The Chosen One (28 page)

“It makes Ainsley sense.” She flipped over and brushed a red curl off my cheek.

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged.

“Can I ask one question?”

Maya feigned a dramatic sigh and puffed out her cheeks. “If you must.”

“That brand on your arm, it’s your real initials, isn’t it? CT, for Carisa Torres. That’s why Agnes got so upset.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded.

“Promise me we’ll talk more in the morning?” I ran a finger down her nose.

“I promise.” She yawned, nestling her head down into the pillow.

An odd silence invaded the room, but outside, the wind stirred the trees, scraping branches against the side of the old house. When I was small, I’d been convinced the house was haunted. Tonight, I’d learned about the family’s real phantoms. Was it possible to shake them off? I sighed, leaving the question for now. The real question was whether I could go forward‌—‌with Maya.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next morning, I awoke alone.

I hadn’t expected Maya to slip out during the night, but maybe I should have.

The kitchen was silent. It was half past six, and for the first time in my family’s recent history, no bugler announced the new day on the Carmichael compound.

I hummed as I prepared the coffee pot.

“Don’t tell me we have to live with your shitty coffee this morning.” Fee wore one of Pat’s shirts, and her hair was a complete wreck.

“Afraid so.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

I chewed at the corner of my lip.

“She may come around, with time.” Fee gave me a one-armed squeeze.

“Maybe.”

Fiona slid six slices of bread into the toaster.

“Is Agnes gone too?” she asked.

“I’m assuming so.”

Pat yawned in the doorway, more bedraggled than Fiona. “Where’s Grover? Outside?”

We both shrugged, and Pat frowned.

“Maybe he slipped into Ham and Mei’s room,” I said.

“Nope.”

We turned to find Ham and his fiancée, looking only slightly more put together than the rest of us.

“The doggie door is locked.” Fee pointed to it.

Pat wiggled the door handle. “But the door isn’t locked. Has anyone come or gone?” He didn’t wait for an answer, shoving the door wide open. “Grover,” he called, growing increasingly frantic when the dog didn’t appear.

The only answer was a whip of wind coming off the Atlantic. A storm was brewing on the horizon.

We quickly broke into search parties. Pat and Fiona headed for the grounds around the big house. Ham and Mei set out for the tennis court area. And I had my sights on the dunes, where he’d played fetch with Maya the previous evening.

I cupped my mouth with both hands. “Grover!”

Not a sound, only the wind.

I pushed on, cresting a slight hill and praying the news cameras were gone. Some miracle brought forth the first big storm of the season, scaring off the press. In another hour or so, flakes would be flying and the waves crashing.

“Grover!” I called, straining my ears when they picked up a small bark off in the distance. I called his name again and cupped my ear. Sure enough, I heard a bark. “I’m coming, Grover!” I yelled, running toward the water.

A tennis ball whirred by my head.

Tennis ball?

Grover zoomed after it, yapping.

The dog’s enthusiastic bark was followed by laughter.

Could it be?

The terrier dropped the ball at my feet. “Come here,” I said, and he jumped up and licked my face. “You scared us, little man.” Grover yipped in reply.

I chucked the ball in the direction it had come from, and he took off after it like a bandit. I followed, hoping beyond hope.

Each step brought me closer to the truth, and I held my breath.

Laughter carried on the wind as the dog ran into the grass, and I arrived in time to witness Maya scoop Grover into her arms. She turned back toward the house, waving for me to follow.

And I did.

“Are you ready for coffee?” she asked when we reached the house, a squirming Grover still in her arms.

A tear trickled down my cheek. “You’re still here.”

A broad smile mirrored the happiness in her eyes. “Of course! Who knows what would happen if I left you all alone.”

I pulled her into my arms, squashing Grover, not that he minded a group hug.

“I love you, Maya the Gray,” I said and then kissed her.

“The Gray?” She cocked her head and quirked one eyebrow.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy kissing her. And I didn’t have any intention of stopping.

FREE BOOK OFFER

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading
The Chosen One.
If you enjoyed the novel, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon. No matter how long or short, I would very much appreciate your feedback.

Goodreads

Amazon US

Amazon UK

You can follow me, T. B. Markinson, on twitter at
@50YearProject
, on
Facebook
or email me at
[email protected]
. I would love to know your thoughts.

About the Author

TB Markinson is an American writer living in England. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling the world, watching sports on the telly, reading, or visiting pubs‌—‌not necessarily in that order. She has also written
A Clueless Woman
,
A Woman Lost
,
A Woman Ignored, Marionette
,
Confessions from a Coffee Shop
,
Claudia Must Die
,
Girl Love Happens
, and
The Miracle Girl
. For a full listing of all her published works,
please visit her Amazon Page
.

• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Author’s Note
  
• About the Author