Finding Alana by Meg Farrell Page B

refused to leave. She always covered for him and made excuses. I knew the signs. I knew when I checked her wound. I knew because I saw all the bruises on her body. Her face was swollen across her cheeks. I know the signs of a backhand to the face.”
    Sobs wrack my body. This can’t be real. I can’t even look at him.
    “The next day, I called my sergeant to ask to be assigned to the case. He declined my request because of my background. He knew it was domestic, too. So, I went on my own to see if Marcy would help me find her so I could talk to her. Marcy tried, but you were gone.”
    When he says, “You were gone,” I snap and look at him. “What do you mean, I was gone?”
    He rubs his thumbs in circles over the backs of my hands as he holds them, “I think you know what I mean.”
    Everything has clicked into place. It all adds up. The safe feeling I have with him. I do know what he means, but my mind can’t comprehend how. How is it that Justin was there that night? Why was it him? Something he said about coincidence comes back to my mind and I mumble, “No, I guess it wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
    He’s quiet when he asks, “Baby? Are you okay? What can I do?”
    Tears are still flowing down my cheeks, and I all I can do is shake my head. The word is barely audible when I say, “Nothing.”
    “Please,” he begs, “let me do something to help. I can’t stand to see you like this.”
    I sit frozen as I process what he’s just told me. I think through what he’s asking of me. What is it I need? How can he help me? Can I be helped? I’ve been alone with this secret for five years. I had to change my appearance and my identity. What I gave up I can never get back. I lost my child, my parents, my friends, and my life. Justin didn’t do this; Kent did. He stole my youth, my child, and my life.
    Will I let him steal this, too? As that realization dawns on me, I reach for Justin, and grab a handful of his jacket. I pull him to me, and he obliges by placing both knees fully on the ground where he’s been slightly kneeling. As he moves closer, I let go of his jacket and slide my hands around his shoulders and hold him to me. I squeeze him and crack wide open. Relief, heartache, memories, who I was, who I am, and who I will be collide in my shattered heart.
    Justin doesn’t say anything else, he just holds me until the sun begins to set and the tears subside. I’m not even sure I’m done crying, but I’m out of tears. My breathing is hitching, and I’m hiccupping as I try to find a way to settle down. In this one week, I have re-lived the worst moment of my life too many times. More than I have in the last five years.
    Together, we stand to head back to the cabin. Justin wraps me in his arms, and I lean on him to try and make the walk back. My body feels like it’s been through a hurricane, a tornado, or hit by a truck. Every step is a chore.
    When we reach the cabin, I sit numbly on the couch and Justin starts a fire. He pours us both a drink from the family stash in the kitchen and comes to sit with me. Robotically, I take a long drink. It burns and tingles in my arms all the way to my fingers. I take another drink and the tingles move into my feet. When the alcohol has the desired effect by calming me, I start asking questions.
    “Is this what you were researching when you went off the grid?”
    “Yes. Sort of. I was doing a background check on Kent.”
    “Why did you tell me? You could have kept it to yourself. I wouldn’t have ever known.”
    “You asked me why I’m not a cop anymore. It’s one of the biggest contributing factors,” he answers. “You wouldn’t have known it was me if I didn’t tell you, but I would know.”
    “Why would what happened to me make you quit?”
    He sighs deeply and says, “Because I couldn’t help you. Because what happened to you was very close to how I lost my mom. It was something I’d never fully dealt with, and here it was happening to someone