Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 858

Clara didn't even glance at Michael; all she could see was Dylan.

“Dylan, let's go home,” she said softly.

But he stayed where he was, unmoving. After a long, tense pause, he finally pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. "I have something important I need to take care of," he murmured.

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "What could possibly be more important than me? Didn't I tell you to stop running yourself into the ground? Whatever your dad did, just leave it alone for now. Take a month off, please."

He didn't answer. He just pressed his face into her neck, his whole body radiating exhaustion and hurt.

She could feel how shaken he was.

"Dylan-"

"Clara, I'm not lying to you. You and he... you're both important to me. I have to do this. I need to find my father."

He let her go, taking a few steps away before turning back. "You want your memories back, right? Maybe if you visit your father's old house again, something will come back to you. Clara, I'll come back as soon as I find him."

She didn't argue. She could see how desperate he was, how hard he was trying to hold himself together.

He almost never got like this, and she wasn't about to leave him alone in that headspace.

"Okay. I'll wait for you. I'll go check out that place in the meantime. You have things you need to do. Just promise me-text me every day so I know you're okay, and I'll do the same. Let's not make each other wait in silence, deal?"

"Deal..."

out before he

of the Ferguson family. After all these years of Dylan protecting them, not a single one had ever stood up for him. Ungrateful

done, but if it had pushed Dylan this far, the blame

her car, and drove straight

for clues not long ago, but came up empty. Still,

the cottage. The place was quiet, almost

backyard. Ryan had mentioned the doctor was buried here, and sure enough, there was a small mound

beside it, brushing aside the blades of green that had sprung up with the spring. The last time she'd been here, snow had

little inscription the grave,

duffache started

memory flickered just out

cottage itself was old and plain, nothing stood

climbed in through a window, searching the rooms, tapping on walls and floorboards, checking every

had already ransacked the place-probably those people so obsessed with her

searched for over an hour, but came

the sun was sinking low that she wandered upstairs and noticed a patch of peeling paint on the wall. There, she

to where

her

pressing her fingers to her brow as flashes of the past started to click

remembered visiting the old doctor-how gentle he always was, bringing him herbs, weeding around the little grave, even