Prologue
HOPE
He’s a whisper in the night when I’m all alone and buried under my covers, with nothing else around save for my thoughts.
I always think of him. Anderson Bexley. The man who gripped me at first sight with an amber-eyed glance. But it was his heart that kept me.
It was easy to fall for the man who carried his responsibilities like they were badges of honor—and fall I did. Deeper and deeper into the sweet abyss of dreams fueled by simple moments few and far between.
If only he had fallen with me.
With my hands raised, fingertips reaching out to his shadowy form, I call out to him, desperate for him to see me. It’s my own voice that responds in layered echoes as I fall. Because that’s what I do. I spiral helplessly and hopelessly into a bottomless pit of agony.
He never catches me.
Bang. Lightning cracks, ripping me straight from the depths of my slumber as a scream shreds my throat. I sit up, gripping my quilt tightly to my chin. My lungs gasp for air as if I’m sucking from a straw, but only at first. My panic always subsides, but the nightmares live on whether I’m asleep or awake. Though, the storms seem to trigger me most.
After a near-fateful shooting left me with a bullet wound in my arm last year, memories of that horrid day have served me a cold dose of reality. This life could be over in the blink of an eye… and I’m still chasing a man who sees me as nothing more than a doting, loyal employee.
Footsteps creek against the old wood outside my door, and then there’s an urgent knock that’s almost as familiar as my recurring nightmares.
It’s him.
I can visualize Anderson’s scrunched brows and his tightly closed fist as he alerts me of his arrival.
“Hope,” he calls from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
There was a time when I would find any reason to believe that Anderson Bexley loved me back, even just a little. Even now, I have to fight the glimmer of hope in my heart that wants to believe there’s more to this late-night visit than the mere coincidence of him hearing me scream during his routine rounds of the campground.
My breathing couldn’t possibly come quicker as my feet pad against the worn wood. I wrap my hand around the chipped brass doorknob and squeeze like it’s a stress ball. While constant disappointment has conditioned me to expect nothing in return, my heart beats for him still.
A twist of my wrist—a gentle tug—and I’m staring back into golden eyes shrouded in a dark cloud of worry. A furrowed brow and a downturned bearded mouth greet me.
“Nightmares again?”
My sigh releases with a quick, airy laugh. “It’s just the storm. I’ll be fine.” My faux nonchalance isn’t lost on him. While Anderson may not love me back, he certainly knows me well.
He takes a step toward me, like he expects me to invite him in, but I close the gap in the door an inch instead. The slight move causes him to look down at my attire—a short, yellow silk camisole top and matching shorts. Not something I’d normally wear in front of my boss, but here I am.
While I’m not shy when it comes to my body, something about the change in temperature between us gets my heart racing a little too hard. Anderson’s throat bobs, and his eyes stick a little too long on all the parts of me I’m desperate for him to touch.
It means nothing. I silently scold myself for encouraging that desperate woman inside me who has dreamt of Anderson Bexley since the moment we met three years ago—a dream that felt so close to becoming a reality once upon a time.
His gaze locks back on mine. “I can stay.” There’s a kick inside my chest at his insistence. “Let me stay. At least until you fall asleep.” He darts a look behind him. “The weather isn’t getting any better for another few hours. And…” His eyes search mine.
My heart lobs into my throat. “And what?”
“And I wanted to talk to you about something.” He lets out a breath. “Something important.”
With a release of the knob, I take a step back to allow him entry. One step, and his large frame fills the space. He dominates my senses, triggering a cage of wild butterflies to awaken after weeks of hibernation.
He closes the door behind him, shakes out of his soaked jacket, and hangs it over the wooden chair at my desk. Clearly, he’s no stranger to my cabin, considering he stayed here to nurse me back to health after I took a bullet in the arm—a nightmarish incident caused by a psychopath who had trespassed onto our campground. Luckily the bullet only left me with temporary nerve damage. Still, the wound, like my nightmares, will haunt me forever. But it was during those short few weeks afterward that I would have sworn his feelings for me were stronger than he’d ever let on.
He never left my side. Morning, noon, and night, it was me who held his attention. More than work, more than the guests, more than his nonstop family issues, and more than any other employee at camp. For a moment in time, his broody armor fell away, and I got to see the broken man beneath the mask. And deeper I fell.
But the moment I healed enough to go back to work, whatever was beginning to sizzle between us stopped cold. Because that’s what Anderson does. He cares for people. He cares for me too—just not in the way that I want.
That’s the problem with unrequited love. It doesn’t give back, even when you think you’re on the verge of something spectacular. It’s like looking into a one-way mirror, knowing in the depths of your soul that you’re standing in front of the one, but he never sees you in return. Still, you try. It’s an addiction. A trap. And the deeper you fall, the harder it is to climb your way out.
Anderson reaches my oversized cream chair in the corner of the room, turns around, and opens his mouth, slamming it closed again, like he doesn’t know what to do or say next.
I take a tentative step forward. “Is everything okay?”
His jaw ticks. “When were you going to tell me about Seattle?”
Heat blasts me from within, encasing me in an inferno that I don’t know how to escape. “How did you hear about that?” My voice is small, shaky. Of all the reasons Anderson could have come here, I hadn’t expected that.
His expression darkens. “So, it’s true. You’re leaving?”
The rapid staccato of my heart has me fighting for my next breath. “I-I haven’t decided anything yet. It was just a job offer, but—”
“Is it what you want?” It’s not like Anderson to interrupt anyone. “You applied, so it must be what you want.”
I can feel the hurt and anger rippling off his body.
“Someone sent me the job description, and it sounded interesting. You know how much I love the project management side of things. So I applied. I didn’t think I would actually get an interview.”
“But you did.”
My nod comes with a hard swallow. “I did.”
“So you snuck off to interview.”
“I didn’t sneak off anywhere. I went on my day off. But yeah, I went.”
Silence stretches like taffy between us, lengthening and winding in one sticky knot. “Did you accept?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure if I will.”
“Why not? Clearly, you’re unhappy here.”