untidy before. Blankets should be folded and tucked inside the chest near the fireplace. Dishes rinsed and placed in the dishwasher. Bed made. Even when I forgot to do this, Declan came in behind me to do it himself.
Pausing in the nook by the dining room table, I take another look around. This table was always set with a floral centerpiece and a crisp linen tablecloth. Always. The only thing on it now is a dirty plate with a half-eaten breakfast and a stale cup of coffee.
“Who has been living here?” I ask, because I am positive it cannot be Declan.
Noah stills with his hand on the sliding glass door handle. His eyebrows pinch together. “Burke. Who else?”
“You are certain?”
“Of course I am. I’ve seen him here myself. Why?”
I cannot tell him how unlike Declan it is to live this way. Doing so would be like throwing my unwitting indiscretion in his face. “Never mind.”
Outside, the ground is patched with grass. Our boots crunch on the needles strewn everywhere. The thick mass of trees shields us from the brunt of the sun, but it does not take us long to break a sweat.
As we near the ledge where Declan and I went over, Noah lets me lead the way. I avoid the exact area and seek the path down the mountainside instead. When we near the edge—a good distance away from the spot where I threw Declan and myself over—Noah stops and looks over the side. He glances at me, then back down.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” he says. “That’s quite a drop.”
“Declan’s body shielded me from the ice’s impact.” I turn and step onto the dirt path. “We can go down here.”
The way down is narrow and steep. The soles of my boots slide on loose rock and dirt.
Halfway down, Noah says, “I heard Foster’s version of that night. Saw the video.”
The following silence takes hold of my curiosity and swivels me around to face him. He slows to a stop two steps away.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I squint up at him. “And?”
“Just curious about your take on what happened.”
The truth is, I do not want to talk about that night. Reliving the day I found out I was a clone, how Declan stole me from my family, that I would never be accepted back into my old life . . . That day is not something I want to think about ever again.
“You already know what you need to know.” I start down the slope again and slide, losing my balance. Noah catches me under the arms as I am about to fall.
“Careful,” he whispers. Whiskers tickle my ear. His breath is hot on my cheek. His fingers dig a little too deep.
Goose bumps rise on my arms and I step out of his hands. “Thanks.”
Near the bottom, he says, “Where did you fall from?”
I glance between the lake and the ledge above us, searching for the spot. I point at an area extending out farther than most. Large gray rocks jut out from the side. “We went over from there.”
He looks up, then lifts an arm to wipe his sweaty forehead across the green sleeve of his T-shirt. “Jesus, Emma.”
My sentiments exactly. The drop looks worse from here somehow. But I shrug a single shoulder and look up. “It was not so bad.”
He laughs and I cannot help but join. It eases the tension at least.
“Okay,” he says, and looks around. “Foster said he didn’t pass anyone, and no one ever saw anyone from the house feed. They had to come and go from another direction.”
I point left. “You walk down that way. I will go right. Yell if you find something.”
We part and I am both grateful and sad for the separation. I never should have agreed to come here alone with him. When it is easy between us, it is too easy. And it cannot be easy. Not while he is in love with Sonya.
Is he in love, though?
I shake my head. I cannot ask things like that. That will only lead to talking myself out of believing it to be true, which will only lead to hope. I gave up on a future with him the second I walked out of his office more than a year ago.
Despite the arguments I
Pausing in the nook by the dining room table, I take another look around. This table was always set with a floral centerpiece and a crisp linen tablecloth. Always. The only thing on it now is a dirty plate with a half-eaten breakfast and a stale cup of coffee.
“Who has been living here?” I ask, because I am positive it cannot be Declan.
Noah stills with his hand on the sliding glass door handle. His eyebrows pinch together. “Burke. Who else?”
“You are certain?”
“Of course I am. I’ve seen him here myself. Why?”
I cannot tell him how unlike Declan it is to live this way. Doing so would be like throwing my unwitting indiscretion in his face. “Never mind.”
Outside, the ground is patched with grass. Our boots crunch on the needles strewn everywhere. The thick mass of trees shields us from the brunt of the sun, but it does not take us long to break a sweat.
As we near the ledge where Declan and I went over, Noah lets me lead the way. I avoid the exact area and seek the path down the mountainside instead. When we near the edge—a good distance away from the spot where I threw Declan and myself over—Noah stops and looks over the side. He glances at me, then back down.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” he says. “That’s quite a drop.”
“Declan’s body shielded me from the ice’s impact.” I turn and step onto the dirt path. “We can go down here.”
The way down is narrow and steep. The soles of my boots slide on loose rock and dirt.
Halfway down, Noah says, “I heard Foster’s version of that night. Saw the video.”
The following silence takes hold of my curiosity and swivels me around to face him. He slows to a stop two steps away.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I squint up at him. “And?”
“Just curious about your take on what happened.”
The truth is, I do not want to talk about that night. Reliving the day I found out I was a clone, how Declan stole me from my family, that I would never be accepted back into my old life . . . That day is not something I want to think about ever again.
“You already know what you need to know.” I start down the slope again and slide, losing my balance. Noah catches me under the arms as I am about to fall.
“Careful,” he whispers. Whiskers tickle my ear. His breath is hot on my cheek. His fingers dig a little too deep.
Goose bumps rise on my arms and I step out of his hands. “Thanks.”
Near the bottom, he says, “Where did you fall from?”
I glance between the lake and the ledge above us, searching for the spot. I point at an area extending out farther than most. Large gray rocks jut out from the side. “We went over from there.”
He looks up, then lifts an arm to wipe his sweaty forehead across the green sleeve of his T-shirt. “Jesus, Emma.”
My sentiments exactly. The drop looks worse from here somehow. But I shrug a single shoulder and look up. “It was not so bad.”
He laughs and I cannot help but join. It eases the tension at least.
“Okay,” he says, and looks around. “Foster said he didn’t pass anyone, and no one ever saw anyone from the house feed. They had to come and go from another direction.”
I point left. “You walk down that way. I will go right. Yell if you find something.”
We part and I am both grateful and sad for the separation. I never should have agreed to come here alone with him. When it is easy between us, it is too easy. And it cannot be easy. Not while he is in love with Sonya.
Is he in love, though?
I shake my head. I cannot ask things like that. That will only lead to talking myself out of believing it to be true, which will only lead to hope. I gave up on a future with him the second I walked out of his office more than a year ago.
Despite the arguments I
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