I dropped off Georgia with Tess early one morning while it was still dark, so I could photograph the sunrise on the beach. Sunrises were my best sellers, and at the rate Georgia had been growing I was going to have to sell a ton of postcards just to keep her clothed.
It was a really clear morning, not a cloud in the sky. The waves were small. Seagulls flew over my head, on their way to the restaurants to steal bagels and eggs from the tourists dining outside. Conditions were perfect. I took some standing shots before lying on my stomach on the sand to make myself even with the horizon and taking a dozen or so more. Those always turned out to be my favorites, and it didn’t hurt that they were also the ones the tourists wanted to shell out three bucks for.
When I was satisfied that I’d gotten what I wanted, I tucked my camera back in its bag, shook the sand from my long skirt and fanned out the inside of my tank top. A shadow fell over me and an eerie sense of unease pricked the hairs on my arm. An icy hot panic coursed through my veins. I looked up just in time to see Owen standing over me, gazing down my top. His eyes looked clear and his hair was tucked into a backwards baseball cap. He was wearing a clean yellow t-shirt and board shorts. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought that he was just a cute, clean-cut local boy.
But I had known better.
And I’d known worse, too.
I didn’t say shit to him. I just started walking away. I saw the Chicken or The Egg Diner in the distance. Its beach side tables were already filled with patrons, but it was too far for them to hear me if I screamed, so I picked up my pace.
Owen followed me through the sand. “I just want to talk to you, Abby,” he said.
“You are not supposed to be near me!” I shouted without looking back. He was on my heels.
“I just want to talk about our daughter.”
I heard those words leave his mouth, and suddenly I didn’t give a fuck what he did to me. I stopped and turned on my heels, pressing my hand into his chest as he ran into me. I caught him by surprise, and he almost fell backwards.
“What the fuck did you say to me?” With adrenaline coursing through my veins I was no longer scared. He should’ve been scared of me, though.
“I want to know about our—”
“MY daughter, Owen—MY daughter. You have no rights, no claim—no nothing. You are a monster she never needs to know. Forget she fucking exists.”
Owen grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him. A wave of nausea washed over me. I felt around the inside of my beach bag with my free hand. “I wasn’t going to be rough with you,” he spat, “but you seem to always bring out the best in me. I want to know her, Abby. She’s my flesh and blood, goddammit, and I’ve waited long enough!”
“You can wait in hell motherfucker.” I yanked my wrist from his grip, and just as he was reaching for me again the barrel of my .22 met his forehead.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, straightening up to full height. He lifted both of his hands like I was robbing him instead of protecting myself.
“I’m so not fucking kidding.” I kept the gun aimed at his head. I didn’t want to have to shoot twice.
“All I want is to get to know her,” Owen said.
“And all I want is to see parts of your head scattered across the beach.”
“You’d really shoot me?” Owen had the balls to look surprised, and even a little scared. It made me visualize the way his head would look as it exploded at point blank range. I may have laughed out loud.
It was fucking funny.
“If you ever come near me or my daughter, I swear to God I will lay you out, and you will never even see it coming. Consider this my nice warning. You won’t get it again.”
“Abby,” he pleaded. His whine made me want to kill him even more. I had no sympathy for him whatsoever. In fact, there wasn’t a single place in my heart that felt the least bit of remorse for Owen Fletcher. “Please.”
In one quick motion, Owen grabbed the barrel of my gun. I pulled the trigger, shooting into the sand. The gun fell from my grip, and Owen put his hand over my mouth. “You can’t keep her from me,” he whispered in my ear. “Besides, I know you’d never shoot me.”
“But, I will.” The cocking of a hammer brought my attention to where Jake stood. Even in the lightest light of day his normally sapphire eyes were as dark as night. His black t-shirt and jeans looked like hell against the heaven of the white sand. Owen released me instantly, and I instinctively ran to Jake. He took my hand and pulled me behind him. Protected by a wall of Jake.
I liked the thought of that. And the feeling.
“You again,” Owen said. He looked pissed, but also very, very afraid.
“Me again,” Jake said.
“I’d heard you were back.”
Jake turned to me, the gun still aimed at Owen. “Your call, baby.” He was asking me if Owen should die, right then and there. As tempted as I was to say yes, there was too much at risk.
I had my daughter to think of.