Page 28 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)

The next two days pass in a blur, and I fall into a comfortable routine.

My mornings are spent walking, meditating, and falling in love with magic all over again.

I’ve even set up an altar in my office, dedicating a few minutes daily to light candles to the Morrighan before I do my normal chores.

I write, edit, and handle all my correspondence in the afternoon, and I’ve gotten to the halfway point in my novel.

However, evening is by far my favorite part of the day.

Jettson stops by even though the crew takes off Saturday and Sunday.

It’s a welcome distraction, and we’ve had dinner together two nights in a row.

Our nights have been filled with conversation and quiet but peaceful moments, and have given me a deeper understanding of the magic running through my veins.

I’ve not managed to summon the flames again, but I’m better able to feel the magic in the air around and within me. Surprisingly, I’ve not heard much from Luke.

I’ve only received a few condescending texts about the house, and a photo of the view from his hotel in New York. Not that I care. I’m still seething over the image my mysterious friend was kind enough to send me .

So much so that I buried myself in cleaning the entire lower level of the house from top to bottom, the fresh scent of essential oils permeates the kitchen, and I smile at my hard work.

Our new dining table looks fantastic, and I’m impressed with Jettson’s talent. It’s a long rectangular table stained in dark walnut, paired with a matching bench upholstered in hunter green. The bench is my favorite part.

My phone chimes, pulling me out of my thoughts. I absentmindedly reach for it, glancing at the screen. Shit! It’s two-thirty. Lucy’s text came through, and I’m supposed to meet her in the next thirty minutes.

Rushing out of the kitchen, I head back down the hall toward our bedroom.

I pass my office, Luke’s study, and several empty rooms still filled with some of our boxes.

A pang of sadness stings my eyes, wetness trailing down my cheeks.

I swipe the tears away angrily, frustrated with myself for the hurt that seems to sink its teeth into me.

I’ve always wanted a big family. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of a house full of children.

You know, the American dream? A perfect husband, a cute dog, two point five kids, and a dream career.

I wanted to be a super mom, convinced I could do everything.

Now, it’s just another notion of the past.

Luke never wanted kids; as fate would have it, a baby just wasn’t in the cards for me— unexplained infertility. I remember the doctor telling me the news, what I wore, and how I felt.

I sat in my car and cried for thirty minutes after the appointment. It felt like I was watching my dream blow up in smoke right before my eyes. Two years into our marriage, that pain turned into gratitude.

I couldn’t imagine having a baby with such a monster .

The thought smacks me in the face, a reminder that my life turned out completely different from what I imagined. So, I leave the empty bedrooms, walk down the hall, and grab my things off the dresser.

As I walk back down the hallway, I close the spare bedroom door, leaving the pain I’ve buried behind.

Tonia’s Nail & Hair Salon Emporium is quite charming.

It reminds me of a glammed-up Barbie salon.

There’s pink everywhere. I mean literally everywhere—the salon chairs, the lampshades, and the feather boas used as garland.

Even the owner is wearing a pink smock and fuzzy heels, which, yes, you guessed it—are pink.

The atmosphere, though? It’s top-tier, and this is probably the best experience I’ve ever had.

Lucy is seated next to me at her nail tech’s table.

I’ve always had great nails, so I’ve never needed to get acrylics, opting for dip powder instead.

While I wait, Lucy and I chat. Much to my surprise, she asks about my mother, my writing, and even Luke.

“What do you think about living here?”

“It’s nice,” I say, not meeting her gaze. “The house is beautiful, and I like being by the water. It’s a peaceful spot.”

“Yeah, small town Liberty will do that to ya. It’s hard not to fall in love with the water.” She smiles at me and says, “What about your husband? How does he like it? ”

“Luke was the one who wanted to move here. I’d say he’s happy. He travels a lot for work, so I barely see him.” I shrug, feigning indifference when in reality it’s a sore topic. Learning that he’s cheating on me doesn’t help either.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, eyeing me cautiously. Then, she asks a question that makes me choke on the mimosa Sheila had given me several minutes before. “Are you happy?”

Her boldness surprises me, and I struggle for several minutes to answer honestly. When the truth hits me in the face, I suck in a sharp breath. I’m not happy, and I don’t think I have been for a long time. “No,” I whisper. “No, I don’t think I am.”

She gives me a knowing look and reaches out to me with her free hand. She gently squeezes my hand and looks me square in the eyes. “Life is too fucking short for anyone to be unhappy. Least of all, a gorgeous and kind woman like you.”

Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, and I jerk my head away, wincing a little at the hurt expression on her face. “How’d you know?” I ask quietly.

“Well, as far as I knew, Jettson wasn’t dating anyone.

Then, you showed up, and the two of you looked awfully cozy together.

Though Elliot swore you weren’t Jettson’s girlfriend.

” She pauses, glancing at me, and shrugs her shoulders.

“I put two and two together when he mentioned his brother Don. Never liked that man.”

Her nose crinkles in disgust, and she shivers. “Something about him always puts me on edge. Elliot says Luke is a lot like his father, so it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”

I bite my bottom lip, wondering how much I should say.

Since Luke’s behavior shifted, I’ve lost all my friends in New York.

They all told me to leave him, and said it wouldn’t ever get better.

