Page 25 of Entwined With You

My heart does a little flip-flop, and I walk that direction. “When did you take this?”

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. It took me a moment, but I remember now, and I don’t want to think about that day.

It’s too late to call back the question, though, and I feel the tightening in my chest when I notice the way he fiddles with the ouroboros ring before answering.

“We’d gone to the beach,” he says, his voice low and a little gruff. “It was a crazy day. We were just planning on walking, maybe wading in the water. We met an older gentleman who was taking his boat to Catalina. He invited us along.”

He looks at me and shrugs, as if I’d asked a question. “It’s not something we would’ve normally done, but the guy seemed nice enough. He said that he used to take his kids. Apparently they were about the same age as we were back then. So we went with him to the marina, got on the boat with him and headed to the island.”

His voice is a combination of pain and happiness, a feeling I share so deeply I’m having trouble breathing. I want him to stop talking, afraid I’m going to say something to give myself away, and yet at the same time, I want this moment. I want to go into the past like this with him, as if that will somehow prove that those years together meant something to him. That we weren’t—as I sometimes fear on long, sleepless nights—that we’d been doomed from the beginning, only I’d been too stupid to see it.

For a moment, the melancholy fades from his face, replaced by a bright smile. “When he wasn’t listening, we both told each other how crazy this was. For all we knew, he was going to shoot us and dump us in the ocean. But at the same time, considering the life we were leading, was it really that big a risk?”

“I could see Sabrina doing something like that.” I remember that day so vividly. I want to tell him how much fun I had. How close I’d felt to him. So many of our days were wrapped up in lies. Not between each other—at least I never thought so—but the remnants of the cons that we were constantly pulling just to stay alive.

That day had been just us. The man, Mr. Baker, wasn’t someone we were trying to get anything from. He was a little miracle that had popped up in a life that we hadn’t chosen, but had made our own. And I’m actually jealous that that Brax has a copy of that photo, but I don’t.

“Anyway, we got to the island, and he bought us lunch at this Mexican restaurant, and then he told us to enjoy ourselves on or off the boat while he went diving. So we played on the beach. We explored the little town. And I took her picture. It was just a one-off. But it ended up being one of my favorites.”

“You don’t mind having it out like this? Seeing it every day.”

“At first, yeah. After she—after she died, I had to put it away. I’d pass by it every day, and whatever energy I’d had for getting out the door would rush out of me. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and stare at that photo and wish her back.”

My heart twists, and I realize I want to take his hand and comfort him. That I believe him. About the pain, anyway. But that doesn’t mean he’s innocent. I know he loved me. But I still don’t know if he killed me.

“I put it in a drawer,” he continues. “But it was never really out of the way. That picture’s always been in my mind. I have volumes and volumes of photo albums in my mind full of Sabrina. And I didn’t like the fact that just because I was heartbroken, I was erasing her from my life. So I pulled it out of the drawer and I put it back. Now it makes me smile. Not because she’s not around, but because of the good times we had when she was.”

I nod, but I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is too full of tears. I take a seat on the sofa, and he perches on the coffee table in front of me.

“Listen, I have a confession to make.”

I go completely cold, and I realize in that moment that I’d exonerated him in my mind. “What?” I whisper, not wanting to hear the truth, but knowing I have to.

“I know it’s horrible of me, but I feel strange about the fact that she talked to you so often. Hell, I hate that you even exist, but I didn’t even know about it. I thought we’d shared our lives, but there was a whole huge chunk that she completely left out.” He draws in a breath, then stands up and turns away from me. “Oh, hell. I’m angry at her for keeping the truth of you from me, and I know that isn’t fair, but that’s the way I feel.”

He turns and faces me again, and I see the truth of what he’s saying in his eyes. The hurt and the pain. That feeling of betrayal.

Some part of me wants to tell him the truth. That I didn’t betray him. But that’s the part that believes he would never have hurt me. It’s a big part, and it seems to be growing with every minute I spend with him. But there’s still that basic, underlying fact. I was in the van, and he wasn’t.

And there’s more, too. Bits and pieces that add up to the near certainty that he killed me. It’s almost unfathomable, and yet I know the evidence is there. What I don’t understand is why he would do it.

I can’t believe that I was so mistaken about our relationship. So why would he want me dead? Was it self-preservation? Had someone threatened him? Was it money?

I don’t know. But I am determined to find out.

“Where did you go?”

I shake my head. “Sorry. It’s just that I miss her too.”

He nods, then looks away. He’s turned his head so that I can’t see him well, but he hasn’t turned enough to hide the fact that he’s wiping his eyes with the side of his finger.

When he faces me again, he tells me that he’s going to go put my stuff in the bedroom. On the way here, he’d suggested we get my stuff from my hotel, and my matching rolling bag and tote are sitting by the front door.

When he comes back, he gestures towards the kitchen. “Do you want a drink? Unless you’re tired and want to go to bed now.”

“No, a drink would be great. Do you have a Merlot?”

“You two really were identical twins. That was her drink too, at least when she didn’t have gin.”