Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Another sharp jab like a knife cut through my abdomen, and I rolled to my side, my other arm aching from being held in the cuff.
A thud sounded, and I couldn’t tell if it was my blood sluggishly attempting to pump through my veins or my imagination. Whatever it was, I ignored it. Why bother when I was going to die here.
But then a louder crash came, impossible to put down to not being real. Especially when it was quickly followed by shouts.
“FBI,” a deep voice bellowed.
It reached up the stairs and pumped one last push of adrenaline through my body, and I struggled to sit up. I pushed to my elbows and shouted, barely managing a squeak. Trying to swallow was fruitless, my mouth like sandpaper, but I tried again.
This time I made a sound, and I did it again and again and again until I heard the same noise that started all this—thuds of steps coming up the stairs one creak at a time.
It wasn’t until a man in a jacket marking him as FBI came in with his gun drawn that the wall came down, uncovering the hope I’d blocked off. My body shook with sobs even though tears didn’t come.
Everything moved in a blur. They got my wrist free while barraging me with question after question. Other footsteps moved around the house, but I kept my eyes on the stairs just beyond the door. Freedom. I needed to get out of this house.
They had to carry me, but I would have crawled to see the sky. I’d never been so grateful to be outside—to feel the cool night breeze on my skin. I was loaded in the back of an ambulance and faded in and out, catching snippets of them telling me I was okay, that I would be okay.
But I was pretty sure that even now that I was free of the house, I was never going to be okay again.
And despite being free of my cage, the pendulums continued to swing.
I couldn’t wait to rage at Parker for not putting me first.
I couldn’t wait to see him, to find safety in his arms.
I couldn’t wait to slap him for not waiting like he promised.
I couldn’t wait for him to hold me.
I couldn’t wait to scream at him for leaving me.
I couldn’t wait to tell him I loved him.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
I wasn’t sure which side I’d settle on. All I knew was that no matter if I had anger or hope, I needed him there.
I needed him to not leave me again.
Twenty-Nine
Nova
It’s amazing what the mind can convince itself we’re capable of.
Sure, I could bungee jump off that bridge. I put myself up at the top, imagine myself looking down, and taking a deep breath past my fear. All I’d have to do was take one tiny step forward, and I’d be in it, exhilarated and brave.
But then you’re up there, and we didn’t prepare for how strong our body could react. We didn’t prepare for our nervous system to throw us into fight or flight mode so fast our legs almost give out. We didn’t prepare for our body’s reaction to reach out at the very last second and latch on to the safety we know, no matter how much we told ourselves we’d be fine, that the platform was boring, and we’d regret not taking the jump.
None of it mattered when your heart pumped so hard you were sure you’d pass out. Right then, nothing else mattered but feeling safe, solid, known ground under our feet.
When I strolled out of the bedroom the next morning after my night with Parker, a smile on my face, ready to refuel after all the work we put in, I was still on the platform. I was still hopeful, already strapped into my harness, still brave and ready to jump into the future with Parker.
But then I saw Aspen pacing behind the table, looking less put together than I’d ever seen, in yoga pants and band shirt, her hair in a messy bun. It was like staring at the edge of the platform that led to the abyss—the first tingle of something not quite going as planned.
I tried to backtrack, not wanting her to catch me strolling out of Parker’s room in just a robe. But before I could get far, she tossed her phone on the table, and her eyes snapped to mine.
Her expression was hard to place. Disappointment, frustration, pity? Not a single one had me wanting to figure out what was going on. The guys sat around the table, all pushing food around their plates, looking like someone kicked their puppy. Ash’s eyes popped up to mine, and despite the dread creeping its fingers around my neck, heat from last night clashed with it, bleeding into my cheeks.