That was three years ago and even though I ended up without her, I don’t regret my decision. I had to keep her safe—I loved her too much not to. Life presents choices at every curve and it’s the choices we make that pave the way for our future. Sure, I regret everything up to that point, of course I do. I was a dumb fuck with a huge ego. I thought I could outsmart people who would never let anyone outsmart them. Looking back I should have seen it, but I’d investigated a story that I thought would put me on top of my game and that’s where I wanted to be. Fuck, was I wrong. No, not wrong—plain stupid. The story led to an unbelievable choice. I had to “die,” or I knew my girl and me would both be killed. I know it sounds absurd. Shit like that only happens in the movies, but it was my reality. I wanted to take her with me, I did, but that kind of life wasn’t for my Dahl. So I had to leave my perfect girl behind, and it wrecked me. That choice, my choice—to give her up to keep her alive—is one I could never regret.
While I was gone, I lived day to day, never looking ahead, never letting anyone in. That is until the unexpected day came. The day I was told the danger was over and I could go home. I had been given a second chance. So I let my shield down and I never hesitated in the least to leave behind the life I had created. Now would come the time to make up for all the wrong I had done. I went back thinking that getting her back wouldn’t be easy, but knowing in my heart it would be worth it.
Never did I think something so unimaginable would happen. That she would no longer feel the same about me . . . that my beautiful beach-loving, made-for-me girl would have fallen in love with someone else. I didn’t want to accept it. I thought I could win her back. But like I said, the world is a cruel place. She was gone from me before I ever returned. And there was no getting her back. Even if she hadn’t found out about what I’d done, I wouldn’t have been able to. I know that now. I should have let her go long ago, but I’d lost sight of what was real, who she was, who I was. Without Dahl all I had left was my family. And then again the unthinkable happened. My loving, caring mother suffered a stroke and she was gone in the blink of an eye. A loss struck my family again and just like when my father was taken—I was left utterly broken, but this time the girl who had helped me become whole again was also gone.
If there is a moment in time that comes to alter the course of your life forever—mine would be the day Caleb Holt told me I had to disappear. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m alone and left to pick up pieces to a life I don’t have. Rock bottom. It’s a phrase I never thought I’d use to describe myself, but it’s the only one that fits.
Chapter 1
Dead and Gone
The world spins faster as I stumble forward to enter the front door of what used to be my house with Dahlia. After attempting to hang my keys on the old key shaped holder, they fall to the ground when I miss. I leave them there. Once I’ve made it to the bathroom, I grip the countertop tightly because the wallpaper seems to be tilting and the flowers on it are fading in and out. I lean over the sink to wait for the sick feeling in my gut to pass. When I look up, my vision fuzzes suddenly? blurring her features, but I know it’s her because she’s wearing her pearls. I have to touch her, feel her, so I press my hands to the glass in an attempt to grab her and pull her to me. My pulse thunders in my ears as I splay my fingers against the cool surface and try not to blink, not to lose sight of her. But I can’t help it and when my eyes slam open again, I notice her hair isn’t blonde anymore, it’s red. And this time the pearls are gone, replaced by twinkling emeralds. I shut my eyes tight, willing the room to steady and the delusions to go away.
“Ben? Are you okay?” a concerned voice asks.
I pull in a deep breath and open my eyes, cautious, fearful, but this time all I see is the dirty-blonde–haired reflection of my sister and myself. I nod and force all of the air out of my lungs.
“We have to go. You’re not even dressed. Do you want me to pick out your clothes?”
I shake my head once and try not to move again for fear the slightest movement will send the room rotating. I can feel her stare, but let the weight of it pummel me before I shift my eyes to hers in the mirror. “No, I can do it. Sorry, just give me a minute to jump in the shower and I’ll be ready.”
I catch sight of the pain in her eyes. She hastily turns to leave, then pauses but doesn’t twist around as she says, “Okay. The limo is here, but I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
I want to say something else but I can’t. I’m not sure what I’d say anyway. Maybe that I’m sorry. Maybe that everything is my fault. But my mother is gone and nothing I say is going to change that fact. I stand here knowing I have to pull myself together for my mother’s funeral. Without looking in the mirror again, I breathe slowly and finally, breath by breath, the spinning fades just as the hallucinations did.
***
The large red double doors that lead us into St. Mary’s Church feel heavier than they ever have. I must have opened them a couple of hundred times in my life and never thought about the color. It’s the color of apples, the color of blood, but when doors are painted red they are supposed to symbolize a place of safety, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Now as I pass them I have to wonder . . . does that apply to everyone? Even those of us whose souls are ravaged?