Bound (28 page)

My daughter had no grave since she hadn’t been buried. I’d lost her just short of the time when a funeral would have been required. Seeing Maggie’s name on her grave made me wish there was a tiny spot on this earth for my little girl. Something that would tell future generations someone loved her.

I opened
the large white box in my hands. The fragrance of fresh-cut evergreen floated out, and I sat the box on the ground to take out the wreath inside.

“That’
s really nice,” Ryke said, his breath visible as he looked down at me solemnly.

“I brought something
to display it on,” I said, gingerly handing him the wreath so I could get the stand out. I put it near the front of her headstone and turned to him.

“Go ahead,” he said, reaching his arms toward me with the wreath. I
took it, swallowing nervously. Did I want to be that close to Maggie, close enough to touch the letters on her headstone?

It took just a second to decide
I did. Bending to put the wreath where I wanted it, I brushed away a few brittle brown leaves from in front of her marker. I took my time getting the Christmas wreath just so, arranging its red satin bow until it suited me. I reached for the letters engraved on the headstone, tracing the grooves.

“Hi Maggie,” I said softly. “I’m Kate.” What else did I want to tell this woman who wasn’t really here? I’ll try to take care of your husband? I’m sorry about what happened to you?

No. We were beyond all that. The past was just that, and I’d finally moved on from letting it keep me from my future. All I could do now was honor her memory.

“I hope you and my daughter are together up there,” I said, fighting back the tears that rose. “
Her name is Harlow. You’re the first person I’ve ever told that.” I wiped my leather glove across my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Maggie.”

As soon as I stood, Ryke pulled
me into his arms, surrounding me with warmth.

“Harlow?” he asked. “That’s her name?”

“Harlow Lynn Camden. I’d already picked it out.”

“It’s pretty
.”

“Thanks.” My throat ached
as the sound of my daughter’s name echoed in my mind.

“I love you
,” Ryke said, his breath a puff of heat against my cheek.

“I love you, too.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. It was hard to believe that a year ago, I hadn’t even known this man who was now my whole world.

“Will you be okay for the next stop?” he asked, leaning back to get a look at my face. I nodded and reached for his hand.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We walked back to the car and Ryke cranked up the Mustang’s heater.
I was grateful for a few moments of silence. The rows of stones in the rolling cemetery were sobering. Each of these thousands of people had been dear to someone.

Ry
ke drove through the tall iron cemetery gates and I turned to him. “I want to come here every year on Christmas Eve. And her birthday and whenever else you come. I don’t want you to stop remembering her because of me.”

His eyes were soft when
he glanced over at me. “We will.”

Satisfied, I went back to staring out the window. I w
asn’t nervous. Well, maybe a little.

“You wanna go ice skating when we go to Iowa tomorrow?” Ryke asked.

“Is there a rink by your parents’ house?”

“No, it’s a pond we go to when it’s cold enough.”

“I take it this is cold enough,” I said. The record low temperatures in the Midwest this winter made me anxious for the trip to Hawaii we were taking as soon as Ryke finished his season, which would hopefully be later rather than sooner if his team made the playoffs.

Sometimes I had to assure myself that this was really my life, and not a dream that would sli
p away at any moment. Even though I still had moments of sadness, I’d found my footing. I wouldn’t let myself fall into the fog again.

Skyscrapers loomed when we drove
back into the city. Ryke pulled into a parking place in front of a tiny, rundown building crammed in between two taller ones.

Now that we were here, I could hardly wait to go in. I rushed out of the car and grabbed Ryke’s arm.

“You’re not nervous?” he asked.

“It’s good nervous,” I said
, squeezing his arm.

He held the glass front door open for m
e and I stepped inside. It wasn’t what I’d expected based on the building’s exterior. This place had tile floors, walls filled with colorful art in simple wood frames and modern furniture. I relaxed immediately.

“What?” Ryke whispered, leaning down to my ear. “You think I’d bring you to some shithole?”

“No,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

“I’ve heard really good things about this place,” he said.

A burly man with his inky black hair in a smooth ponytail emerged from the back room. “Jason Ryker! I’ll be damned!” He pumped Ryke’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

“This is Kate,” Ryke said.

“Kate, I’m Tony,” the man said, shaking my hand less forcefully. “You ready?”

“Ready,” I said
, my gaze wandering up the swirling patterns on one of his arms.

“Come on back.
”

The room was small and comfortable, the walls covered with more intricate art in a rainbow of shades and subjects.

“Better take your shirt off,” Tony said, gathering his supplies.

“Shouldn’t you at least buy
me dinner first?” I cracked, sliding my top over my head.

He smiled and winked at me, not even checking out my boobs. He probably saw a lot of naked body parts in his line of work. “Lay face down on the table,” he said.

“Here’s her drawing,” Ryke said, and I felt him moving to stand near my head at the front of the flat table.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched his fingers when a buzzing noise started up. A swipe of something cold and wet across my shoulder blade told me this was about to get real.

The needle stung, but not as much as I’d expected. The tears that dripped from my eyes to the dark squares of tile beneath me weren’t from pain. This moment, like so many in the past year, was bittersweet.

Ryke’s large hand stroked over my hair. “You okay?” he whispered. I nodded, unable to speak.

When the buzzing stopped and I sat up, I wiped the moisture from my face with my fingers and took a steadying breath. Tony turned me so that I could get a view in the mirror that covered the wall, and tears clouded my vision once again, but I smiled through them.

It was small
and simple. A tattooed heart held the letters HLC, my baby’s initials. Ryke’s words about his sister being with him forever had stayed with me. I’d never forget my baby; that was impossible, but now she had a marker that was part of me. I still wasn’t ready to open the memory box, but I hoped I’d be able to someday.

For now, I had Ryke, and together we’d come to understand what love should be. Sometimes my struggles
seemed too heavy to bear, and sometimes his did, too. Sharing them with each other had been the way through.

I was having one of those moments right now. Seeing the initials of the daughter I’d never k
now was emotional. Until this morning, no one even knew she had a name, because it had only existed in my heart. She’d never taken a breath in this world, but I loved her. Something about admitting that – about not trying to get over her – was what allowed me to finally move forward.

Ryke took my hand in hi
s and our eyes met in the mirror we’d both been looking at my tattoo in.

“Good?” he asked so
fty, pulling my hand up to his lips to kiss my fingers. His stubble tickled me the way I loved and I smiled at him.

“Good,”
I said, relieved that at last I meant it. The two of us were bound together by the thread of grief, but it wasn’t just our mutual losses that united us. We’d survived them, found each other and discovered that sometimes, from darkness can come light.

Author’s note

Thank you for reading Bound. If you enjoyed it, I’d sincerely appreciate a review on Amazon and/or
Goodreads. Please connect with me on Facebook and Goodreads so we can chat about great books and my future projects!

Acknowledgements

Bound is a very personal book for me. It’s for every woman who has lost a baby at any stage of pregnancy. I truly could not have made it the book it is with the help of Jane
Koscielak, Carrie Shaw Jones and Brenda Wright. These three friends gave me the honest advice I needed and the encouragement to push through to the end. Others whose help was also instrumental are Magan Vernon, Melinda Fulton, Genevieve Ching and the members of my RWA Chapter, Heart and Scroll. My deepest thanks to all the dedicated book bloggers, ARC readers and others who have championed this story. And as always, thanks and hugs to my amazing husband and three sons.