Unbound (33 page)

My
mother had been a different story altogether. She was initially so relieved
that all she could do was cry. Her anger came later, and then, as expected, the
heavily applied use of guilt.

“How
could you do this to me, Rachel,” she had demanded one day. “After everything
I’ve been through?”

We’ve
been through, Mom, I corrected her silently. You meant everything we’ve been
through, right?

At
first, I let her vent, but within two weeks of my return, disoriented and
heartbroken, I’d simply had enough. Apologizing one final time for the worry
that I knew I had caused her, I let her know that I wasn’t willing to discuss
it any further. Several minutes of silence and a few terse dinner conversations
followed, but to her credit, she didn’t bring it up again.

After
mending fences with Jane and the staff at the library, my life resumed.
Actually, in a way, nothing had changed. Except me, of course. And the
Eaden-shaped hole that was left in my life.

“Are
you coming out with us tonight?” Lacey asked. Her chopsticks were poised in the
air, ready to attack the last spring roll.

“I’m
not sure yet.” Like a cobra, my own chopsticks flashed to the plate and I
popped the small crunchy bite in my mouth, grinning devilishly.

She
stuck her tongue out at me. “Hot date?”

I
tried not to avoid her eyes. “Maybe,” I admitted and then braced myself for the
interrogation I knew was coming.

“Are
you holding out on me again, Ray? Is this the guy from Fever last week? No
wait; is it the hot barista who asked for your phone number in the Annex?”

I
said nothing, only smiled mysteriously.

“C’mon!
New guy?”

I
shook my head.
 
I was never good at
keeping people in suspense. “Old guy.”

Her
eyes opened in surprise. “He’s back? Mr. X is back in town?” Lacey had taken to
calling Eaden Mr. X. Mostly because I still hadn’t told her his name. It was
silly, but it felt like a jinx to say his name out loud. I wanted the first
time I said his name again to be for him alone.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well?”
she demanded, “What does he have to say for himself? When did he get back? When
did you see him?””

I
held my hand up to halt the neverending flow of questions I knew Lacey was
capable of. “We haven’t spoken yet, actually. I just know he’s back in town.”

“Oh.” Lacey’s face fell in a way that meant she was
confused and slightly hurt. Plainly, she thought I was still holding something
back.

“There’s nothing to tell at this point, Lacey.” With
a dizzying sense of déjà vu, I realized this discussion was almost identical to
the one we’d had back in the fall.
No
,
I thought to myself. This time will be different. I’m different. I suppressed a
snort. Different didn’t really do it justice.

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what going
to happen between us, but I think there’s hope that we might be able to work
things out.”

I was surprised when she didn’t respond. She fiddled
with an extra set of chopsticks, still wrapped in the crisp white paper.
“You’re different now, you know?” she said like an echo of my thoughts. She
tilted her head to look at me and smiled bemusedly. “Older or...”
 
She seemed to be searching for the right
word, but gave up and shrugged. “Something’s different. Sometimes when you
talk, it’s like...like you’ve really lived through something.” She paused. “I
thought I’d been in love, but now, when I see you, I wonder.” Her mouth twisted.
“What’s it like?”

The blush I felt colouring my cheeks was too quick
to suppress. I closed my eyes, felt Eaden’s eyes on me, his hands, his lips.

“Wonderful. Terrifying. Exhausting.
Exciting...painful.” I smiled broadly. “Worth it.”

She nodded as though I had answered her question
exactly as she’d hoped.

“Do you forgive him?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Then why have you two been apart?”

“I’ve been waiting for him to realize that, too.”
She couldn’t know that I wasn’t only speaking of Eaden’s capacity to forgive
me, but his capacity to forgive himself.

She digested this piece of information. “Will I get
to meet him this time? I mean, if you get back together?”

I laughed. “Lacey,” I said with promise, “If things
work out the way I hope, you will definitely get to meet him.”

This was enough for Lacey. She grinned happily and
then launched herself fully into describing, in precise detail, the most
alluring physical features of the young man whose number was now advertised on
the side of her grande mocha.

Lacey was who she was, and I loved her for it, but
today, I felt my mind slipping like a worn record back to the groove in my
memory where Eaden existed. So it was a relief when I gave her a hug goodbye
and promised to join her at night if my plans changed. I stood and watched her
walk down the street, waiting until she was out of sight, before I turned and
headed for my own destination.

Since the moment I had felt his presence early this
morning, this place had weighed heavily on my mind. I could see where I needed
to be now and my feet carried me there unresisting. I tried at first to be
conscious only of my own physical body. Tried hard to concentrate on the
squelching sounds of my green rain boots on the sodden grass or the feel of the
warm early spring sun on my cheeks. Tried not to search for him with my new
sense. Tried not to feel how close or far away he was.

