Chapter 52

CHAPTER 52

Skye

H is cerulean eyes bore into me, burning a hole in my soul. An opening to tell him the truth, to let the words flow. Yet, as much as I want to get my story off my chest, I can't get words to form on my lips. My throat is parched; my mouth is dry. My anxiety inhibits me. Where do I begin? How does one condense over four traumatic years into an engaging short story? For God's sake, I'm a journalist. I tell—okay, told—stories for a living, but I can't manage to communicate my own.

His gaze never strays from me. He circles my lips with a fingertip.

"It's okay," he says softly, before taking my cold hands in his. They warm me. He gives them a squeeze of encouragement. I swallow hard again, and finally courage vanquishes the constricting lump in my throat.

Taking a shaky breath, I cast my eyes down, then look up. "You know I had a terrible car accident."

"Yes. The police told me you went over Mulholland. But they lied to me and said you died."

"Finn, it's true. The paramedics resuscitated me. It must have been a mistake—a miscommunication." Hushed and stunned, he lets me continue. "Every bone in my body was shattered and every organ damaged almost beyond repair. Parts of my flesh were charred, others ripped open. I was in a coma for over a week, and then I went into cardiac arrest."

"Jesus," my husband murmurs as the haunting sound of the flatline hums in my head. I shudder.

"My love, I know what it's like to experience death. I did. I saw the white light they all talk about. But somehow, I willed myself to live. In the light, I saw you and my baby girl, and I knew it couldn't be my time. I had too much to live for."

A faint smile flickers on Finn's face. It's all I need to persevere.

"I spent almost a year in a hospital convalescing, drifting in and out of consciousness, often hallucinating so I'm told. Undergoing one operation after another to fix my plethora of life-threatening injuries. From skin grafts and bone grafts to metal plates and pins. I was heavily sedated and don't have a clear recollection of those endless months."

Finn's unblinking eyes search mine. "But why didn't anyone tell me you were alive?"

"Initially, I didn't understand why. In my moments of lucidity, I cried out for you. Pleaded to see you and Maddie. But my desperate pleas were only met by more sedatives to calm me down. Dull all my senses. And make me numb."

"That doesn't explain shit," interrupts Finn, a surge of anger in his voice before it softens. "I would have been there for you. Never left your side."

"I know, baby, I know." I press my forehead against his. We stay like this for several loving moments until I pull away and go on.

"Every minute I was awake and conscious, I wanted to bolt out of the hospital. Escape. Find a way home to be with you and Maddie. But it was impossible. I was bed-bound, completely debilitated and crippled by my egregious injuries. Every limb in a cast. My jaw and nose broken, my cheekbones shattered, my skull fractured, my teeth cracked. Fed intravenously. A breathing tube up my nose. My mangled face swathed in bandages."

Finn stares at me with intensity, the artist in him trying to picture my unfathomable state. If only I could blur the horrific memories. Paint over them. Erase them forever.

"But slowly, day by day, I got better. Grew stronger. And recovered enough to talk to the police, who wanted to know the events of that fateful night."

"Detective Billings?" asks Finn.

I nod. "How did you know?"

"After you ‘died,' he came by to talk to me." He lets go of me to make air quotes, and then cups his hands on my shoulders. "What did you tell him?"

My eyes lower, my voice falters. "Nothing."

"Look at me, Skye." Finn's voice is soft but commanding.

Slowly, I lift my head and meet his questioning eyes. His thick brows are drawn together in almost a straight line.

"What do you mean... nothing?" He punctuates my last word.

Tears again form behind my eyes. Though I hesitate, his unyielding gaze extrapolates the truth out of me. Forces me to respond.

"I had . . . have no recollection."

Finn arches his brows, his eyes widening. "What?"

"My doctors told me because of my head injury, I was suffering from PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

A stunned Finn stays silent.

"Retrograde amnesia. I don't know how the accident occurred. I've blanked it out. As well as the events leading up to it."

"You seriously can't remember anything?"

I shake my head. "No. Not a thing."

While Finn ingests my words, I caress his cheek. "Maybe you can help me remember."

He inhales a deep breath. On the exhale, with his penchant for details, my artist husband starts to tell me everything about that week. That day. That night.

I listen intently, with few interruptions. Filled with remorse, my heart sinks to my stomach while guilt ascends like a high-speed elevator.

