Embers of Black Oak by Monique Edenwood

Author:Monique Edenwood [Edenwood, Monique]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781777224974
Published: 2021-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

My gloved hands grip the leather shell of the jacket sheathing his hard torso as we turn onto Route 15.

I should be afraid. I haven’t ridden on the back of his motorbike since before the skiing accident which shattered my ankle three years ago.

But I’m not…

He drives steadily, carefully, never taking risks, never braking harshly nor swerving.

I feel safe with him.

Until I realize where he’s taking me…

20

I stare up at the forest-wrapped house.

The same one he took me to on New Year’s Day after rescuing me from Quercus Velutina near Stoke’s State Park.

He lifts my helmet off me and puts it in the sturdy box at the back of the bike.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as he pulls me off the motorbike after removing his own, ruffling a hand through thick dark-blond hair made wild by his helmet. He doesn’t answer but leads me towards the front door by the hand, though unlike last time, there are no other cars parked in sight.

I pull back on his grip, my feet crunching into the gravel as I yell, “What are we doing here?”

He turns to face me, his breathing heavy as he searches my eyes. “You still don’t fully trust me, do you?” he asks, consternation roughening his voice.

“I… I’m sorry. I— It’s just the last time we came here it was… not in the best of circumstances,” I stammer. “And I know this house is used for— Well, I don’t know exactly what for, and I don’t want to know.”

He pivots to stand square in front of me, eyes pained as he looks down at me. “You have to trust me again, Jessynia. Nothing will work if we can’t get past that.” He holds out his hand for me to take. “Do you?”

I don’t know how to answer when I can still feel Cameron’s skin against mine. I've known for some time that none of us are innocent anymore. How can I trust Jack when after everything that’s happened, I’m no longer sure I can trust myself? My heart sinks at the thought. Things that a year ago would have been totally unfathomable now seem to somehow fit.

I reach for his hand and he weaves his strong fingers between mine before leading me to the door, helmet in his other.

As he unlocks it and pushes it open, I brace myself for that familiar smell from last time—stale wood and chemicals. Except I don’t smell it. The place smells fresh and clean as I take off my coat and shoes and tread on the bare hardwood. I glance to the right at the living room as Jack places his helmet on the side table and locks the door, though this time, I don’t see unlabelled boxes and bags littered throughout like last time.

The place has been transformed—fresh cream-colored paint, a plush taupe rug, elegant microfiber armchairs and sofa, a tasteful oil painting adorning one wall.

“What happened here?” I ask as he takes off his jacket and leads me upstairs without answering.

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