Futile.

Utterly futile to try when every cell in my body
seemed to be quivering in anticipation, demanding release from the pain that
waiting caused. I sat down on the bench carefully. Tried not to rush this
moment. Closed my eyes and then opened them to look upon the small pond in
front of me. No ducks splashing about today. The muddy bank was still barren of
the springtime grasses that would soon obscure the edges from my view. I hadn’t
come back here since I came home. At first, I wasn’t sure I could bear the
memory. Later I felt it would be worth keeping for spring.

For beginnings.

For Eaden.

A few other people were taking advantage of the sun
today, despite the still-cool temperatures. The promise of warmer weather hung
in the air like a gift on display that was not yet allowed to be opened. A tiny
towheaded girl with bright pink boots galloped towards a goose waving her hands
with sheer joy until the goose’s startled wing flapping frightened her. She
fell backward onto her well-padded bottom with a thump. Within seconds, her
mother had scooped her up with an audible chuckle.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Ruby. I think he’s just as scared
as you are.”

So true.

I let my eyes close again and saw the light dance
over my eyelids.

Not yet.

Breathed in. Breathed out. I waited.

Now.

Standing, I stretched my fingertips to the sky, then
shoved my hands in my pockets and began my walk home.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

I repeated this over and over to drown out the
thumping heartbeats that pounded through my chest and head and made my blood
zing through my veins.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Past the large tree on the corner of my street. Past
the squat, brown-bricked Asian temple where incense wafted out the door, no
matter what time of day.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Past the small white-shuttered house where the woman
with the two Dalmatians lived.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Up the front walk of my apartment building. Up the
stairs to my front door. With trembling fingers I unlocked the door. Waiting. I
let myself breathe, listen,
feel
.

There.

My breath shallow, my throat tight, I turned.

He stood at the bottom of the steps, his expression
carefully neutral until my own timid smile caused his lips to twitch up
slightly.

But his eyes.

Oh,
his eyes.

I looked, searched and saw the grief that lived
there, the courage, the fear, and something new.

Hope.

Recognizing it, my smile broadened and a laugh that
was part relief and part sob escaped before I could stop it. My trembling
fingers covered my mouth, trying to hold back the torrent of words that had
been waiting for him for so long now.

He moved slowly up the stairs towards me, his eyes
never leaving mine.

I’m drowning, I thought giddily. And then,
let me drown forever.

My skin tingled. Ached. Craved.

And then he was there. Standing so close that I
could no longer tell where I ended and he began, my senses – old and new
– baffled by his proximity. So close, we were almost touching.

I cleared my throat, tried to find the words that
would bridge then and now.

“Eaden, I –”

He shook his head slowly. Reached for my hand that
was fluttering uselessly in front of me and brought it slowly to his lips. Fire
raced through my hand and up my arms, causing my heart to skip, my breath to
labour.

Unhurriedly, our faces inches apart, he brought his
lips down to mine.

How had I survived this long without him? Every word
I had to say, explanation I intended to give, question to be asked, faded like
water on the sidewalk under the hot summer sun. The fire that raced up my arms
now shot through my stomach and I felt my knees tremble as we let our bodies
say what we had not been able to.

And then.

I pulled back. Smiled. Met his hopeful eyes that
looked back at me for my reaction. I reached behind me with one hand and opened
the door and then with the other, clasped his strong hand in mine.

“There’s no rush,” I said. “We have all the time in
the world.”

He nodded, smiled, and followed me inside.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
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The
End

I have no idea how to properly acknowledge all of the people who have
helped me get
Unbound
out of my head
and into the world. I’m so very grateful to have the opportunity to thank my
alpha and beta readers; Lynne Hendry, Jacqueline Boss, Sonia Verma, Megan
Merwart, Susan Bolder, Barb Mancini, Lyn Elliot, and Joanne Meyrick. Thank you
for taking the time to read Unbound and for the kind words, critical voices,
and thoughtful suggestions. I feel so lucky to have such intelligent, generous
women to share my first story with. Thank you to my husband and son for their
love, encouragement, and support, to my sister and my mother for their
cheerleading, and to my father for sharing his passion for storytelling.

Georgia Bell was raised on a
steady diet of science fiction and fantasy, courtesy of her father, a man who
loved family, fishing, scotch, and science (although not necessarily in that
order). Georgia is an avid reader of young adult fiction, and a lover of wine,
music, children, and cats (although not necessarily in that order). She is
currently hard at work writing UNKNOWN, the second book of the All Good Things
series. UNBOUND is her debut book.

You can connect with Georgia
on her blog at:
http://georgiabellbooks.blogspot.ca
or on twitter at:
https://twitter.com/gabellbooks