Catching Teardrops Read online

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Abigail Davies

  Catching Teardrops

  First Edition.

  Copyright © 2018 Abigail Davies

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Abigail Davies 2018

  Cover Design: Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs

  Interior Formatting: Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs

  Acknowledgments

  First, I want to say that it has been bittersweet writing this book, knowing that it’s the last in the series. Parts of this story absolutely destroyed me to write, and I hope I did it justice.

  I want to say thank you to my husband, Mike, who supports me in everything that I do. I wouldn’t be where I am without you.

  Thank you to my two daughters who inspire me everyday.

  Thank you to my writing buddy, Rosie. Who is also a cat but keeps me company by sleeping next to me while I type away on my laptop.

  To my dog, Loki. As your name suggests, you’re the god of mischief. Even though your snoring has distracted me while writing, I forgive you!

  To my bestie, Danielle. Thank you for always being there for me no matter what. You listened while I told you my ideas for this story and were there when I wrote myself into tears. Love ya!

  A huge thank you to my BETA readers: Amanda, Liza, and Paige. You ladies are serious badasses!

  To my proofreader, Judy, thank you for correcting this book, and being there to ask random questions!

  I want to say a huge thank you to ALL the Bloggers, readers, and authors that share all of my stuff! I appreciate it so much and I just love being part of the indie community!

  I want to slip in the ladies from my reader group: Abi’s Aces. You ladies are amazeballs!!

  Oh! I totally nearly forgot someone! Leddy Harper! Thank you for reading over a couple scenes to make sure I got the whole look of the place and helping me research a few things! You. Are. Awesome!

  Last but by no means least; thank you to all my amazing readers, for all of the messages that I receive on a daily basis. It warms my heart so much to know that you enjoy my stories. I hope you love this one as much as I do!

  Thank you for allowing me to do what I love most and tell these stories! <3

  LUKE

  Red. So much red. It flows over my palm—dripping through my fingers—uncontained. I watch in fascination as it stains my hands, my breaths sawing in and out of my body.

  I’ve dreamed about doing this a hundred times over, but not once did I think I’d actually do it.

  Until today.

  After what feels like hours, her screams lower in decibels at the scene in front of her, and when I look up, I see her covered in red too.

  Only this red is her own. Red I’m used to seeing come from her at the hands of the red that now covers me.

  “Luke,” she gasps, using the wall to help her stand as she clutches her side. “What have you done?”

  “I… I couldn’t hear it anymore.” I shake my head emphatically, dropping my hands to my side, causing the blood to rush to the tips of my fingers before it hits the floor.

  I step forward, but she flinches and backs away, colliding with the wall.

  “You should have left it alone, Luke.” Her gaze flits down to the body on the floor. “I had it under control.”

  I laugh, but it’s not out of humor. “You had it under control?” My hands clench into fists by my sides, squeezing the blood out. “You didn’t have shit under control! He was gonna kill you!”

  “No!” She lifts her hand, covering her mouth as a sob bubbles up. “He wouldn’t have… he loves me.”

  I shake my head. “He doesn’t. If he did he wouldn’t have done... that!”

  She drops down to the floor, her gaze focused on the man who has been a living nightmare all my life.

  “I… I’m sorry.”

  I open my fists before wiping away the blood on my sweatpants. “You don’t need to be sorry, Mom.” I step toward her and kneel before placing my hands on either side of her face. “You never have to be sorry again.” I turn my head and look at the pale face of the man lying on the floor. His eyes are wide open; the life drained from them. I take a breath. “It’s over… It’s… over.”

  LILY

  I’ve always loved the mirrors at the fun house; the ones that show you a distorted version of yourself—a version you don’t recognize. When I was younger, I’d laugh at the different ways it’d display my face, contorting it. Every mirror was different, showing a different version.

  But there’s one thing that sticks in my mind when I think about them: you can walk away from those distorting mirrors and see your true reflection.

  Only, I can’t.

  Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is a me I don’t want to be—a me that hates herself. But what hurts the most is that the true me is locked away deep inside. I’ve pushed her down as far as I could, not allowing her to come to the surface.

  It’s safer that way.

  I’m meek, quiet. I do as I’m told, not questioning a thing. At least not outwardly.

  I never used to be like that, not before.

  I used to say what I wanted, having no filter, not afraid of the consequences.

  So different to how I am now.

  I take a breath as I come to a stop outside my house, the one place I should feel safest above all others.

