Daring Her Love by Melissa Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

toward the window.
    “There’s something so familiar about her. I feel like I know her, Hugh. It’s weird as shit and a little unsettling.”
    “Unsettling in a bad way? Because as I mentioned last night, the vibes you two give off are not at all unsettling.” He pushed from the table and retrieved two bottles of beer from the fridge, giving one to Eric.
    “Thanks.” He opened the bottle and took a swig, then sat back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I feel like I know her. She reminds me of this girl I knew as a kid.”
    “Hey, stranger things have happened,” Hugh said. “Ask her. Maybe it’s her.”
    No way was he asking Kat if she went to Camp Kachimonte. He’d snuck into the camp the summer he’d turned nine, when he’d needed a reprieve from his stoned parents—and, embarrassingly, when he’d needed to eat. His parents weren’t big on providing for him as much as feeding their drug habits. Hugh knew about his parents, but what he didn’t know was that Eric had snuck into the camp cafeteria most afternoons that summer. He didn’t have many distinct memories of those afternoons, as most of them blended together in a jumble of fear and shame, but three instances stuck out in his mind. Once when he’d stopped a big kid from picking on a younger boy, and a little doe-eyed, blond girl who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old had told him that he was the bravest boy she knew. The second time was when that same little girl had dropped her ice cream sandwich in the dirt and he’d snuck into the kitchen after it was closed to get her a new one. She’d told him that he was the kindest boy she knew. Those things shouldn’t mean much to a nine-year-old boy, but Eric hadn’t received many accolades when he was growing up, and he’d held on to those little golden nuggets of praise and used them to pull himself through the harshest of days.
    “No. There’s no way it’s her, and it was a long time ago. She reminds me of her, that’s all.”
    He thought about the third, most powerful memory, the one he revisited most often. Not for the praise, but for the look in the little girl’s eyes when she’d said the words that to this day he still struggled with. He’d been swimming in the lake a good distance away from the kids from the camp when he’d seen the little girl flailing in the water. He’d been caught a few weeks earlier sneaking into the camp, and when the police had brought him home, his stoned father had taken the belt to him. He knew what was waiting for him if he got caught again, but when he’d seen the little girl go under, he didn’t hesitate to save her. He dragged her up to the beach and turned her on her side, the way he’d seen the lifeguards teaching the older kids during one of their safety lessons. She’d spewed water, coughing and gagging, and when she’d finally sat up, her tear-soaked eyes had widened and she’d pressed two tiny palms to his cheeks. He could still feel the pressure of them on his skin. You saved me. You’re my real-life hero , she’d said before pressing her lips to his. She was a little girl, and there was nothing sexual about the kiss. It was a frantic, relieved expression of gratitude, but when the counselor saw them, his eyes had blazed with fury and a chase had ensued. Thank God Eric was a fast runner. He’d scaled the fence and taken off like a bat out of hell. He’d had lots of practice running in those early years—and he’d spent every day since trying to escape his past.
     
     
    HAL BRADEN CAME through the patio door and scooped little Christian into his arms, pressing his lips to the squirming boy’s forehead.  He was a formidable man at six foot six. Even at almost seventy, he had a commanding presence, with shoulders that filled a doorframe, a barrel chest, and a deep, gravelly voice that rivaled Clint Eastwood’s. He was a man made of love and loyalty, having raised six children by himself after losing his young