Page 3 of Claiming Ours (Anchor Bay #2)
BAYLEE
T he soles of my trail runners pounded against the hard earth, bits of moss and dust flinging up in my wake.
Knowing the turnaround point was just up ahead, I gritted my teeth, pushing my legs to move faster.
The ground shifted to sand, then smooth pebbles as I neared the lake’s edge, skidding to a stop right before my next step would’ve been in the clear water.
Breaths sawing in and out, I pitched forward, slapping both hands on top of my knees while fighting against the tremble in my thighs that threatened to send me crumpling to the ground.
Though my body was beyond the point of exhaustion, my nagging thoughts and memories made me want to keep pushing.
I’d do anything in my never-ending attempts to stay one step ahead of the memories that chased me day and night, eager to hold me captive until I was a sobbing mess, unable to see the beauty around me or the point of living when the person I’d planned my entire future around was gone.
All too familiar grief wrapped its icy, unforgiving tendrils around my lungs and squeezed, making it almost impossible to take a full breath.
Shaking my head to keep those happy and horrible memories at bay, I bent forward, the tip of my ponytail tickling along my jaw, to grab a smooth stone.
Brushing my thumb over the speckled surface, I curled my fingers around it before launching it as hard as I could into the lake, releasing an anguished scream that echoed through the surrounding trees.
Gasping, I observed the ripples, transfixed that the effects of something so small radiated through the large body of water. It reminded me of the impact of Dean’s death, insignificant to many but life-altering to those who knew and loved him.
And fuck if I didn’t love him.
Tears welled in my lower lids, making my vision watery.
From the moment I saw him in geometry, surrounded by his friends, laughing so loud and free, I knew he was the one for me. And he was, until that future we planned was ripped away from me, and his life from him.
“I miss you, Dean,” I whispered to the cloudy sky.
“Fuck, I miss you so damn much. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe.
” Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, dripping down my round cheeks.
“I’m trying to keep going, but it’s just not what we planned.
You’re supposed to be here with me, making me smile and laugh like only you could.
” Swiping away the evidence of my soul-destroying grief, I blew out a shaky breath.
“Tell me, give me a sign that you’re still out there somewhere looking out for me.
And are okay with me moving on.” I chewed on my lower lip.
“Because sometimes I think I’m ready, but then it feels like I’m cheating on you, on us, and on what we had. ”
That was the unforgiving internal battle I fought daily—being okay with the feelings and desires growing for a certain cowboy in our small community. The guilt that ate me alive after a great date or alone time with Liam made me wonder if attempting to move on from Dean was really worth it.
My mind knew it was. I couldn’t stay alone and sad forever. If I were honest with myself, I knew Dean would want me to move on. He’d want me to live a full life. But try telling my heart that. The heart that was so deeply in love with the man who was there one day and gone the next.
His pictures and a folded flag were the only physical things I had left of him.
A slight vibration on my wrist had me glancing down and grimacing at both the time and Liam’s name flashing on the screen.
Once again, I let the morning get away from me, losing all sense of time, lost in my thoughts and memories.
Doing that out here was a danger, not including the hell I’d no doubt get from Liam for going out on my own.
With the disappearances and murders happening along the Soul Trail, I technically wasn’t supposed to come out here on my own.
But I needed these moments of silence, the time utterly alone with my grief.
It was my therapy in a way, though maybe the fact that I still struggled daily meant it wasn’t working as well as I wanted to believe.
After stretching out the ache in my hamstrings and calves, I turned, putting the pristine water behind me, and started down the trail.
In and out, each deep, even breath brushed past my slightly parted lips as I made my way along the winding path back toward Anchor Bay.
Frustration at the leash our deputy sheriff put on the women of our town to keep them safe built within me, making me grind my back teeth.
I understood why, but damn, did it suck. Sure, I didn’t want to end up like those unfortunate hikers. Most still hadn’t been found, their pictures hanging in Uplift’s meeting room a haunting reminder of the unknown danger lurking in the shadows.
Where had they gone?
What happened to them?
Who was behind their disappearances and the murders of a few of the missing women’s male companions?
I grimaced when the soft dirt shifted to hard, unforgiving pavement as I jogged through the trailhead’s small parking lot heading toward downtown Anchor Bay.
A small smile pulled at my lips as the weathered, painted buildings came into view.
The caw of a bird sounded above me as the scent of salt water and dead fish filled my nose.
Soon the pavement shifted to worn wooden boards beneath my feet as I jogged through the heart of town.
Passing Sips, our local and tasty coffee shop, I waved through the glass windows to the owner, Paul McGravey, who was too busy pulling chairs off the few tables to notice.
Instead of stopping to grab a cup of coffee, I kept going, smirking to myself as I passed the best bar in town.
I slammed a loose fist against the closed wooden door of Dave’s in our usual morning hello when I passed on my way home from a run.
A group of men outfitted in fishing gear chatting near the entrance of the docks nodded in greeting as I passed, making a genuine grin spread across my face despite my heavy breathing and exhausted legs.
Barely over a year in the quaint town of Anchor Bay, and I already knew every local.
Though that had less to do with my morning runs and more about me being the only vet in a two-hundred-mile radius.
It was the perfect place to put the past behind me and move on from the soul-eating grief that threatened to kill me daily.
And fuck did I try to move forward. I wanted to live in the moment and cherish every second I had with the amazing people in my small community and in Anchor Bay.
Two years after Dean’s death, it was getting easier, though there were still bad days where it felt like too much, like today.
Which was why as soon as I woke up and felt that weight on my chest and the tears in my eyes, I knew a long run was the only thing that would ease that pain.
I couldn’t just stay in bed all day, lost in my grief, when I was needed.
Knowing the community depended on me and loving every single one of the sweet animals I treated made every day I pushed myself to keep going worth it.
There had always been a bond with animals that comforted me.
Their unconditional love drew me in as a child and made me want to grow up to be a veterinarian.
And now my career was the one aspect of my life I didn’t question or doubt these days.
Feeling another text come through, the vibrations tickling my sweat-slick skin along my wrist, I pushed myself to quicken my strides as I exited Anchor Bay and turned toward the small community where I lived.
It wasn’t much, but it had everything our group needed and had truly become home to me and so many others.
The self-sustaining, unique setup was started by Brandon Taylor, founder and owner of Uplift Adventure and Rescue, and constructed just outside Anchor Bay, which gave us privacy but was close enough that downtown trails and The Nest, where most of the company’s excursion bookings came through, were quick and easy to get to.
Privacy was a big one since everyone who worked for Brandon was former military or connected in some way, like me, and dealt with trauma and scars from their past. I never served but was no different in that sense.
Brandon also wanted space and privacy so he and his wife and romantic partner could live in peace.
Thankfully, most of the locals didn’t care that Brandon and most of his team favored less monogamous relationships, preferring multiple partners.
No matter the reason, I was thankful that Brandon, Carl, and Amy built their home here and put a lot of planning and effort into making the community somewhere that fostered a found-family type of atmosphere that most of us here desperately needed.
Once inside our little compound, one main street split two rows of small one- or two-bedroom cabins that then led to a general store at one end, where Brandon’s wife, Amy, and their third, Carl, sold farm-fresh produce and ready-made meals.
Being a small Alaskan village, we depended on what we could grow and raise to ensure we had enough fresh food to support those in our group.
Every single man and woman here was kind, supportive, and protective—everything that I desperately needed while I healed from my tragic loss.
Sprinting the last bit, I rounded the corner of my one-bedroom cabin, not surprised to find Liam leaning against a solid wooden post waiting for my return.