Page 55 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

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rabbed three books from the middle row and brought them back to her bed. I hadn’t spent much time in Charlie’s room before. We’d always stayed downstairs or been outside playing. But it was exactly what I would have expected for my daughter.

A tomboy’s room through and through, except for a small pink table in the corner.

I sat down on her camouflage comforter, leaning against the headboard, barely able to fit by her side on the twin bed. Much like the rest of this house, her room was cramped. Every available surface had special sticks and rocks from Charlie’s outdoor explorations. Her bookshelves were nearly overflowing. And her bedside table was full of framed pictures.

“Is this my picture?” I twisted to the side and picked up the biggest of the frames on her nightstand. It was the drawing Thea had done, the one Hazel had recognized me from.

“Yeah.” Charlie snuggled closer, the smell of her lavender shampoo filling the air. “Mommy did it for me.”

“Your mom is quite the artist.”

In the sketch, I was looking off to the side, not quite in profile, but not straight forward either. I had an easy smile. My hair was longer than it was now, more like how I’d worn it when I’d met her. But Thea had captured my features perfectly.

All from memory.

This drawing proved that the connection between us was real and lasting.

She’d felt it just as strongly as I did.

And damn, I wanted that again. But this time, I wanted more than just a physical relationship. I wanted to see just how deep our feelings went.

My gut was telling me they ran to the core.

“Let’s read this one first.” Charlie thrust a book onto my stomach, so I set the drawing back down to read my daughter her bedtime stories. She was yawning as I closed the last book.

“Good night, Charlie.” I pulled her closer into my side and kissed her forehead.

“You’re coming back?”

I rested my cheek against her hair. “I’ll always come back for you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, but her voice was filled with doubt. “Night, Logan.”

I kissed her again, then pried myself away from her side. She burrowed under her blankets as I shut off her lamp and walked out of her room.

“Hi,” Thea whispered. She was leaning against the wall outside Charlie’s door.

“Hi. What are you doing?”

“Just listening.” She motioned for me to follow as she led the way downstairs and through the house to the porch.

“When’s Hazel coming home from the fair?” I asked.

“I’m sure it will be late. There was a band playing that she wanted to see, so she and a couple of friends are there for the concert.”

I paused when we got outside, expecting Thea to sit in one of the mismatched chairs. But she kept going, down the stairs and over the grass. I stayed close as she crossed the lawn and continued down the old dock that stretched over the lakeshore.

She padded all the way to the end, past the spot Charlie had left her fishing pole from earlier. She slipped off her flip-flops and sat on the dock’s edge, dangling her toes into the water.

I’d been wearing flip-flops all week myself. My wingtips had felt too stuffy for Lark Cove. So I shuffled off my shoes too and sat in the space by Thea’s side.

We sat quietly for a while, both of us just staring out at the lake. It was a calm night, the water gently rolling in glassy mounds.

“I hate leaving her,” I whispered.

“But you have to.”