Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I can’t stop babbling. Someone make it stop!
“Lena.”
“I’ll see you later.” I shoot him the fakest smile I’ve ever given anyone, even when my mother was running for president, and then turn away so he can’t see my face.
Why do I feel like I’m breaking?
This is stupid.
This is so stupid.
I’ve had so many horrible things said to me in the seven years that my mother has held office that I let it roll off like water on a duck. It never affects me. Death threats, men describing in detail what they want to do to my body—you name it, I’ve heard it. Hell, Gideon has heard it because he was there with me.
So why now? Is it because I felt safe with Gideon, and I wasn’t expecting it? I should never assume that just because I can relax a little I can let my guard down with anyone.
I learned that a decade ago.
Dragging the feathers up the handrail, I decide to clean my bedroom, where I can close the door and just be for a while.
Because I’ll lose it if I have to be in a room with Gideon for even one more minute. And I’ll want him to hug me, and I know that he won’t do that.
I don’t remember the last time anyone did. I never see my parents. Chelsea isn’t a hugger. And I don’t trust people.
Once in my room, I close the door and take a shaky breath, and then let the tears come.
You’re the little girl who hurt my guy.
Fuck.
Why did he bring me here? Why couldn’t he have taken me literally anywhere else to hide? I know there are safe houses, and places that are off the grid that don’t involve his family. I don’t want to be here.
I’ll demand to speak with my mom or Bishop and ask to be reassigned. I just have to get through the next year of Mom’s last term, and then I can disappear. I’ll have no obligations, and I can do whatever I want.
No security detail.
No reporters.
No more threats, since I won’t be connected to anyone with any power anymore.
God, that sounds so nice.
I let the duster fall to the floor and walk to the bed, but I don’t sit on the side of it. I sit on the carpet with my back against the mattress, facing the wall, hidden from the doorway.
And I bury my face in my hands and cry.
I must have fallen asleep. Someone is knocking on the door, and when I blink my eyes open, it’s dark. Did I sleep all damn day?
“Lena, are you in there?”
Gideon.
I didn’t dream, which shocks the hell out of me because all I’ve done since this morning is think about that night. It would usually be a living entity in my body, terrorizing me relentlessly.
But I slept hard, and dreamlessly.
“Lena?”
“Sorry,” I call out, and the door opens.
“Where are you?”
The light from the hallway shines in, and Gideon walks around the room, then sees me on the far side of the bed.
His face hardens.
“Why are you hiding?”
Because it’s instinct.
“I’m not. I fell asleep down here.”
“On the floor.”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“Why?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because I had a minor meltdown and sat closest to the wall for a few minutes and accidentally fell asleep. Okay? Is that what you want to hear, Gideon?”
“Lena—”
“It’s not a big deal. But I’m super hungry, and I have no idea what time it is.”
“It’s after nine.” His face is grim. “I just got back.”
“From where?”
“First, I stopped to have another heart-to-heart with Willow.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Then, I went to town so I could get some groceries and some takeout. I also got you this.”
He passes me an iPad. I blink at it and then up at him.
“It’s connected to my secure Wi-Fi, but any messaging capabilities have been disabled. No texts and no email. I mean it, Lena, I’m trusting you. However, you can listen to music, or watch movies, or surf the internet all you want.”
I can listen to music.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I grabbed tacos and chips and guac—”
“Say no more. I’m totally down for this adventure. Tacos are my love language.” I stand and grin at him, but he’s not smiling back, and I feel my face fall. “Something’s wrong.”
But he shakes his head, denying it.
“Nothing’s wrong. Let’s go eat.”
“Gideon, are you and Willow okay?”
He blows out a breath, clenches his jaw, and then meets my gaze with his. “No. We’re not okay. But we will be. Come on, I’m hungry too.”
“I don’t want—”
“Let’s go, Rebel. I’m fucking hungry.”
He didn’t just get tacos and chips.
The man bought out the restaurant.
“There’s enough here to feed eight people.”
He shrugs and pops the staples on the top of a brown paper bag, revealing the freshly fried corn chips, then opens a tub of guac, another tub of queso, and yet another of salsa.