Chapters (61)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Brody
- Shay
- Shay
- Brody
- Epilogue
- Enjoy this Preview of Beneath the Wreckage
- Enjoy This Book?
- Acknowledgments
- Also Available from Catherine Cowles
- Stay Connected
- About Catherine Cowles
Shay’s voice broke me out of my stupor and pulled me back to the here and now. I eased the door open and entered what felt like a steam room. I quickly shut the door behind me so I didn’t let any heat out. “How’s it feel?”
“Like heaven.”
I grinned as I eased onto the tile floor next to the bath. “Glad to hear it.”
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to have me breaking in to use this tub every evening. I only have a shower in the guest house.”
I leaned against the wall, crossing my legs. “You know you’re welcome anytime.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the water sloshing against the ceramic.
“You scared the hell out of me today.” I didn’t think I’d ever forget the panic creeping up my throat when Shay wouldn’t answer me. Wouldn’t even look at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Where were you? You were lost somewhere, and I couldn’t bring you back.” I was bolder with my questions than I had been before. Maybe because a curtain hung between us, or because I was desperate for answers. I didn’t know.
Shay was quiet for a moment, the only sound a trickle of water here and there. “I don’t do well with feeling boxed in. Sam triggered a memory, and I couldn’t stop it. They used to take over a lot more. But it’s been a while since I’ve had one that bad.”
“What was the memory?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, yet I couldn’t resist asking. I needed to know every sore spot and trigger so I didn’t accidentally send her spiraling like today.
“Michael locked me in a trunk. We’d been looking for hide and seek spots for when our friends came over to play. He told me he didn’t think I’d fit, but I said I would. When I climbed in, he locked the latch. I was in there for almost eight hours before my parents found me.”
My breathing picked up, going a little ragged around the edges. Eight hours in the dark with no way out. “How old were you?”
“I was nine. Michael was seven.”
It seemed impossible that a seven-year-old boy was capable of something so insensitive and cruel. That he could simply walk away in the face of his sister’s terror. “What did your parents do?”