Chapter 9
Present
She shook her head as she stomped back down the path, the ring of the mayor's lie resounding in her head.
One week, he'd asked for. She was willing to give him that based on the woman's cold reaction.
I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do.
She was furious, and frustrated, and her mind throbbed in the reality that her "good ideas" seemed doomed to fail. This was the exact opposite of what she wanted.
She stumbled as the gate closed, finding the police cruiser still running in the street. The sheriff's arms were crossed over his chest, expression dark and thoughtful.
She hesitated a moment and then placed her hands on her hips. "Thanks. For letting me take him back," she said. She was still a little unsure why he made the decision to allow her to ride back with them and then stayed behind as Henry was dropped off. She was fairly certain that it was either about making a point to or placating the mayor. Either idea made her uneasy.
He looked up, posture unchanged. "You'll stay, then."
She jerked back. It wasn't a question, and she wasn't sure what he thought of it. She frowned. "Just a week," she said firmly. No longer. She just needed to … check.
He looked at her a long, uneasy moment. Finally he dropped his arms and nodded. "Yes. That should be good."
She took a step closer. "You'd be okay with that?" she asked. The angry look he'd given when Henry was in tears was sharp in her mind, though so was the eventual softness after he took in her expression.
He gave a small quirk of the lips. "Good for our tourist business."
"Sure," she said warily.
He shrugged a shoulder. "Bad for our local signage."
She rolled her eyes at the lame joke, but felt relieved that he had decided to jest. She stepped off the curb onto the street beside him. "You said something about a Bed and Breakfast?"
He nodded. "Granny's. Up the road a bit. I could show you?"
She cocked her head to the side, wondering just what his deal was.
She had felt sick when she'd watched the sheriff brush tears from Henry's face in the parking lot by the beach. The wind had drowned out any soothing words for her ears, though they were obvious even meters away. Henry'd had his head hung low, not dipping up once when the embrace finally broke. She had felt awkward and out of place, but too unsure of herself to move.
She had just needed to be sure he was okay.
The sheriff had been careful, and after a long moment a small smile was coaxed on the boy's face. There had been something beautiful in seeing them together, in witnessing the first time something other than her made the kid smile in this town, the first time true care and attention was lavished upon Henry. The kid lapped it up eagerly, easing from the frustrated and tearful boy he'd been moments before.
But it had looked like a first time, not something commonplace. And so she was left to wonder.
She looked up to the mansion and then back down at him. "Do you care about him?" she asked, her tone accusing.
His eyebrows raised and his mouth parted. A long beat passed. "I—Regina doesn't like—it's not my place," he finally said stumblingly.
She pressed her lips together. "But you do," she finished.
He met her gaze. "But I do," he agreed.
She swallowed, wondering if such a simple statement was supposed to ignite so much affection in her belly. She wanted to take that last step to him, to grab him by that damn leather collar and kiss him hard.
She thought she knew exactly how he'd taste.
"Let's see that B&B," he said, and pushed off the side of the car to open the passenger door.
She felt the disappointment acutely, and thought she found the matching emotion in him. His brow was creased and he licked his lips before walking around. She climbed into the seat somewhat reluctantly.
The interior was warm, hot air blowing through the vents. The radio was on but low, some old 80s love song barely discernable. When he creaked open his door and slid into the driver's seat, she gripped the dash and tried not to focus on him.
He pulled into the foggy evening soundlessly. Tension was thick, spiraling and looping through the cabin and anticipation was in his every breath. "Do you care?"
She looked up. He was focused on the road ahead, so intense that she wondered first if she imagined the question. She grimaced and looked out the window to the trees darting past. A long moment passed. "She said that I tossed him aside. I didn't," she offered solemnly.
He nodded thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I ask—"
She huffed a laugh and watched the dark roll of fog. "Seventeen."
He looked over quickly, dark eyes sweeping across her face.
"The father was already long gone. Before I even knew," she continued stiffly.
His right hand tensed into a fist before releasing to make a turn.
She blew out a low breath. "I couldn't have had him in the beginning. And I was in no position to take him when I could have, anyway."
He mercifully didn't ask her to clarify. "So you decided that adoption was the best option. That's not tossing him away," he agreed, his lilting accent pleasantly soft on the words.
She adjusted her back against the seat and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "He was supposed to have a good life. That's what they promised," she said. Why was she even answering these non-questions? She had no obligation to this man.
Except … except he cared about Henry. He seemed the only one. And so he deserved to know why she couldn't.
