Redemption Chapter Ten

The week went by in a blur. As much as Molly tried to keep her guard up, the Spencer’s had a way of getting around them. Every time she meant to leave, they found a reason for her to stay. Cody drew pictures for her and was always trying to show her something. Somehow, despite the very big rooms of the house, Molly and Aidan continuously ran into each other. They’d find themselves trying to step around each other and then brush shoulders when they passed. Anytime Aidan touched her, a warm surge of something electric soared through her.

Molly needed to do something to keep her mind off the pure walking sex of a man that was Aidan Spencer.

Heather wouldn’t take any help from Molly around the house or in the kitchen, but Corbett let her help out in the garden in the evenings. It gave her a sense of purpose instead of just being dead weight in the house. When Corbett started taking her to the store, Molly nearly kissed him. She needed the space. It had been an argument with him and Heather, but Corbett won out, reminding her that sitting behind the register wasn’t much at work at all.

Reluctantly she agreed, and Molly started to learn the ropes. She didn’t think it would be very stimulating, but people came in and out at all different hours, and they mostly smiled. They greeted her, asked where she was from. At first, Molly found herself overwhelmed by it, but it didn’t take long for her to start learning names, and knowing regular faces.

Aidan worked the stock and took care of larger orders for the customers. She envied how easy it was that they could just be a community. Molly’d never known that. She felt like an isolated blip in the world.

 Despite her best efforts, every time Aidan walked past, Molly’s gaze would linger. She didn’t mean to, but it was like his body had somehow magnetized her eyes.

She had a reprieve for now since Krysta and Aidan stood out front talking. Molly rang up Mrs. Pratchett. An old woman in her sixties who came to the shop daily for small supplies—though Molly thought it was because her husband had passed away a few years ago, and her kids lived out of state. She only saw them every so often. Mrs. Pratchett wouldn’t go to live with them, because she knew she’d be a burden. Corbett generally always had a story about the people who walked in, and had told her about Mrs. Pratchett during one of Molly’s first days at the store.

Molly bagged the few items and stood up.

“Oh no, dear,” Mrs. Pratchett said. “You’re still healing from your injuries. Have the police found out anything?” She patted Molly’s hand, giving her a sympathetic look.

She shook her head. “No, ma’am. The Sheriff called once and said he was still working on it, but so far nothing.”

“Such a shame. It’s a horrible person that will run someone down and not stop to help, but you’re healing okay, aren’t you dear?”

Molly smiled and gave her a small nod. The bruises had mostly faded to a yellowish color, and no longer hurt. Her ribs and wrists were still healing, but bones took longer than bruises. She could breathe easier and sleep deeper—which made it harder to wake from the nightmares that plagued her.

“I’ll take those,” Corbett came over and grabbed the bags. “Always a pleasure to escort you, Mrs. Pratchett.”

She smiled brightly, her hazel eyes glittering with amusement. “So kind, Mr. Spencer. Why, if Heather hadn’t scooped you up all those years ago, I’d have had to step in!”

He laughed. “But you were married my dear.”

“That I was, and it was such a tragedy when Marion died. That was a dark time for our town. I’m just glad that monster finally got what he deserved,” she said.

Molly’s fingers gripped the edge of the counter and she held her breath, trying desperately not to let the heartache she felt creep into her face. Hearing people speak about her father like that was the norm. Even in Florida, when news of the execution brought all the media attention people whispered about Peter Blake. What an evil man he’d been. He was getting what he deserved.

The words were true—but he was still her father. Shame pooled into her belly, her teeth grinding together as she tried to mentally tell herself she shouldn’t still feel sorrow for the loss of a man who destroyed so many lives.

“Come on then,” Corbett said. “Let’s get you to your car.”

He winked at Molly and then walked out with Mrs. Pratchett.

For a moment, she’d escaped the memory of her father. Molly pretended he was just a man who hadn’t been part of her life, instead of a man who murdered women he deemed weren’t good enough for his little girl. For the span of a few days, she’d been able to pretend that she didn’t carry a large stain on her soul.

