Page 93 of Serpent & Saviors

Andrew smirked. “You mean our room.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered, my voice catching at the sudden huskiness of his.

“That sounds perfect,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “I need to check in with the guys about a few things, so take your time. I might be awhile. Goodnight son, see you at breakfast.”

He kissed Declan on the head. I watched him leave, closing the door behind him. For a moment, I just stood there, letting the peace wash over me.

“Let’s get you bathed, shall we?”

It didn’t take us long to find a groove, and it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Many things were instinctual. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to be a mother. I just never had the opportunity. Once I got him settled and tucked in, I turned off the main light and left a small nightlight on to keep the room from complete darkness.

With one last look at our son, I slipped out of the room. The house was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the night outside. Smiling, I practically skipped across the hall. He said he was meeting with the guys and would be awhile. This gave me time to shower and change before he got back.

The shower was a perfect reset for me. After I changed, I looked around the room. My eyes landed on the bedside table. I noticed the Autumn journal he purchased for me was there, along with a full set of pens. I smiled, realizing how different he was from Cameron.

Earlier, he’d shown me how to work the audio system in his room, so I put on some classical music. Mood music, if you will, and knew in my heart it was time. Grabbing the pens, I sat in the overstuffed chair in his room in front of the fireplace. I opened the journal and took a deep breath.

My brain froze. The words wouldn’t form. The pen hovered over the page, motionless. Writing had at one time been second nature, and the words used to spill from me like water from a turned-on faucet.

Every thought, dream, every scrap of hope used to find its way onto the paper. But now there was nothing. Just a tangle of knots. Every word I wanted to write sounded wrong. I sat like a bird with a broken wing, unable to soar.

Ten minutes later, I closed the journal and pulled it closer to my body, the pen in my hand momentarily forgotten. A single tear fell down my cheek as I thought about the last few days. Why was I struggling? I sighed and opened the journal once more.

“Dear Autumn,” I began. The orange pen glided over the pristine paper.

It’s been six years, nine months and four days since I last wrote to you. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see you once more, to hear your voice. My life has been…

I paused, unsure of where to begin. My neat handwriting stared back at me. So much time had passed. Maybe it was time to let them go. Tears glistened in my eyes. The last time I’d written to her, I was probably complaining about a maths test I’d failed. And now here I was, poised to tell her how awful my life had been up until a week ago.

Andrew came in as I was staring into the fireplace. He called my name, and I whipped my head around. He was carrying a box. Peaking over the top was…my heart beat wildly. It couldn’t be.

He said not to get my hopes up, that the detective more than likely wouldn’t let me have them until the house was completely processed and photographed. The grin on his face gave him away. I hopped up, excited to see them once more.

“You did it!” I exclaimed as he set the box on the table.

Inside the box were all of my journal books I’d ever written in. My hand touched the top one. It was one of mine. An idea hit. Earlier at the park, there was a moment when the sun shone off Andrew’s hair, causing my breath to catch in my throat.

The reddish shades glistened and reminded me of Winter’s beautiful hair. I’d been so fascinated with it that one time, when Autumn was drawing her, I stood over her shoulder and watched the entire process.

“Wait here for a minute,” he commanded.

With a huge grin on his face, he went into his closet and came out with another box. He set it down, and I only then realized it was a safe.

“For your journals. Isabella uses one for her artwork. She’s very private like that. I thought you might like something similar.”

I threw my arms around him and realized a huge part of me wanted to open up to him. To share my past, my pain, my childhood. All of it. So much of who I was stemmed from those two years. We talked extensively today about healing and finding a counselor who could help me. I had an appointment set up for next week already.

Something in the moment felt right, crucial almost. I pulled away and strode over to the box he’d set down. Digging to the bottom, I picked up the very first journal I’d ever written in. Dusting it off, tears came to my eyes. I brought it to my chest. Callahan would be so proud if he could see me now.

“Andrew, would you do me a favor and sit in that chair?”

He raised his eyebrows seductively, and I laughed. After he was seated, I brought it over.

“There is so much I’ve yet to share with you about who I am. The real me. My words often are muddled when I try to speak. Maybe it’s the years I’ve been kept silent. I don’t know. When I write, it flows so much easier. Or well it used to.”

I paused, taking deep breaths as I stood on the precipice. I never willingly shared my journals with Cameron, but Andrew and Cameron were two wildly different men.

“What is it, Tori? Do you want to share your writings with me?”