"He was supposed to be happy," she finished.
The sheriff pulled up in front of an old cottage-style home with a swinging sign. He shut off the engine, but didn't move. He gripped hard along the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut.
She carefully reached forward and placed her hand over his elbow, eyes set on his when he finally opened his own. "Is he happy?"
His brow was furrowed deeply and he pressed his lips together. There was a storm in his grey-blue eyes, one that put her on edge. "You should get a room."
"Graham," she said insistently, the first time she'd used his name. "Is he happy?"
He sighed heavily, red cracks marking the edges of the whites of his eye. "He stole a credit card and traveled over 200 miles to get you to come here to change his life. What do you think?"
She looked away sharply. "Is it her?" she asked.
Warm fingers set on top of her hand, and she looked to see she was still touching his arm. It had felt so natural. "He doesn't talk about it much," he said, then dropped her hand onto the seat.
"But you think it's her," she discerned.
"I can't say for sure," he protested.
She gave a pointed look. "You're a cop. Part of your skill set should be being observant, right?"
"Yes."
She tossed up her hands. "Then?"
He waited a beat. "Yes."
Her vision blurred, her stomach turning. She blinked rapidly and looked out the window. "Is she hurting him?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"Not physically. Like I said, he doesn't talk about it much. But I'd like to think I'd see it if she was hurting him like that," he said, voice strained.
Her face twisted and she struggled to keep the emotion back. Physically was one thing, but she had enough in her life to know it wasn't the only bad thing. "She doesn't love him," she noted, the truth behind the woman's lie finally bleeding over into words. It felt concrete and also deafening to voice.
"I don't think she can," he murmured. "She goes through the motions. She says the words. She buys him things. But … but Henry knows. I think that's what hurts him most."
She slumped back against the seat. She felt drained and hopeless all of a sudden. "This was supposed to be his best chance," she said numbly.
Warmth appeared again, and she looked to see him wrapping his hand in hers. "It's a good thing you're staying the week."
She held stiff, not daring to relax into the seamless fit of their skin. "Is it?"
He nodded. His cobalt eyes were hard to break away from, and her lower lip trembled slightly under the power of the gaze. "I think it'll be good for you both."
She turned her head and rested against the headrest, considering his handsome face a long moment. The smell of leather pushed against some locked memory, and she could almost see those sharp lines and soft lips in the foreground of a forest canopy. She blinked and it was gone.
Something about this town was messing with her head. But there was a connection here, linked with that kid with the sweet, sad, hopeful demeanor.
What was she supposed to do with this information? How could a week help with a kid whose mother didn't or couldn't love him?
His thumb rolled across the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, the callous of it sparking across her skin. She thought about Henry's tight hug on him, how eager this man had been to help and comfort. At the very least, she could facilitate that connection with someone in that kid's life who cared. It would make leaving feel better.
Even if she wanted to be the one to help him feel better. She couldn't. She wasn't equipped. She couldn't.
The car was chilling without the heat, and she blew out a low fog of breath. Finally, she squeezed his hand, the only reply she could manage.
Eleven Years Ago
Their hands remained linked the entire rest of the journey through the forest. It was reassuring, that steady curl of fingers against hers, cautious yet firm. They'd come a long way in a short time, but she didn't know what would happen once they reached the place he wanted to go. She had a gnawing fear that it would mean their separation, and she wasn't entirely sure why it scared her so badly.
She peeked up at him through her lashes, watching as he navigated them through the low branches. Her palms felt sweaty despite the chill of the mid-morning air.
After a while, she noticed that the trees were getting thinner, and the distant buzz of a crowd was getting closer.
"So … this is it," she murmured, looking over the village that appeared once the trees parted.
Her companion nodded, swift eyes sweeping over the activity. "Does anything look familiar to you at all?"
She looked around. The sky was bright azure and cloudless, the mist having burned off in their journey. A smattering of tawny wooden buildings jutted along the outer edges of the bare earthen streets, a covered well marking the center. The town was bustling with activity, and people crowded the market stands in dark, rough clothing. They tended to children and farm animals, yelling prices and amounts to one another.
It was just shy of cliché. She had seen enough movies set in medieval towns. She thought she remembered some Heath Ledger movie with nearly the same set up. Maybe even a Disney flick with a song to go along with it.
It was nothing at all like the busy cityscape she had darted out of with her pockets full, not at all like the street she had been running down to catch up with Neal.
She wondered, for the first time since coming to the conclusion that this place was real, how long she had before she would start to really panic. "No," she answered at long last, squeezing his hand reflexively.