Getting up, she hobbled out the back of the store. A warm ocean breeze washed over her. She closed her eyes breathing deeply and leaned against the wall, putting a hand over her stomach. It felt like someone squished her diaphragm in the palm of their hand, making it hard to breathe. She trembled, swallowing thickly and closed her eyes, trying to keep calm.

“Hey,” a gentle hand laid on her shoulder.

She jumped, whirling around.

Aidan held his hands up. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

The jolt fed her anxiety and the world closed in on her as darkness tinted the edges of her vision. Her breath came quicker than she’d like, and made her fingers tingle.

“Whoa, easy.” He went over to her.

“I…can’t…breathe…” She leaned against the wall, panic gripping her so tightly she thought it would kill her.

“You’re having an anxiety attack,” Aidan said gently. He took her hand placing it over his heart. “Just look at me.”

She shook her head. He put a finger under her chin and tipped her gaze up to him. “Breathe. Feel the beat of my heart.”

It thudded, strong and even under her palm. His eyes mimicked the endless blue sky. Molly got lost in them, falling and gliding across the steady rhythm that thrummed through her.

He smiled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “That’s better. Just breathe.”

Her heart beat slowed, matching Aidan’s.

She nodded, giving a sheepish sort of grin, eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

No, that was the last thing she wanted. Her chest tingled where his fingers rested against her. His gaze watched her carefully. Like before at the beach, he was so close she could see the small lines at the corner of his eyes, smell the subtle scent of his aftershave. Her stomach tightened with need. She ached for contact and comfort, wanted it so bad it hurt, and before she knew what was happening, Molly leaned in, kissing him. He stayed tense for a moment, and then Aidan slid a hand behind her back, pulling her close. The soft brush of their lips became full of need, of hunger from a primal part of her soul.  

Molly’s anxiety disappeared, replaced with a desire for him that burned straight to her core.

He pulled back, gripping his shoulders. His eyes widened, jaw slightly agape. “Molly—“

“I’m sorry!” Molly knew she was screwed up in the head. It had to be genetic. She just kissed Aidan. He had a girlfriend for Christ’s sake. It didn’t help that she wished she could kiss him again.

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I just—Krysta. We’re together and—”

“I know. I know.” She stepped back from him, still trying to catch her breath. The anxiety encroached against her.

Running his fingers through his hair, Aidan paced back and forth. “I mean, it’s not that I haven’t thought about it—I have, but, Molly we can’t do this. It’s not right.”

The fact that he’d wanted to kiss her too surprised Molly. She thought it’d been one sided, her own wants and twisted needs. Molly never thought he’d see her in that sort of light, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t do this.  “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

His eyes squinted and he stopped. “What? No, Molly you don’t have to leave.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re still recovering,” Aidan insisted. “Just wait a few more days. I’ll stay away.”

She didn’t want him to stay away. Molly wanted him pressed so close to her that a breeze wouldn’t be able to pass between them.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’ve got nowhere else to go, Molly.”

“I could go back to Florida. There’s someone.” Not anyone she wanted to be near, but a good enough excuse, even if she no longer had an apartment. When she left, she’d handed the keys back to the association manager. There’d been a wait list, so she couldn’t go back to it.

Aidan nodded a bit. “Dad mentioned you had someone before. Didn’t really work out. Is that why you panicked? You thought you had to go back?”

He was leading the conversation, and it was a better direction than trying to explain that Mrs. Pratchett’s talk of her father sent her into an anxiety attack. Guilt pooled in her belly, and she bit her lip, nibbling the tender skin.

“Thomas isn’t the reason I lost it.” At least she was somewhat honest. “That was his name. Thomas. Nice at first, but…he sort of became controlling. He hit me once and I left.”

She didn’t know if he meant too, but during an argument, he backhanded her and busted her lip open. He apologized, begged her to stay, but Molly couldn’t. She wasn’t going to be stuck in another volatile situation. Not when she could do something about it. She told him it was over and left. Not even when he sent her flowers and cards did she go back to him. It reinforced her belief that good things didn’t happen to the daughter of a man who’d destroyed so many lives.

