In six months, Mia Rose Jett would be nothing more than a memory.
In six months, Dean would be here, and we could finally free Tommy.
In six months, the monster would be gone.
October’scold front blew angrily while Cora’s little hand clutched mine as she stood over her mom’s grave in a bright yellow dress with sunflowers printed sporadically, cowgirl boots covering her feet. The weather was only getting colder as we entered the month, but the sunflower dress was important to Cora as she fought back shivers. Friends and family of Mrs. Morrigan had left a while ago, but Cora wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I glanced up to see Ollie holding both of Grammy’s hands as they spoke, but the distance between us ate their words.
Soon, Cora would have to leave to live in Ireland with her grandmother, and though it was incredibly hard for me to say goodbye to the first friend I’d grown close with since I came back, I had to be strong and remind her of all the new adventures she’d experience. A new country, new friends, new flowers to dance with, and new puddles to jump in. “This is just where her body lays, Cora. But no matter where you are, her spirit is with you. It’s never goodbye.”
“You’re just saying that because my mum is dead. You’re saying that to make me feel better,” she whispered. “I’m not stupid. I know what it’s like. My dad’s dead too.”
Though she came up to my chest, I still crouched down and smoothed my black lace dress under my thighs to not physically talk down to her. “You have two guardian angels, Cora. They are watching you now, and it’s your job to make sure you give them the best and most beautiful life for them to see until you’re all together again.”
“Do you have a guardian angel?”
Smiling, I nodded. “And I hear Ireland has castles, and rolling hills, and fields of rare pale purple flowers …”
“Does it rain in Ireland?”
“It does.”
“Do they have boys who tell stories like Oliver?”
I laughed at her choice of words. “They have boys who tell stories everywhere. There is not a shortage. I can promise that.”
Cora looked up to the sky and closed her eyes, her black hair twisted around her lightly freckled face as she wordlessly communicated to her mom and dad. Perhaps she was saying goodbye, or maybe she was praying. A gust of wind twirled, picking up loose petals from the bundle of flowers cradled in her arms, and they ended up in her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered with a smile of innocence and strength.
We helped Grammy pack up the car with Cora’s things and stood outside our cottage behind the gate. Cora blew hot air against the window from inside the car, and her little finger pressed against it, drawing a heart and a flower. Ollie’s arm hung over my shoulder, and he pulled me close to his side as we waved the two off. The rattling exhaust pipe sputtered a cloud of smoke before the old town car took off down the road with Cora’s nose pressed against the glass, waving back.
“Let’s go to Gibraltar,” I stated, both our eyes on the back of the town car. “Ten-ten-twenty-twenty.” It was almost a year ago when we’d made the promise. But at that time, it wasn’t just a promise. It was so much more. A future. Plans. You and I. Evermore.
Ollie’s head snapped to face me, and his arm fell off my shoulder. Green eyes bounced between mine. His lips parted. “Holy hell, you’re bloody serious.”
“I’m totally serious. Let’s go. Right now, Ollie. Who else has to die to remind us to start living? Blind, no plans, let’s just pack our shit and go to Gibraltar and get married. Ten-ten-twenty-twenty, Ollie. I’m so ready.” Ready to marry him. Ready to be Mia Masters. Ready to finally feel the ocean against my feet, itching for those icy cold waves of freedom since I’d told him back at Dolor in our first year.
Dimples deepened as a smile spread under his sparkling green eyes. It was the same smile I’d seen across the room during breakfast back at Dolor, at the end of hallways as classes changed, and in his dorm as he watched me dance in the middle of the night. Through all the death and darkness we’d been through, it was his smile shining light over our shattered life. It crumbled walls, clutched hope, and pulled us from the depths of despair—a single smile, and as if it was not enough, he kissed me.
We talked through our plans for the trip as we shoved clothes in a large suitcase, deciding on driving to the Port of Portsmouth and taking the ferry to Spain. We would figure out the rest upon arrival, both of us on a natural high and unable to think clearly.
“Don’t forget the passports,” I called out, changing out of the black lace dress and into something more comfortable for travel. Ollie came through our bedroom door with our documents in hand and laid them over the suitcase. He’d already changed into his grey joggers and a black hoodie, his brown hair styled into his backward wave. His eyes glued to my hips as I shimmied into a pair of ripped high-waisted jeans. “Stop, I can hear your thoughts from here, and we don’t have time. The ferry leaves in two hours.”
“There’s always time for pleasure.”
“Not the way you do it,” I pointed out, my eyes traveling down to the bulge straining inside his joggers, and Ollie did nothing to hide his arousal.
He raised his brows. “See something you fancy, love?”
I took off my bra and tossed it over his head, and Ollie caught it mid-air before he flung it behind him, picked me up, and threw me over the bed. “Six minutes,” he breathed into my neck, his length digging against my core. He pushed my arms above my head and moved his mouth over my already hard nipple. “All I need is six minutes.” His hands cupped both breasts before they dragged down my sides. “One to admire you. Two to taste you. And three to lose myself inside you.” And he hooked his fingers into my waistband, peeling them off me. “Six minutes.”
Ollie took twenty-one.
The drive to the Port of Portsmouth was only an hour, and we arrived just in time for the last call to board the white ship with the navy-blue Brittany Ferry logo, heading to Bilbao, Spain. I’d never been on a boat before, and my eyes feasted on a whole new world living within the walls of the ship. Walkways around the outskirts of the ship lined in glass, overlooking the vast blue ocean. Everywhere my eyes landed, I noticed new shops, dining areas, bars, and stages for entertainment. Certainly, we couldn’t fit everything inside a thirty-six-hour window on the ship before we reached Spain.
When we reached our small room, complete with two twin-sized beds, we’d noticed our suitcase had already arrived. “Don’t worry, love. We won’t be sleeping.”
“Crap-bag!” someone yelled, and the single name had my jaw drop, my heart in my throat, and my eyes bulging from their sockets. Ollie lifted his shoulder as a smug grin formed, and he nudged his head to behind me. “I was wondering when there would be a fucking wedding. Maid of honor, remember? I called it …”
