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)
The tears calm a bit as we get closer to the house, but Ryker keeps checking us in the rearview mirror, his brows pulled together in concern.
“What can we do?” he asks when he parks by the house.
“I have her,” I reply as I open my door. “Thanks for the help, brother.”
“I’ll have Willow make extra for dinner. Come over later.”
I nod, and then pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
After stepping out of the truck, I lean in and take Lena’s hand, helping her out of the truck, and then lead her inside. I don’t like how pale she still is, or how flat her gorgeous lavender eyes are. She’s always full of life, full of fire.
“What do you need, baby?” I ask her.
“Can we just snuggle on the couch?”
With a small grin, I lead her through to the sofa and take a seat, and she curls up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder and linking her fingers with mine.
“I need you to talk to me.” I take a deep breath and kiss her head. “Really talk to me. I know that we were both there that night, but I think there are some holes for both of us that need to be filled in.”
Her deep breath is shaky, but she sits up and faces me, sitting crisscross, her legs pressed up against my thigh. She won’t let go of my hand. It’s like if she stops touching me, I’ll disappear.
Again.
“I should have listened to you and Richie when you said that it wasn’t safe for us to go to the museum at the last minute. I was being selfish, and you know how I hated having a security detail in the first place.”
“First of all, you were not being selfish, Lena,” I reply, frowning over at her. “I know you didn’t like the security, and you tried to rebel against it, but you never said why.”
She rubs her lips together, thinking about it.
“I was seventeen when Mom was elected. I’d always struggled to fit in because teenagerhood is horrible, and suddenly having big, mean-looking guys following me around in high school made me so different. I’ve never been the person with a ton of friends. And that’s okay with me, because I’m pretty introverted, but no teenager likes to feel different.”
Been there, done that. “I can understand that. I was a foster kid with a murderer for a father. I know what it’s like to be different.”
She rubs her hand down my cheek, and I press a kiss to her palm. “I wasn’t really the rebellious one, you know. That was Chelsea. She was my friend, and she knew that the constant security drove me bananas, so she encouraged me to try to escape. We made it a game.”
“She’s a shit influence. She’s also a shit friend, Lena. I wish you could see that.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “She’s a selfish person, sure. And she has a lot of faults. But since we were five, she’s been a constant in my life when my own parents weren’t. Nannies came and went. Security came and went. But Chelsea was always there. So yeah, she has her faults, but she’s my friend.”
Sighing, I lean over to kiss her cheek and brush my nose over her skin. “Okay, baby. Keep going.”
“I always felt guilty when we pulled off sneaking out. So guilty.” She shakes her head and bites her lip, looking lost and sad. “But that night, I didn’t want to sneak away as if I was doing something wrong. I was an adult, and I wanted to go to see the art of an artist that I’d admired for a long time. It didn’t feel dangerous to me, Gideon.”
“It shouldn’t have been dangerous,” I agree, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles.
“It felt like such a normal thing to do. Chelsea had no interest in going, but that was fine with me. I don’t have an issue doing things alone. Sometimes it’s better, actually. I was enjoying myself. And then all hell broke loose.”
She swallows hard, frowning.
“At first, all I could think was that some maniac had followed us there, and that I’d fucked up so bad.”
I shake my head but let her speak.
“And then it all happened so fast. But all that blood, and the cries and screams. Those shooters had dead eyes.”
Yeah. They did.
“They didn’t care that they were killing innocent people. They didn’t look excited, or angry, or anything. They had no expressions at all. And they weren’t wearing masks to even cover up their identities.”
“It was likely one of two things,” I reply. “Either they didn’t think they’d get caught, or they didn’t expect to leave alive.”
“Did anyone ever find out why they did it?”
I scowl and squeeze her hand and feel frustration bubble in my gut. “You weren’t kidding when you said that no one would speak to you about this.”