Bad Things

31. Taking Back Destiny

As she'd stirred from sleep, the peace that had washed over him was automatic and full. The heaviness that had clouded his mind dispersed and all there was left was nothing. Sweet, sweet nothing.

Shawn let her gather him up, hold his heart in her hands, brush away the pain and confusion, kiss away the guilt and uncertainty, and leave him empty and clean. It was relief in a way he couldn't describe.And in that relief, he'd drifted away into the most soundless sleep he'd ever had.

When he'd awoken sometime later—it could have been minutes or hours—he'd opened his eyes to the same dimly lit farmhouse room. Blinking rapidly and lifting his hand to rub his eyes, he'd looked around at his surroundings, his gaze landing on Camila, who sat against the headboard beside him, tears streaming down her face as she looked down at a small square paper in her hands.

Alarm panged in his chest, and Shawn sat up beside her. "Baby?" he'd said. "What's wrong?"

Camila glanced up at him, her tear-filled eyes red and sad, but her mouth lifted in a smile. "Do you believe in fate?"

Shawn furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"Fate. Do you believe in it? Like, destiny and 'meant to be' and all that stuff."

"I didn't use to. Why? Do you?"

Camila shrugged and lowered her gaze back to the square in her hands. "I don't really think I did before. Like, I didn't dismiss it completely, but I never really thought about it, you know? But now . . . now I wonder if maybe it is true. If we are fated for certain things or . . . or people."

"What's this about?"

Camila handed the square over to Shawn. He plucked it from her fingers and realized instantly from the feel of it that it was a photograph. His eyes stayed trained on hers the whole time, a bit of confusion over the look on her face creeping into his mind.

"Look," was all she said.

After a moment, he allowed his eyes to lower, taking in the scene immortalized on film in front of him. He saw the dark-haired woman and the little boy, but his brain zeroed in on the scenery behind them. "It's the garden," he said.

"Mmhmm," Camila said.

Shawn frowned and looked up at her once more. There was a glint in her eyes and a knowing smile on her lips.

"I don't understand . . ."

Camila scooted closer to him, her leg brushing the length of his, and she reached in, carefully taking the photo from his fingers. "It is the garden," she said, and then pointed at the woman. "This is my mom. And this," she lowered her finger to the rounded protrusion in the woman's— Camila's mother's—shirt, "is me."

Shawn nodded like he understood, but he didn't have a damn clue as to what she was getting at. "Okay . . ."