replaying images of blood, twisting my stomach with fear?
Damned brain, mixing memories with the here and now. I fight a shiver.
“You okay, Megan?” Audrey is reaching for me, concern in her eyes, and I jerk back.
Knowing my face is an open book, and that I surely look like a deer caught in headlights, I mumble something about being thirsty and make my hasty retreat before anyone else gets a good look. I feel like I’m suffocating.
It’s the lack of oxygen in here, I tell myself as I elbow my way through the giggling girls in search of the kitchen. Too many people. The fact I work in crowded places every single day without freaking out should tell me what a lame excuse this is, but I’m sticking to it.
Can’t allow myself to believe I’ll be freaking out whenever I see a pregnant woman, or blood, or… No, I’m stronger than that. The past is behind me, and it’s not the reason I sigh in relief when I finally find the kitchenette and slump against a counter, still in my coat, still clutching my handbag like a weapon.
Like a shield against the world.
When my frantic heartbeat calms a little and my stomach settles, I look in the cupboards for a glass. Water sounds good, after all, and besides, it would look weird if anyone walked into the kitchenette to find me standing there, doing nothing.
Have to keep the pretenses, at least.
I frown as I fill up the glass from the tap. I’m fine. Just need a few minutes to collect myself and then I won’t have to pretend any longer. I’ll have fun, meet people, and won’t need to hide. Just a moment to breathe and convince myself everything is fine.
But I don’t get a moment. Murphy’s Law is at work. Someone enters the tiny space, and there’s nowhere to hide anymore.
I turn around and find Tessa.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, the light gone from her eyes, replaced by concern.
Shit, I’ve worried her, too. This is a party to celebrate something wonderful and joyful, and here I am, spoiling it for them. They invited me, going out of their way to make me feel welcome, and I’m hiding in the kitchen, for God’s sake.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I search deep inside me for good memories—and I find an image of Rafe from the other day, when he looked up at me, a fire in his eyes as I placed his drink on the table. A thrill runs through me, and I manage to dredge up a genuine smile. “I was thirsty.”
I’ll consider later the fact that Rafe was the first to pop up in my mind, the one to make me smile. Or maybe I’ll manage not to consider it—or him—at all.
Wishful thinking, of course. Even as Tessa starts chattering about the present she got Audrey, and about how excited she is for Audrey and the baby, all I can think of is him. His amber, cat-like eyes, the shaggy blond hair, the devastating dimples he flashes the rare times I’ve seen him smile, the powerful shoulders and droolworthy body.
His pain. His bloody past.