Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (11 page)

“What are you doing here?” he asked, annoyed with her unannounced arrival.

Narrowing her eyes, she shot him a look of contempt.

“Not a very good way to greet me, Declan. I would think you would be happier to see me, seeing how your
friend
list is growing shorter by the minute.”

Falling into his chair, he disregarded Marisol, which angered her.

“What do you want?” he asked, still annoyed.

“I came to see you,” she said, coming around his desk. “I thought you might like to go to lunch or something.”

Declan continued to peruse the paperwork on his desk.

“Not interested. Next?” he said in dismissal.

Marisol reminded herself that he’d eventually pay for ignoring her, and she’d make sure to keep score of today’s occurrence.

“You do not have to behave so rudely,” she calmly said. “Remember, I am a friend. One of the only friends you have left.”

Her comment earned her a hard look with eyes that were both dead and cold today.

“My social status is none of your concern. Get that through your head. For some reason, you seem to make us into something that I’m remembering we weren’t. Now, if you’re done, see yourself to the door.”

Composing herself and recalling her agenda, Marisol dismissed his attitude. Ultimately, she was convinced she’d be the better game player so he’d eventually be put in his place.

“Sorry. I should not have said that.” She put on a repentant face for his benefit. “Seriously, I only came to see if you would like to eat. It was that simple a request. We can talk business if you like. Blake has a few more people he would like you to meet, and we can arrange for them to come to you.”

Declan rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that was settling there. At times, Marisol abraded what few nerves he had left. He didn’t have the energy today.

“I guess I have to eat,” he resigned.

What was really crossing his mind was the legitimacy of having a few drinks while talking business. That was always an acceptable excuse—as if today he gave a damn.

Marisol pressed her hands together as she stood. She was delighted that her skills of persuasion were working. Making her way to his desk, she placed a hand over his.

“I am so happy with your decision,” she said.

He almost violently pulled his hand out from under her touch, causing her to flinch.

“Business, Marisol. Get it through your head. After the other day, nothing more.”

She maintained a static composure. It mattered not that he said it was business. They’d be out in public. She’d be certain that they’d be seen for the publicity. She always had photographers on payroll getting the shots that she dictated. Carefully creating an illusion that she and Declan were together was being done for more than the sake of appearance, but after all, in Marisol’s mind, appearance was everything…

With his visit at the Barracks over, Carter stood, readying himself to leave. It had been a good visit with his fellow Troopers. The sergeant filled everyone in on what he was planning down at the beach for the scholarship fund, and everyone offered their support. If all of them attended, they’d have a great crowd. Most of the guys said it would be a great excuse to get away to the ocean, but he knew that they were all in support of what he was trying to do in his deceased wife’s memory. Lacey had been a tiny woman, but she made a huge impact on everyone who knew her. He was confident that their entire community felt her loss.

As he was saying goodbye to some of the guys, Sergeant Henry remembered a topic that he wanted to bring to Carter’s attention and discuss with him.

“Sinclair!” he hollered.

Carter’s head snapped to attention at the call, and he made eye contact with the man.

“I need to talk to you before you leave,” the sergeant said, motioning him over to his office.

Muttering goodbyes to his friends, Carter walked back in that direction.

“You forget something, Sarg?”

“Yeah,” he answered, opening his desk drawer. “Have you spoken with Captain Jax since you left here?” he asked.

With his eyebrow inquisitively raised, Carter shook his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Sergeant Henry said. “I figured you would have said something if you did.”

Puzzled, Carter watched as the sergeant reached into a manila envelope.

The sergeant spoke as he handed a piece of paper to Carter.

“Seems they think they may have a photo of the person who was driving the car that, possibly, hit Lacey.”

Shock registered on Carter’s face, and he looked at the paper. It was some sort of picture—a grainy photo of a woman. He studied it, turning it around to get more clarity, and in a moment of recognition, he fell into the chair from weakened knees.

“Jax wanted you to see it, Sinclair,” Sergeant Henry said in an apologetic tone. “I know it isn’t a clear picture. It might be nothing. We don’t have much information. Just a picture and someone coming back with a dented rental car on the same day that Lacey died.”