  The gray siding looks drab and in need of a fresh coat of paint, the dark, wooden door looms ahead, both calling me forth and warning me not to come closer.

  My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of turning around and walking away, not looking back and starting over. So many times, I’ve been close to doing just that, but uttered words and threats have me staying put.

  People talk about not being able to leave their living hell, but not once did I believe them when they said they couldn’t escape.

  Pack a bag, walk out the door, and never look back.

  Easier said than done.

  My hand pushes the gate open, my nerves rattling in my chest as I step closer. A veil covers the house, much like the people who live inside. To everyon
e on the outside, they see the preacher father trying to do his best while raising a teenage daughter all on his own. But it’s all a lie; a lie so carefully crafted no one can see through it.

  Placing my hand on the doorknob, I close my eyes, preparing myself before opening them back up and pushing the door open.

  The cold, dark wood floor greets me along with the wood paneling covering the walls in the small entryway. Not one thing in this house has changed in the last five years. Not one thing has moved out of its place.

  It’s a shrine or a warning. I can’t work out which.

  My ears prick, listening for any sign of movement, and when silence greets me, I take a step toward the stairs. I manage to get halfway up before his rough voice calls, “Liliana!”

  My breath catches in my throat, and I halt, summoning up the courage. “Y-yes, Father?”

  I don’t move a muscle, keeping deathly still as the floorboards below creak with each of his footsteps. I can feel him at the bottom of the stairs, looming over me even though I’m higher than he is. I need to turn around, to look at him, but I can’t get my body to move.

  “Did you forget something this morning?”

  I swallow, finally able to turn and face him. My gaze flicks over his worn and wrinkled face, his dark-blue eyes shooting fire at me—the same eyes I have to look at in the mirror every day.

  My hand grips the strap of my backpack tightly. “I… I…”

  “Spit it out, child!” He steps forward and comes to a halt at the bottom step. The air is sucked from around me as the small space becomes even tinier, his body looming over mine.

  “I don’t think I did,” I say, my voice small as I move my gaze away and bow my head a little.

  I sound so unsure, but I know I didn’t forget anything because I adhere to every single one of his demands.

  He tuts, and I know he’s shaking his head without having to look at him. “How many times do I have to teach you? You should know by now, Liliana.”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” comes my automatic reply. I clench my teeth at the apology, hating I have to do it to diffuse the situation. I have no choice though—I’m trapped in the same circle with no way to escape.

  “You’re lucky I have a meeting at the church,” he threatens, and I hear his underlying meaning. “I don’t have time to discipline you.” I keep my mouth closed, my head down as the vibrating tension surrounds me. “Get down here and finish your chores, now.”

  “Yes, Father.” I lift my head and take the first step down on shaky legs. He watches me, his eyes taking in every little movement I make, his lips spreading into a grin the closer I get.

  I silently beg him to move, but he doesn’t, and even though I’m one step above him now, he still towers over me.

  I flinch when his hand moves from his side and presses against the side of my face softly. His eyes spark at the movement, and I curse myself for letting it show.

  “You look more and more like your mother every day.” Goose bumps spread over my skin as a shiver rolls through me, his rough palm making my stomach churn. I keep my mouth sewn closed, knowing if I answer him it’ll be detrimental. “She never knew how to do as she was told, either,” he growls, switching from soft to hard in a blink of an eye.

  I don’t have a chance to move away before his hand is wrapping around my throat, squeezing as he pushes his face into mine.

  His carefully placed veil lifts, showing the monster he keeps so well hidden in front of everyone else. I know what he sees when he looks at me—her. The wife who couldn’t stand to be around him any longer—my mom. She made her choice, leaving me behind and in his hands.

  It doesn’t matter how much I try to appease him, all he sees is her. He sees red. He sees a figment of his imagination. He doesn’t see me.

  Pain, tears, pleas. He ignores it all because as long as he’s in control, nothing else matters.

  “Please,” I croak out, my hand flying up to his forearm to try and pull him away, but it’s no use because he overpowers me in every way possible.

  “She used to say that too.” He laughs, pushing his hand with so much force that I fall. My back collides with the steps and steals the breath from me as my eyes widen.

  He follows me down and pushes his knee into my thigh, continuing to crush my neck so hard my vision starts to blacken at the edges.

  The past is repeating itself. I can see it all so clearly now—what really happened that day. But my lips are sealed—they always will be. Fear. That’s all he instills within me.

