Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,202

They know I love you, and I’m scared now! If I tell you, Gwen—” He shakes his head. “There was no way. There was no way not to. If I never told you, you would never know…these things…that you deserve to know.” His eyes squeeze shut. “It’s my fault. I should just leave, but I’m too selfish. I don’t know. I should be dead…”

“I died,” a strange voice says.

“I’m sorry, Gwenna. I have to protect you. I couldn’t leave and tell you nothing! You’ll have to protect yourself, hide out while I—”

I tackle him. I guess I get my hand around the gun. I must, because it sails into the darkness. I go at his face, his throat, his shoulders: hitting, punching, clawing. I rip him to shreds because he’s everything I love. He’s everything I want.

He wrecked it…

BARRETT

January 1, 2016

I don’t care when I hear them come up on me. I can tell by the way their footfall sounds, even in snow: there must be eight at least. I see them moving in the trees around me. I hope they come fast. The snow’s so deep, and I’m so tired… I left Gwen when she passed out. I called her friend. Hours ago—or days?

And suddenly there’s Dove, and Blue, and more.

I look at their faces only.

I don’t want to see the guns.

I shut my eyes and summon Gwenna’s face. She’ll never understand. I love her. It was all an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt her…I didn’t mean to love her.

“Couldn’t help it.”

My eyes shut, on their own.

“Bear?” Dove’s voice; maybe Blue’s hands on my shoulders.

I blink up at him and then…the sting.

TWENTY FIVE

GWENNA

January 4, 2016

In darkness, light looks brighter. We keep passing all these little towns in—where? Where are we? Kansas? Oklahoma? Somewhere prairie-ish. It’ll be pitch black except our headlights. I’ll be half asleep, my mind wiped blank for half a second. Then that light. It looks like the beam of a spaceship from behind my eyelids. I’ll open them up and it’s like, two farmhouses and a barn. Blinding in the darkness. There’ll be this lone horse hanging by the fence line, mane all blowing in the wind, maybe a piece of tumbleweed darting across the road, and it’s just so depressing. So depressing.

It’s my fault, though. This is what I told Jamie I wanted. Get back home to my bears. See Papa. I can tell she doesn’t think I’m strong enough. She keeps mentioning my mom’s, or Rett’s house. How they want to see me. Yeah.

“Are you awake?” she murmurs.

“Of course.” I sigh, then make a mental note to stop the sighing. Nothing says I’m a bottomless pit of black angst like a noisy sigh.

“You should really take an Ativan.”

And be transported back to January 2012 in yet another way?

“No thanks.”

“Stubborn.”

“Pushy,” I snip.

“You’re allowed to be stubborn,” she says with her own sigh. “Right now, I’d say you’re allowed to be whatever you want.”

I don’t have a reply for that. I don’t have a reply for most things, so I just look at my cuticles, then at the road, lit up some ways ahead by the rear lights of what I think are several eighteen-wheelers in a row.

The truth is, I wish I could take Ativan. Or Xanax. I wish I could take anything, but these last couple of days, I’ve been haunted by those first few months after the accident. I don’t even want to see an Ativan, much less swallow one and enter zombie mode. I might not have much right now, but I have my own thoughts and feelings—awful though they are.

I take a sip of my McDonald’s latte, lift my gaze up to the car clock. It’s 12:39 a.m. Soon, I think Jamie will want to stop.

It doesn’t matter where we stop, or when, really. Even without the Ativan, I’ll go to sleep at some point. I’ll wake up. We’ll have to find breakfast, gas the car back up, and get back on the road.

And in another day or two, we’ll be back to Gatlinburg. Home. And I will see my bears. I’ll keep on sleeping, eating, showering, because what else is there to do? Dig a pit and fall inside and die? I’ve thought of it—believe me. But giving up is pointless. Not to mention, difficult. I’m not wired that way. I never really have been. Even in 2012. I never really gave up. I got sad, but I didn’t quit holding on.

That’s the worst thing about life, I think.