It was one of the best days of Finn's life. A turning point. He'd, at last, gotten an agent who appreciated his talent. Yes, Kayla, but nonetheless, someone who could turn his life around. Ecstatic, he wanted to celebrate with me. Especially since it was also coincidentally my birthday. He made reservations at our favorite restaurant. Even bought me something special to wear. A sexy red dress. But his plans went south... with our then nanny quitting on us and me having other plans. To break a major story.

"Did I tell you anything about the story?" I ask, hoping for a breakthrough.

"Nothing except that it was personal. Then you left in a hurry."

My eyes blink several times, trying to remember. The futile attempt makes my head pound.

"What was I wearing?"

"You were all dolled up. In a tight little black dress I'd never seen before and stilettos. Your hair and makeup done to the nines."

I remember him telling me this when we picnicked in Oak Glen. So not like me even if I was going to go to some kind of awards banquet or black tie event. My taste has always been and still is conservative.

My gaze stays on him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Skye . . . "

The unsettling tone of his voice unnerves me. My stomach knots and my tenor grows tentative. "Yes?"

"There's one thing I didn't mention that day at the apple farm."

A short pause, one that feels like an eternity.

"You weren't wearing your wedding band."

What!? I never took it off. Even to wash my hands. My initial shock gives way to a curl of uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Only your locket" He pauses again, his lips pinching. "Skye, I need to ask you something."

Dread rising inside me, I silently nod.

"Were you having an affair?"

His hot, pointed words pierce me. My mind burning, I rub my forehead like I'm trying to put out a fire. I feverishly search for the truth, but for the life of me, I can't remember that night. Or anything leading up to it. I have only one other place to search for an answer. My heart. Knowing the truth lies within in it, I clutch Finn's waiting face.

"Finn, I've only loved you. There's never been another man in my life. Not ever!" My voice is thick with tears. "Please, believe me."

My watering eyes stay on his contemplative face as a wave of sorrow and remorse sweeps over me.

"I've caused you so much pain. Leaving you bereft... with the burden of bringing up our little girl all alone... thinking I was untrue to you."

"Raising Maddie has never been a burden. It's been the only joy I've had in my life."

Another sharp pang of sadness. "I wish I could turn back the hands of time. Been there with you to have watched our little girl grow up. Together."

Finn's brows furrow. "I still don't understand why you stayed away for almost five years."

"Years of reconstructive surgery and intensive therapy. My pelvis crushed, I had to learn how to walk again. My windpipe damaged, to talk again. Every day, I worked for hours with physical therapists, speech pathologists, and psychiatrists. Once I was stable, I was told by Detective Billings that someone attempted to murder me. That this person was still out there, and because I was a well-known television personality, this person would likely come after me and be a threat to you and Maddie."

Finn's jaw ticks. "Did he ask if you suspected me?"

My heart stutters. "Y-yes."

"What did you tell him?"

"That it was impossible. That you loved me unconditionally with all you had... I mean, have."

Silence. Finn digests my words, a crease forming between his brows. Hoping he believes me, I continue.

"Because of the extreme damage to my face, I underwent reconstructive surgery. Countless operations. On account of our lives being in jeopardy, I agreed to let the surgeons change my appearance... give me new features... make me unrecognizable. Then, Detective Billings worked with the Witness Protection Program to give me a brand new identity. A new name and a new career as a tutor. I was told to stay far away from you and Maddie. It was too dangerous for all of us. Then somehow, by fate, I ended up here."

"What's meant to be will always find a way." The expression on his face softens. Any trace of venom in his voice evaporates and is replaced by tenderness. "We were destined to be together."

Without warning, I burst into sobs and splutter, "Finn, I'm so, so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"My love, there's nothing to forgive." He brushes away my tears with his thumbs. "You've suffered so much. What matters is that we've found each other. Tonight, you're mine again."

Quieting, I watch him slip his hand into a pocket and pull out the necklace. The locket. "I never stopped loving you, Skye. I always believed our love was forever."

Overcome with emotion, I let him put the locket back on my neck. Where it belongs. Taking my hand, he puts it to his heart. "This belongs to you, too, my one and only."

Wrapping his strong arms around me, my hand still on his chest, he draws me in closer. Our bodies touch. A breath apart, the greatest distance between us is a kiss. He seals the space by tenderly cupping my face and crushing his warm lips on my mine. The kiss is hot, passionate, and possessive. I melt into it. I've never been kissed with such heat, such desire, such love.

When he finally pulls away, I'm breathless. "What are we going to do?"

His face darkens, his eyes narrow. "We're going to find the sick fuck who did this to you... to us... and when we do, his soul is going to rot in hell."