  His smooth cheek rubs against mine as he whispers, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.” I choke out a sound, my eyes squeezing closed. I hate when he does this: uses his scriptures to excuse what he’s doing. The worst of it is I think he actually believes he’s carrying out the work of God. “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” He gives my throat one last squeeze—so hard I’m sure he’ll crush my windpipe—before he moves off me and leaves me a choking, sniveling mess. I hear the front door open and close as he exits without another word.

  I clutch at my throat, spluttering as I watch the door for several minutes, praying he doesn’t come back. When he doesn’t and the grandfather clock in the living room chimes three times, I slowly start to stand up, needing to get out of this house.

  I haven’t been back in it for twenty minutes, and I already want to escape. But I know I can’t—at least not yet anyway. I have to do the chores because that was only a small percentage of what he’ll do to me—what he has done to me.

  Once I’m in my room, I place my bag by my bed and sit down on the hard mattress covered in scratchy white sheets. My gaze tracks the dull room. There’s nothing on the walls, a beige carpet, and a simple bed. You’d never know a teenage girl sleeps in this room. It’s empty, much like I am—or how he wants me to be.

  I briefly wonder what everyone else my age would be doing on a Friday night. Parties, drinking, laughing. The complete opposite of what I’ll be doing.

  Changing into some leggings and an oversized t-shirt, I consciously stay away from the mirror in the small bathroom as I start to clean it. I’m afraid of what I’ll see staring back at me. I know my throat will bruise and I’ll have to cover it up again. Not that anyone will believe me when they see it, but it’s not them I do it for. It’s for me.

  The longer you tell yourself something, the more you start to believe it.

  And if I tell myself everything is fine, that I don’t have bruises on my body from the one man who’s meant to protect me, then everything will be okay.

  Only it’s a lie; a lie I’m fed up of feeding myself, but I have no idea how to stop doing.

  LUKE

  I sit down at the meeting table, watching West and Seb while also keeping an eye on Dean at the same time. I don’t trust any of the fuckers. It’s all too fuckin' convenient if you ask me.

  All three of them turned up out of the blue, and my instincts are on high alert, screaming at me that something isn’t right—especially with Dean.

  My gaze zones in on him as he leans over to talk to Kitty. She may think she knows him, but she doesn’t. She’s still stuck on the person she used to know, not who he is now.

  It’s plain as day he’s hiding something, but she can’t see it. I fuckin’ can. I see the way he looks at all of us, the way his gaze darts around the room.

  Evan may have contacted him when Kitty went to rehab, but he never told him who we were, where we’re based… nothing. And yet he turns up out of the blue, knowing everything there is to know. First name fuckin' basis.

  I don’t trust him. End of. But he’s Kitty’s family—or he used to be—either way, I’ll keep it to myself. I’m trained to spot the traitors, to separate the weak from the strong. It’s just a matter of time before he shows his hand, and when he does, I’ll be there to pounce.

  Cracking my knuckles, my gaze continues around the table, taking in everyone’s e
xpressions before I stop on West and Seb. Tilting my head, I try to read their lips, working out what they’re saying and why they’re here.

  It’s been over a week since we started investigating Darrell Le’Fraine. The Darrell Le’Fraine. The fucker who got away once—the only one who has. We won’t let that happen this time though. We’ll get him behind bars no matter what it takes.

  When I turn to face Ty, I see him watching them in the same way and I know he’s wondering what I am—why now?

  I snap my gaze to the door as it flings open, and in walks—wait, dances—Evan.

  Grunting, I lean back and watch as he dances around the table, looking like he’s got his fingers in a light socket. I can’t help the grin pulling at my lips, and when I turn to face Kitty, I whisper, “He looks like he’s being electrocuted.”

  She throws her head back, laughing so hard that tears start to fall down her cheeks.

  He screams the lyrics, moving his head to the beat before he jumps in the air and then starts gyrating at it.

  Kay stands up, her lips spread into a wide smile as she moves forward and shouts, “Evan!”

  He doesn’t answer her, not that he can hear her anyway.

  “I love this jam!”

  “Evaaaan!”

  His eyes spring open. “Huh?” He pulls his headphones off, raising a brow at her.

  “We have visitors.”

  “Visitors?” He looks around at all of us before his eyes widen a fraction. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “’Sup?” He nods and swipes a hand under his nose.

  We’re all silent a beat before everyone bursts out laughing—including me. It’s the uncontrollable kind of laughter, and I have to hold my stomach to stop it from cramping. We’re used to seeing this from Evan, but to do it in front of two fuckers who say they’re here to help, it’s too much.