Grey’s [POV]
She’s gone for far too long.
But she’s not wearing shoes, so it gives me hope that she’s not leaving us.
Perhaps she’s just taking a moment to gather her thoughts.
But that moment has turned into almost an hour.
I’m surprised James didn’t tackle her to the ground and chain her up in the house the moment she fled out the French doors.
But she’s Harper now, not Evelynn.
The woman that I’ve known for three weeks is more defiant and cautious than the one I fell in love with.
But it’s still her, just with a scar etched on her face and a new name.
With no memories.
I have no one to blame but myself for this.
I pushed to keep the secret longer and I was cruel to Renee, all because I was terrified to lose her again.
Now, she’s out in the garden somewhere, and it’s taking everything within me to not go to her.
Instead, James, Beau and I sit in the living room, all on edge, watching the crackling fire.
“We fucked up,” James states.
Beau nods. “I love her.”
I frown as I watch him. Her leaving affected us all differently, but Beau took it the hardest. I never read what was in his letter, but it was enough to stop him from eating or sleeping for a week.
I’m starting to wonder if she even wrote them, after what she told us about Michael.
But it was her handwriting.
How easy is it to forge someone’s handwriting?
Maybe.
A furry creature crashes against the French doors, the sound of a mini boulder colliding with metal.
Wilson yowls and slams his front paws on the glass, demanding to be let in.
“What the hell?” Beau says, running to the dining room and letting him inside.
The cat loses it. I’ve never seen him move that fast, not even when Harper (Evelynn) rescued him when he was a kitten. He runs in circles between mine and James’ feet, yowling and biting at our ankles.
The cat is not playing.
He’s in distress.
“Something’s wrong,” Beau says, panicked. “Where’s Harper?”
Wilson howls, a low pained sound, and we all run down the stone path of the garden, looking for her.
She’s gone.
She left again.
“Her car is still here,” James confirms. “She can’t be far.”
But there’s a tremor in his voice.
It’s fucking happening again.
Wilson yowls as he darts through the flowers and trees.
Her scent is barely here, soured with despair and pain.
“This is your fucking fault,” Beau hisses, his eyes crazed. “We should have told her the truth from the beginning.” He shoves me, hard, and I stumble back. I narrow my eyes but don’t retaliate.
He’s right.
This was my plan.
My idea.
And now…
“I can barely scent her,” James says quietly. “It’s too far faded. It’s like she’s not even near here, anymore.”
He’s paler than usual, and his hands tremble. “I’m two seconds from losing my shit,” he spits. “Because I don’t think she left here on her own.”
Beau turns his attention away from me and back to James. “What are you talking about?!”
“We need to check the cameras,” James says, eerily calm.
“For what?” Beau demands.
Understanding dawns on me.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Fuck.”