His face goes blank. “Sorry.”
God, where has my husband gone? “Gerard, can we talk?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “About what?”
“About this. About us.”
“I don’t know what there is to say, Lucy. Things have been strained since it all happened, and I don’t think it has anything to do with what you saw.”
“Please don’t start this argument again,” I plead.
His eyes meet mine. “You still believe he’s real. You think I can’t see it in your face? I’ve seen the searches on Google.”
I take a step back. “You’re checking up on me.”
“You are still searching for him and refusing help. What will you have me do?”
“Believe me!” I snap.
“I don’t,” he grunts. “I don’t believe you, and I’m sick to death of your obsession over this non-existent person, mostly I’m sick of you refusing help.”
“I’m not doing this again,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’m not talking with you about it, you’re still making me feel guilty.”
“I want you to stop.”
I flinch. “Pardon?”
“I want you to stop thinking about him, talking about him, and searching for him.”
“No,” I say simply. “He saved my life, but more importantly, he’s supported me when I most needed it.”
His eyes narrow. “Really?”
The way he’s talking to me right now, the way he’s mocking me—anger bubbles forth and I spit, “Yes! When I planted that rose for our baby and you left because work, as always, was more important.”
His face grows red, and I know my words are cruel. I don’t take them back, mostly because I can’t, but also because my pride won’t let me. “Now you’re imagining that you’re seeing him.”
Imagining. I can’t take this anymore. “I’m done here.”
I turn my back to him and hear his chair scrape back. “Seriously, Lucy. If you’re imagining him, you need more help than I can give.”
“He’s real!” I scream so loudly I scare myself. My hand goes up and clamps over my mouth, horrified.
“Tomorrow I’m calling a doctor. I can’t take this anymore.” His voice growing cold.
“What?” I whisper.
“You need help. If you won’t take it, I’ll make you get it.”
I turn on shaky legs and rush out. He calls me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
I need to get out of here.
CHAPTER 8
I drive to the baseball stadium.
I haven’t been there since that awful night, but tonight I know it’s time to go back and face it. Maybe there will be something, anything that will give me the answers I need, or maybe I’m just grasping at straws because there is no other way out. Rain falls as I near, coming in heavy drops, sliding down my windscreen as I come to a stop in the empty parking lot. There is no one around, but there is still police tape everywhere.
With trembling hands, I push my car door open, stepping into the freezing cold rain without second thought. My eyes scan over the dark stadium and I walk towards it, my feet lifeless on the pavement. I stop at the front entrances that are fully blocked off and just stare. Sounds, memories, pain—it all flashes back into my mind like a nightmare.
Screaming. Gunshots. People crying and begging.
“Hunter?” I croak.
“Yeah, Lucy?”
“What do they want?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
I sink to my knees at the gate, my fingers finding the soft grass beneath me, and I sob. I break; I let it all go, including the girl I was. I know now that I’ll never be her again, and she’ll never be me. I’m a different person, and I can’t keep pretending I’m not. My marriage has crumbled; I can no longer pretend it hasn’t.
The rain keeps coming, mercilessly, soaking me to my very bones. I don’t care. I stay on the ground, crying, shaking, getting saturated because it’s the only way I can cope.
Strong arms wrap around me.
For a second, I’m stunned. My body is hauled off the ground.
I start to squirm, crying hysterically and trying to see the man holding me.
“Lucy girl, hush.”
Heath.
Always the hero.
Always the intruder.
How can someone so successfully be both?
I make a pained, squeaking sound and cling to him. I throw my tiny arms around his neck and hold on, pressing my face into his chest, clutching him as if he’s the only thing keeping me breathing. He walks me to my car, but I’m too hysterical to do anything but hold on with everything I’ve got.
“Calm down, sweetheart.”
I clutch him harder, my fingers curling into his shirt.
“Lucy, look at me.”
With great effort, I pull back and look up at him. He’s stares down at me, his eyes intense. A streetlight in the parking lot lights up his face, and I realize in that moment just how much I’ve needed to see it. Those eyes. That mouth. The hair falling over his forehead. I should have turned and looked at him that day in the park. I should have etched him into my mind.
“Everyone thinks I’m c-c-c-crazy,” I sob. “My husband is going to force me to see a doctor.”