Page 85 of Cara

As often as I say it to myself, there’s no belief in those words.

The damning narrative I’ve seared into my brain is always there. That it’s selfish to want her to stay. That she’ll despise who I am if she returns with me. That Sophie has always been better off running from me than drawing me close.

They told you she was dead.

You believed it because you couldn’t be sure.

Could you go through that again?

My head shakes under the weight of the Atlantic, a silent answer.

You can love her harder.

You can protect…

My father’s ominous laughter echoes around me.

Nauseous, I push myself up from the depths, heaving with rage. Shoving my hair back, I shift my gaze from the dreary sky to the secluded beach. For miles, there are no houses in this remote part of the island. Nevertheless, as I wade through the waves, I remain vigilant, anticipating trouble.

Sitting on the damp sand, I lean back while gazing at the choppy sea. I’ve lost track of time when I hear a gentle, appreciative voice approaching. “You made me breakfast.”

Before I turn, I wipe any trace of concern off my face.

I steady my heart, soften my eyes, and unclench my jaw—determined to be a solid place for her to land on. Sophie’s dressed in a mesh cover-up, the strings of her bikini wrapped around her neck. Her eyes fall to my soaked slacks as she drops onto the sand beside me.

The inside of my mouth is like cotton, my lips merged shut.Speak, man. “Well, it’s no Michelin star meal, but I did my best.”

“Did you eat?”

I nod, lying. It’s a relief to see the warmth returning to her cheeks, the deep shadows around her eyes fading after a restful morning. She notices my observing and moves closer.

The wind picks up as she slips beneath my arm and settles onto my lap. It’s so routine that I feel unsettled, watching her hair dance, her hands resting on my chest.

“Did you sleep?” she asks. This time, she sees through the lie, peering up at me accusingly. “Your eyes are bloodshot. And the bed was cold.”

Her worries—I want to expel them. I want to conceal anything I'm going through, but it’s not as easy as it once was.

The smile I flash her eases the scowl that was quickly forming, and when I swoop her back, bending to claim her mouth, she’s teeming with contentment.

Any hesitance from last night is gone. The lightness dispels the overwhelming shadows that lingered only moments ago.

“Swim with me,” she says.

I nod, just eager to be where she is.

After showering, we order an early dinner to spare her from having to stomach anything else I could cook. As I hoped, she brightens at the average sight of burgers and beer—something she regularly craved in our daily life, away from her mother’s overbearing rules. Her eyes linger on the gun I’ve placed on the patio table before she pops a fry into her mouth.

It doesn’t seem to concern her as it once did.

“I have questions I'm not sure you’re open to answering,” she says.

“About?”

“Your daughter.”

Placing the double-stacked burger onto her plate, I give her an understanding glance. “Ask me anything.”

She adjusts her covering. “You said her name is Isabella?”