Then, Molly met the Spencers and for a few days she’d forgotten. Until Mrs. Pratchett reminded her.

“That’s good,” Aidan said. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets, keeping a healthy distance between the two.

He looked uncertain, and she hated that she’d been the cause of it.

“They always lie and say they won’t do it again, but they do,” she said.

“Sounds like you have experience.”

She shrugged. “Not really. I just…don’t seem to have luck meeting decent people. At least not until you and your family.”

Heat rushed up her cheeks and she shook out her hands, the pins and needles disappearing as her blood oxygenated. A panic attack hadn’t gripped hold like that in months. For a while, she’d been on medication, but it fogged up her mind, made her feel distant from the world. Some days, that was okay. Right now, her erratic emotions left Molly unsure of what she actually felt. She’d never dealt with anything like this before. She didn’t think anyone had. Falling for the son of a woman her father murdered was insane, ludicrous, and yet, Molly knew that was exactly what she was doing.

“That amazes me, considering you’re a pretty decent person yourself.”

“Really? I just kissed you and you have a girlfriend,” she scuffed the ground with the toe of her shoe.

He moved, as if to walk closer to her and changed his mind, stepping back and shoving his hand in his pockets. He clenched his jaw, the muscles twitching beneath the skin.

Molly wrapped her arms around her middle, the plaster from the cast catching on her shirt. She gripped herself tight as if she could make the tumultuous emotions inside her settle down. How could she have done something so stupid?

“Yeah, you did and I do have a girlfriend, but I understand, and it doesn’t make you a bad person.” He let out a soft sigh. “Maybe one day, you’ll see what I see, but Molly—what happened, it can’t happen again.”

 “I know.” She looked at him from beneath long, wet lashes. “I’m sorry, Aidan. I didn’t mean—“

“Come on,” he said, cutting her off. “Dad can take you home. Cody and I can handle the store for a while.”

Molly knew he was right. They needed distance. She needed distance. The guilt of their kiss resonated in Aidan’s gaze, his eyes slightly squinted and a thin line creased between his brows. It made her feel worse.

“This is my fault—“

“Molly,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “Just—let it go, okay?”

Letting her hands drop to her side, Molly started to step forward, but then stopped. Being close wouldn’t help things. This had been her screw up. One in a long line, but this one directly affected the one person she never wanted to hurt. That made it so much worse.

“Aidan—“

The back door flew open, and Krysta walked out. Her smile turned a bit tight. “Oh, there you are.”

She walked over to Aidan lacing her fingers through his. “Your dad said you were probably out here. Everything okay?”

Molly shifted on her feet, a fresh wave of guilt crashing through her. What kind of person did it make her that she kissed a man who had a girlfriend—one who’d literally been in the next room? Murder wasn’t in her veins, but clearly some of her father’s poison lingered.

“Yeah, Molly just needed some air.” He kissed Krysta’s forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

Krysta smiled at the affection, her hands sliding over his arms.

Molly looked away, giving them their privacy. She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat.

After a moment Aidan pulled back and Krysta turned to her.

“Oh speaking of, Molly the Sheriff is out front. He wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she nodded and slipped back inside, leaving Aidan and Krysta alone. She needed the distance, needed fresh air that didn’t smell like Aidan’s aftershave, and proximity that didn’t put him somewhere that she could steal a glance. No matter how wrong Molly kept telling herself this was, she just kept stepping in it.

Sheriff Tidwell stood at the register with Corbett.

“Miss Harper,” he tipped his hat.

“Hello Sheriff,” she said politely. “Have you found out anything?”

He pulled a picture out of his shirt pocket. “Found this on one of the phones from the scene.” He held it out to her. “That car look familiar to you?”

The picture had her frozen, half thrown back in the air from a maroon SUV. In all the chaos, Molly’d never even realized what kind of car hit her. She’d been solely focused on making sure that Cody had been all right. The angle of her body was awkward. The car had clipped her sending her spiraling out of the way, otherwise she would have been caught under the tires.

