In my dreams I see him. It's weird because I should be scared of this imposing man with the white hair and positively manic grin, but I'm not. I feel safe, happy and loved, then I wake up.
"Cade, Cade it's time to wake up. Now!" I'm rudely pulled from my dream by the dulcet tones of my crazy mother, I know what you're thinking and the answer is no. No I do not sleep in a broom cupboard, closet, or on the floor. My mother does not drink, do drugs or whore herself or I out. We are as my best friend Susannah reminds me insanely perfect. The only thing that's missing is my dad. Mom says were better off without him although I do in her words get my "stubborn personality, and attitude from him, thank god I look like her."
I look at the alarm clock 4:35 am, god help me, I rollout of my bed groaning over the effort to pull my sore muscles out of my nice, warm, dry pillow like bed and think I love my room. That's my first thought every morning. It is perfect for me from the mute purple- gray walls to my snow white plush carpeting I can sink my feet into, the darker purple curtains betray what my mind already knows, and yup it's still dark. I turn to the mirror and frown as my eyes spot the only messy part of my room my desk. Overflowing with AP textbooks and ice cold cups of coffee I remind myself to clean up and pack up before I go downstairs. I hate mess. It's definitely something I get from my mother. Scuffling into my bathroom I shiver and eye my still wet bathing suit in distaste shimmying into it I shiver as the dampness raises my longing for my bed from desire to need. I move back into my room more awake now that I'm cold and annoyed stuffing my legs into my LBHS maroon sweats and a white crop top exposing the middle of my favorite uglies bathing suit the multi colored slinky design always makes me feel better about spending two hours in the outdoor pool at my high school in the fall when my club team uses it. I throw my long hair back into a bun cursing my mom for refusing to let me cut it, it is down to my ass. I pull my gray floral sheets up to my bed whining a little as I know that I'm not going back to bed now. I take my cream comforter with the lace cutout in the middle strong-arming my honors and AP textbooks into my favorite Michael Kors bag I stumble over my violet speedo swim bag as I move to put my headphones in my ears cursing myself in the process for falling in love with a sport that meant my hair was always fried with chlorine, I was awake before the sun most days and my entire life revolved around cutting my 1000 time down from 9:05:02 to 8:50:49 in time for the U.S. open trial period starting in March. It was September, my main goal for the next 6 months revolved around dropping 12 seconds in one of my three races. It was insane but I loved it.
I rolled into the car where my mom had a travel mug filled with coffee waiting for me this is my routine, my constant all of a sudden I am jolted out of my thoughts as we are rear ended. My mom curses I look at the clock its 4:50 I am so going to be late. That's what I think as my mom steps out of the car 4:52 I hear her cry out, as I turn to look at her I hear a crack like a firecracker and at 4:57 I know my life will never be the same again as I see blood pool into my line of vision.
Startled and totally awake I hold my breath reverting to the tried and true toddler method if I can't see them then they can't see me either. At 14 you would think that I would know better but I am ridiculously surprised that I am wrong when I see the men in the black hoodies come around the front of the car.
"Hello little girl." The accent surprises me and to my dismay I automatically turn to face the man speaking. He looks like a rat is my first thought. The long narrow face, sunken eyes and protruding nose irrationally remind me of the rats that we dissected in biology this year. His close cropped dark hair with the healthy dose of gray do nothing to relieve this and makes me even more nervous, like if he was doing this then he knew what he was doing and I was screwed.
"Hi." I replied shut up shut up shut up my subconscious told me don't speak to the crazy man holding a gun on you, who just shot your mother. I was shaking, but part of me believed this was a dream that I was going to wake up and be able to crawl into my mom's bed like I did when I was little and had a nightmare. "You're going to be very useful to me Cadence." "Out of the car." I stumbled over myself spilling coffee and shaking as a black bag is thrust over my head.
Breathe, just breathe and you will be okay.
Clay
Watching Jax fall apart over Abel made me think for the first time in a while about my child. I wondered who she was, what she looked like now. I hoped she still looked like her mother. Ava was beautiful I hoped my daughter was more like her than she was me, she must be 13 by now. Her name was Everley. I dug into my private stock at the house after handing Jax over into the capable hands of Tara finding the picture her mother sent when she graduated preschool. Her dark brown hair long and straight inquisitive gray eyes and 100 watt smile. I felt simultaneous pangs of regret; that I did not get to know her or hold her like I had Abel and relief that I would never know how Jax was suffering.
The house was so quiet without Gemma, and there was no way that I was going to take off that fucking bird's cover while she was gone. Flipping on the TV as I moved to grab a beer I heard something about a woman murdered and a missing 14 year old in Orange County. I glimpsed the pictures of the scene and made out white, brunette female. I scoffed to myself knowing that the manhunt for this girl because she was young, white, and law abiding would be instantaneous whereas all Abel had was the MC, I hoped that the girl was dead in a ditch somewhere. It seemed impossible to me that anyone other than Abel deserved to have the whole world looking for them.
Sleeping without Gemma was always hard, but having her on the run with Tig and not knowing about Abel and irrationally Everley made this night harder. Somehow I had a feeling that the hits were going to keep on coming.