He pressed his lips together. His stormy eyes were pensive, worried. He was the one touchstone she had in this place, and he was still brand new. Newer than even Neal. The trust she put in him almost automatically was a little alarming, but it was there all the same.
He tugged her hand, keeping grasp on her as they weaved through the crowd. Some women and men threw looks at him, at them, that were less than pleasant. Tossing her shoulders back, she attempted to match his stony demeanor, catching the ones that scowled with a glare of her own.
After some time, he nodded to a far stall. "Maybe the bookshop. Check, and I can sell the extra meat in the meantime."
Panic climbed inside her as he left just as quickly. She brushed her hands over her arms, worry pulling her eyebrows together. He was just going to leave her there?
She swallowed and cautiously walked to the vendor he'd indicated, pulling her sleeves down by her thumbs. She felt like she stuck out like this, all in her jeans and plaid. Every other woman, young and old, was in a dress of plain muslin in earthy colors with aprons pinned around their waist. Even her loose blonde hair felt out of place. Self-consciously, she set on braiding it as she looked at the books.
How the hell was she supposed to know how to get back from these? It looked like each one was either a fairytale or a recipe book. There was no sight of even the pretty leather-bound tomes he had at the camp, the ones that had that deep, pleasant aged smell to them. She huffed a sigh and yanked a far book to her to skim through the pages, watching different birds fly past on the paper.
"You got money for that?"
She looked up at the sunburned face of the owner. She hadn't even seen him approach, and now he was bearing down on her with dark, accusing eyes. His tuft of red hair jutted out at odd angles, and his nose had been bent and broken many times over. His frame was short but stocky, sleeves rolled up to show off his well-muscled forearms. He didn't look like any librarian or book store owner she'd ever seen; he looked like someone you wouldn't ever mess with.
She quickly set the book on top of the rest. "I was just looking," she said defensively.
He sneered, showing blackened teeth. "Looking. Sure. Not from around here, are ya?"
She squared her shoulders and planted her feet. "No. What's it to you?" she demanded.
He glowered. "If you were, you'd know not to touch my books without havin' money to spend on 'em," he replied.
"She has money," the boy cut in coolly, slinging his now empty bag over his shoulder. "Not to spend here, though."
"I have no use for your kind, Mutt," the man glowered. He jerked his head to the side. "Begone with you. Ain't nobody wants your kind of business."
"Come, Emma," he said, tugging her by the elbow.
She tossed a glare at the shopkeeper before falling into pace with him. "Idiot," she muttered.
"You're real good at making an impression, aren't you?" he asked, amusement in his tone.
"Splendid," she said through her teeth. She sighed. "I didn't get any info, though."
A hefty woman shoulder-checked him, knocking him barely off balance. "Mongrel," she sneered, and walked past.
He stiffened slightly, then grabbed her hand again. "I should have known it would be a long shot," he murmured.
"Wolf boy," she said softly, tightening her grip.
He shook his head and guided her towards the edges of town, past the vegetable stands and masonry shops. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about the disdain and outright hate these people showed.
"Where to next?" she asked instead.
He blew out a breath and licked his lips, casting a look across the town. "We need to find something on … I don't know. Portals or something? And we might need to find a magic user to get you home."
Home. Was that what Portland was supposed to be? She shrugged. "So how do we go about that?"
He scratched the back of his neck, looking around a little helplessly. "I don't actually know," he admitted.
She swallowed thickly. So, there was a chance, then, that she was stuck. Stuck in some land with fairies flying around. Stuck in some place where people ran around with knives and swords. Stuck with … well, stuck with him.
She looked down as they passed by a blacksmith. She watched the hearth a long moment, the red golds of the fire as she contemplated. "What'll happen if I can't find out how to make it back?"
He stopped, brow creasing. He looked at her a long moment. "What do you want to do?"
She hesitated. "It'd make the most sense to stay with you. At least until we can find my way."
He swallowed visibly. "Okay."
She kicked a stone, refusing to meet the steely blue of his eyes. "I mean, if it's not too much of an inconvenience or anything."
He tugged her closer by the hand, shoulder knocking into hers. "It wouldn't be an inconvenience."
She let a cautious smile grace her face and she looked up. "Yeah?"
He was relaxed, sky bright around him like a halo. "Yeah."
Her stomach fizzled, and she hid her face shyly. Maybe being stuck wouldn't be so bad. And maybe … maybe being stuck with him wouldn't be so bad.
Maybe she'd find her home.