A flash of something sparked in her mind, but Molly couldn’t hold onto it. Finally, she shook her head. “No. I mean, obviously, it’s the car that hit me, but I don’t remember much about it.”

“Were you able to get the license plate,” Corbett asked.

Tidwell shook his head. “No. Not a lot of people have fancy phones around here.” He adjusted the cap. “But Mrs. Talbott’s boy is autistic. She has one of those i-things with apps or whatever for his therapy. Guess he got a picture and she didn’t know. Too caught up in the moment and all. Mrs. Talbott brought it in as soon as she realized. We got lucky.”

Molly looked at the SUV again, trying to sift through the blurry memories nestled at the back of her mind. She nibbled on her lip, a light layer of skin peeling off beneath her teeth.

“Miss Harper do you have anyone who would want to hurt you?”

Her jaw went slack. “I’m sorry?”

“I thought it was just a hit and run,” Corbett said.

Tidwell nodded. “It could be, but it just seems a coincidence that the same day of the execution you show up in town and there’s a hit and run. I don’t know how it’s all connected yet, but I got an itch I’m meanin’ to scratch.” His gaze bore into Molly. She shifted on her feet. Tidwell didn’t like her and Molly didn’t know how far he would dig. WITSEC kept her files sealed, and her cover was good, but she knew that sometimes connections spoke louder than regulations.

“It was Cody who was almost hit,” Corbett reminded him.

“Was it?” The Sheriff tilted his head. “Seems to me Molly here wasn’t far off from where he was.”

She blinked, going a bit ashen. “You think they were aiming for me?”

“I think that’s not a local vehicle, and that you’re not a local girl.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Aidan said walking in with Krysta. “We get tourists around this time of year all the time.”

“More so because of the execution,” Tidwell said.

Molly sat down on the stool behind the counter. With everything, she never thought that the car could have been aiming for her. The only reason someone would be after her—was if they knew who she was.

Impossible.

She’d been careful. Even after opting out of WITSEC, Molly kept the identity they’d given her. She didn’t want to be Jesse Blake. As far as she was concerned, the last bit of Jesse died with her father. WITSEC wouldn’t divulge the information, so her history as Molly Harper was intact.

They couldn’t recognize her—not twenty years later.

Except it could be a possibility. She could call Greg Hoult, her old WITSEC contact, but she might be overreacting—and if he found out she was staying with the Spencers he would not be pleased.

“No,” Tidwell said. “It doesn’t prove anything, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Aidan crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Molly. She knew he was wondering if Thomas had come after her. She shook her head slightly. Thomas had no way of knowing where she was. He wasn’t a cop or a private investigator. Just a man who worked as a bouncer at a bar.

He didn’t have the resources to her find her.

Corbett stepped in front of Molly, blocking her gaze from the Sheriff. “Well maybe you should start looking into them. Molly saved my grandson. She’s as much a victim as anyone else.”

“It’s not that farfetched,” Krysta piped up. “It’s not like we have a lot of hit and runs around here, between the press and the media it’s not hard to figure out who you guys are. If it was one of Blake’s fans, they might have wanted some retribution.”

Aidan scowled. “And everyone knows he’s from Bellefort.”

Molly’s chest tightened and she gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.

“Could be that someone was trying to sight see the place the murders happened,” Corbett said.

“Doesn’t explain why they ran,” Sheriff said.

“Could be a million reasons. Morbid tourists have been lurking all around town for weeks.”

Molly hadn’t noticed, but she wasn’t from Bellefort. Not anymore. She didn’t know the locals, or the normal vehicles, the normal boats.

Tidwell nodded. “I’ll do some more digging. See what I find.”

Did you find this chapter through a promotion or friend? Sign up for the newsletter to get the next chapter!

(If you're already signed up no need to sign up again!)

Join Natasha's Newsletter!

Want more Redemption? Sign up to get chapters emailed weekly!

    We respect your privacy. Unsubscribe at any time.