I wish I had listened, because they were right.

With Lucy sitting in front of me, her kind eyes shining with encouragement, I feel I can trust her.

“It’s been…hard,” I start, trying to find the words to convey my feelings, but not wanting to divulge too much information in front of the nail tech.

“He wasn’t always so cold and distant. Or jealous for that matter.

” I sigh, my chin wobbling a little. “Lately, he’s been so cruel , and truthfully?

I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling this way. ”

Lucy’s eyes shine with empathy, and she squeezes my hand again.

“I knew I felt a connection to you,” she says.

“It’s hard leaving a situation like this, one that has you believing you’re broken…

that you’re unworthy. That’s not the case, though.

You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.

You can change your destiny and deserve something better than your current one.

Trust me, I know exactly where you are. I’ve been there before.

Don’t stand in your own way. It just blocks your blessings and happiness. ”

Tears spill down my cheeks, and Lucy gives my hand another reassuring squeeze. All I can manage is, “Thank you.” My voice is thick with years of grief and unshed pain that I’ve held onto tightly.

Like an anchor, I’ve allowed it to root me into place, keeping me complacent and preventing me from truly growing. I’ve let Luke’s expectations supersede my wants and needs. With Lucy’s encouragement, I finally see the path I need to take.

It’s time for me to be happy, no matter what that looks like. If that means I leave Luke, starting over fresh…then so be it. So, as we finish up at the salon, I mull over everything she’s said to me. A decision solidifies in my mind, one that sends a ripple of anxiety through me.

But first, I need to make some phone calls. So, as we part ways, I promise to call her later this week, and we make plans for a lunch date on Friday. With a hug and a promise to call if I need anything, I leave the salon behind .

Lucy’s words have struck a chord deep within my soul, and I can’t shake the feeling of foreboding that coils in my gut. Everything’s about to change…I just hope it’s finally for the better.

When I get home, I piddle around in the kitchen. I’m stress cleaning and, if I’m being honest, procrastinating. Something has me hesitating to pick up my phone and call my mother. I can’t explain my feelings, but whatever it is…it has me in its grip.

Anxiety has been my constant companion since I’ve walked through the front door. I have this uncanny feeling I’m being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck have stood on end for over an hour now, my spine prickling with uneasiness.

In the end, fate decides for me. My mother's picture pops up on my phone, the ringer blaring in the dead silence. With a sigh, I answer. “Hi Mom, I was just about to call you.”

She chuckles and says, “Uh-huh, I’m sure. How’s your day been, sweetie?”

“Uhm, not too bad. I went into town earlier and had my nails done. Now I’m cleaning,” I chuckle. “Real exciting stuff. What about you?”

She pauses for a beat, and I hear rustling in the background. “It’s not been too bad, I’m going through some of your father’s things.” Mom sniffles, and my heart strings tug painfully. “It’s time, I think. ”

“Oh, Mom, I could’ve helped you with that. You didn’t need to do it alone.” I chastise, feeling like a shitty daughter for not being there to help.

“You’re hours away,” she challenges. “Besides, I’m a big girl. They’re tears of happiness, really . I didn’t realize all the little things your father kept over the years.”

Speaking of my father reminds me of the reason I wanted to talk to her to sigh, “Mom, speaking of Dad… I’ve been tracing our lineage. I have his side of the chart filled out, but…”

“Oh?” She says absentmindedly, and I can practically picture her sorting through all the boxes in the attic.

I pause, unsure of what to say next. Mom has always been extremely private, and I don’t think she’s ever talked about her life before Dad. I’ve only ever met my grandparents on my father’s side.

Granted, it’s always over video chat, and now I talk to them twice a year.

They still live in Ireland, in a small town outside of Dublin.

I’ve always wanted to visit, but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to.

In the end, I finally say, “I guess what I’m asking is how come you’ve never talked about your life before, Dad?

I searched your maiden name but couldn’t find anything on the website.

It’s like Kathryn St. Clair doesn’t exist.”

A clatter of noise is in the background, like she’s dropped something. She doesn’t say anything for several moments, her breathing labored. It’s like she’s terrified, and I have this distinct feeling of needing to protect flooding through me. But… Protect what ? “Mom, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I’m still here. There’s nothing to tell. My parents died when I was little, and I was raised in the system. That’s probably why you didn’t find anything. ”

The statement rings false in my ears, “Mom—” She cuts me off, her voice cracking a little.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d let it go. I’m glad you’re connecting with your heritage, and I hate to disappoint you, but I came from nothing. I was nothing. Your dad gave me everything , Averie.”

I sigh, frustrated with the way she’s shutting me down. She doesn’t give me time to object, and instead rushes to get off the phone. “I’ve got to go now, there’s so much left to do. I love you, honey, I’ll call you Sunday.”

With a click, the line goes dead. My mind is spinning, the wheels turning and grinding until an idea forms. I swipe up on my phone and type out two text messages—one to Jettson, explaining that we need to talk and inviting him to the house tomorrow.

I sent the other one to my friend. If my mom won’t help, perhaps this person has a way to get the information I need. With that thought in mind, I placed my phone on the counter and returned to cleaning.

I’m determined to get to the truth, no matter how I have to do it.