“Are you sure?” Grant’s fingers were so gentle as they smoothed a lock of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
“Yes.” Better to get this over and done with. At least for once, Lindsay wasn't looking at her with hatred. The opposite almost. There was guilt, and sadness, and respect in the teenager’s eyes.
“I’ll wait just outside the door. If you need me, call for me.” Grant leaned down and touched a kiss to her forehead, then crossed the room to the door. He paused, studied his daughter for a moment, then dropped a kiss to her forehead as well before leaving them alone.
For several seconds, they just stared at one another. Ashlyn didn't know what to say because she wasn't sure why Lindsay was there.
After a solid minute, Lindsay slowly crept toward the bed and stopped when she was beside it, wringing her hands together. “I talked to Everett about how desperate I was to do anything to get rid of you, but I never meant I wanted him to kill you or even hurt you. My dad said I have to do therapy, and that just sitting there and refusing to engage isn’t going to cut it. He also said he and I have to go together, and then me, my brother, and him are also going to go together. He wants you to join us for some of those sessions.”
Was therapy enough to fix this problem?
As much as Ashlyn would like to think it was, she wasn't ready to put her hope in anything yet.
“I told him yesterday, when he saved us, that I never really hated you, not really, it was just easier to transfer the hatred I was feeling for myself onto you,” Lindsay admitted. “I didn't tell him why I hate myself, though.”
Sensing the girl wanted to open up but was scared of being rejected, Ashlyn didn't speak, merely lifted her good hand and placed it over Lindsay’s, which were still twisting together.
Tears rolled down the teenager’s cheeks. “I can't remember her properly anymore. My mom. I don’t remember the sound of her voice, or the smell of her perfume. I can’t remember what her hugs felt like, and I can't picture her clearly in my mind anymore. I know those things because there are pictures of her and videos, and there’s a bottle of her perfume I keep in a drawer in my dresser. But I can'trememberthem. It feels like losing her all over again.”
“Even when those things get fuzzy, there’s one thing you can't ever forget about your mom.”
“What?” Lindsay asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.
“Her love. That love will always be inside of you. Nothing can take it away, not even time. Time can dull your memories, but when it does that all you have to do is remind yourself that your mom loved you with everything that she had to give. I don’t ever want to take her place, Lindsay, I never did. I just want to love you in my own way, build our own relationship.”
“I'm sorry.” Lindsay wept. “I was so mean to you. I said terrible things, and some of them you never even told my dad about.”
“He loves you,” she said simply.
“I know. I know my mom loved me, too. I was just … having trouble loving myself. I felt like a bad daughter, a failure, for not being able to remember my mom as clearly as I used to be able to. I took it all out on you. I wish I could go back, do things over. I wish I had listened when you told me you didn't want to take mom’s place. I wish I had listened when Dad told me he loved you. I wish I had listened when Kevin said you were cool, and I should give you a chance. And I wish I had walked away the first time Everett put his hands on me.”
Squeezing the teenager’s hands, Ashlyn waited until Lindsay was looking directly at her. “You want to know something awesome?” When Lindsay nodded, she offered the girl a smile.“It’s not too late to do all of those things. Everett is in jail, he can't hurt you again, and your dad, your brother, and I are all still here.”
Ever so slowly, a smile curled up Lindsay’s lips. “Not too late,” she whispered.
“Not too late,” Ashlyn echoed. Looked like maybe she was getting her Christmas miracle after all.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
December 25th
7:27 A.M.
Despite this Christmas season being one of the rockiest of his life, including even that first Christmas after Lara’s death when he was only a couple of months into the grief journey and was juggling his job and a six-year-old and a three-year-old, the day itself was upon them.
Christmas morning was here.
Grant glanced over at Ashlyn, still fast asleep beside him. It had been almost two weeks since Everett beat Ashlyn into unconsciousness, and after she’d spent two days in the hospital, he insisted that there was no way she would be going home alone. After what had happened in their home, he and his kids had all decided they couldn’t stay there any longer, despite the memories the house held of Lara.
They’d stayed in a hotel those first two days, but when Ashlyn was discharged, she invited them to move into her penthouse for as long as they wanted. Both kids had quickly agreed, and they’dactually had a nice day transferring all the decorations from the house to Ashlyn’s place.
Actually, every day since the incident had been reasonably nice.
No yelling, no tantrums, no hostility, no drama at all from Lindsay. She’d been quieter, more withdrawn, but she’d walked up to him several times just to hug him and tell him she loved him. She’d also been going out of her way to do little things for Ashlyn while she was recovering, like carrying her plate to the table and making her cups of tea.
Was it too much to hope that a Christmas miracle had really brought them all closer?
