I dunked my head under the water and laughed when I breached the surface. This was what it was to live. This was what I needed to remember. Life went on.
The Kensington house was just another job. Just another way to make a living while I pursued my passion. One day, I would catch a break, but until then, I would be damned if I let those publishers bring me down. I’d put one foot in front of the other and make it work.
Confident that the ritual burning and impromptu skinny-dipping had done its job, I hurried back out of the water. My steps were light as air, and my smile was magnetic. Whatever spell my mother’s crazy life-journey had cast over all of this nonsense, it sure seemed to work. Believe in anything enough, and belief would turn into reality.
But as I was tramping back up to the fire to collect my clothes, I realized with horror that I wasn’t alone. And what was worse, I recognized the man standing there.
I never forgot a face. And definitely not that face. Or the built body. Or the confident stance.
No, even though six years had passed, I would never forget Penn.
Or what he’d done to me.