All strength left him, as if he had been punched in the stomach. Slightly in shock, Carter raised pained eyes to address the bearer of his distressed news.

“It might not be clear, Sarg,” he said, his face gone white, “but I think I recognize this person…”

♪
Nobody (Live Acoustic) – Kate Earl

“GO!”

Sitting straight up in bed, the word had caused his heart to race and pulses to pound once again. His breathing had labored, and he saw nothing as he stared ahead of him. The scene in his mind’s eye was a complete blur. He could never make sense of this dream; that was what made it more of a nightmare as it relentlessly terrorized him. In his first, brief moments of consciousness, his safety couldn’t be assured—at least, not in his mind. He neither knew where he was nor who he was within that compact time of terror. His security was always in question as his mind, teetered on the edge of reality.

“It’s a dream. It’s just a dream,” he muttered under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. His own words were reverberating in his ears to calm him as they tried to convince his body and mind that the unknown terror couldn’t cause him harm.

Slowly moving his legs off the side of the bed, he slipped them onto the chilly floor. He rolled his head from side to side, easing the tension that had formed in his neck. He could deal with everything else—the physical pain, learning to walk more carefully and efficiently, and even the absence of Aria—but whatever this shit in his subconscious was that was constantly robbing his sleep, well, it was grating on his nerves, not to mention pissing him off.

As he walked to the bathroom, he noticed how quiet the house had become. Carter had left earlier to go up to the mountains and check on things at his and Lacey’s house. He even took Cody with him, making the house more desolate and mute.

“It’s too damn quiet…” he heard himself say.

It was then that he realized this was the first time he had been alone since Aria had come to live with him there…and the familiar, agonizing feelings of loneliness crept back in.

Making his way to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, shaking his head, as if in doing so he could shake her out of his mind. There was no way out of it, and he knew it was hopeless. Once she got in there—into his thoughts—she rarely left until there was enough alcohol within him to drown her out, and even then there was no guarantee she’d go.

He hung his head over the sink, splashing cold water over his face and running it through his thick hair with his hands—and then she came. He saw her…smiling…walking on the beach…in his arms…in his bed…

He slammed his head against the cabinet as if he could drive the beautiful images out with physical force, but she wouldn’t go.

“No, no, no!” he said with each smack of his head against the wood.

Holding on to the sink, he lowered himself to sit, feeling as emotionally weak as he was physically.

“What the hell’s wrong with me?” he asked, speaking to no one but himself.

The solitary confinement of his home threatened to smother him. Every corner contained a memory of someone that he loved or cared about. They were building a life—and the accident took it away.

Resting his head in his hands, the weight and totality of it all finally crushed him in the absence of any moral support, and he was able to let the pain flow freely in the form of tears.

As the wetness rolled down his cheek to his chin and hit the floor, he spoke to her in the emptiness of the room.

“It’s you. Only you. You’re what’s wrong with me, Aria…I can’t—I don’t—want to let you go…”

…and the sobs washed over him and away at the resentment and pain…

Write a letter. It’s so simple. It isn’t as if Declan would ever see it. Dr. Sumner suggested that it would give me a place for all of my unresolved feelings to go. True, all these thoughts keep rolling around in my head and I have nowhere for them to go. Why not?

She knew she needed to express these emotions constructively, and she didn’t want to confide them to anyone. They had been building for months. At times, she found herself crying for no reason when a song came on the radio, then she remembered that she’d heard it when she was with Declan, somewhere—anywhere. It would spark something and Aria had nowhere for the emotion to go. Maybe Dr. Sumner was onto something with this
purging
through the letters. Maybe—just maybe—she was right.

Aria made herself a good cup of coffee, found some nice stationary, her favorite pen, and sat in a comfy chair. This was going to be good. She took a deep breath…in…and out…

How to start…

My Dearest Declan…

No. Too intimate…and corny.

Declan…

No. Too harsh and cold.

Dear Declan,

Days are long without you…

Truth. Yeah, I’m going to tell him the truth…
♪

Dear Declan,

Days are longer without you, and they aren’t quite as bright. Thoughts of you still occupy my mind, though mostly when it’s quiet and I’m idle. I miss you. I miss the touch of your hands…