Page 258 of It Happened on the Lake

She came up coughing inside the cave, heard the ancient timbers creak ominously overhead. Saw Craig, attempting to swim out of the slip as bats flew crazily and the dark water turned murky with his blood.

Above, the Chris-Craft was hanging precariously by its stern.

As she tried to swim out of the boathouse, she was transfixed, watching as it spun slowly, spilling its contents into the water. An old thermos and life preserver fell, then a tattered, rolled tarp unwound as if in slow motion.

From within, bones appeared and to her horror, a skeleton tumbled out.

Craig let out a rumbling cry. “Jesus Christ! Oh shit! Oh shit! This is so fucked! So fucked!” Frantically he swam, away from the boathouse, from the horror within.

But Harper was frozen.

Couldn’t move.

Her gaze glued to the skull with its haunting black eye sockets.

Those empty sockets seemed to stare straight to her soul.

No teeth missing in the skull, just a bit of blond hair, tattered shirt, and rotting jeans, and around its neck vertebrae a necklace of beads hung limply.

Love beads moving with the water.

Oh. Dear. God.

An arctic cold swept over Harper and she thought for a second that she might pass out.

She imagined him as he once had been. Tall. Blond. Athletic. Cocky. A bit of mischief in his blue, blue eyes.

Chase. She was staring at what remained of Chase.

Her heart stopped. Something inside of her broke, and a bubbling cry passed through her lips.

After twenty years of shadowy doubts, she’d finally found him.

Chapter 67

Don’t panic.

Do not panic.

It’s a dead body, yes. It’s Chase. But, for God’s sake, Harper, don’t panic!Teeth chattering, her mind racing, Harper dragged herself out of the water. Cold night air surrounded her and she was shivering, shaking all over. All she wanted to do was run as fast and as far away as possible.

But she forced herself to get her bearings.

She remembered loving him, dreaming with him, wanting him so badly she physically ached. He hadn’t loved her back, not the way she adored him, and he’d hurt her over and over again.

Because she let him.

Because she was eighteen.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly dashed them away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not for what they had and lost, but for the fact that he never got the chance to grow up, to become a man. To break her heart again.

Coughing, she dashed her tears away. She wasn’t that innocent, wide-eyed girl who would have done anything for him. Not anymore. She’d had the chance to live her life, to grow up, to become a wife and a mother.

And she had the scars to prove it.

She sat on the edge of the rotting decking in the boathouse and forced herself to stare at his skeleton. Never had she expected to find him, especially here.