his life protecting others at the detriment of his own self-worth. It’s time he knew how worthy he was. It’s time someone laid down their life for him.
For once in his life, Rocco Shay will be protected, I’m gonna make sure of it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Camryn
Jonathan was all too eager to agree to my terms. So eager, I managed to convince him to throw in the five hundred grand for the kids as he originally promised.
The bus rattles beneath me, the suffocating smell of old tobacco soaked into the seats. I chose to stand, my legs restless enough to move me from handrail to handrail, up and down the vehicle in disquiet.
A bus was the best mode of transport I could think of. The only one that wouldn’t sketch Rocco a handwritten map to where I’d be. It also gave Jonathan time to place Jesse somewhere free from harm, as per our agreement.
Blake texted me a minute or so ago telling me he was home. That he was safe.
My solo request of Blake was that she didn’t call Rocco. That she didn’t call him the moment I left and divulge everything.
I don’t trust her to adhere to my demand. Not for a single second.
She’s a young girl caught between the gratitude she feels for me sacrificing my own life to save her brother’s and the callous threat she would’ve found a way to make me do it had I not taken matters into my own hands. Not that I blame her. If Codi was ever in dire straits, I’d throw almost anyone under the metaphorical bus, including myself, to save her.
I feel oddly at peace.
For years I feared Jonathan Waith. A monster of the worst kind. He’d wake me in my sleep, haunt me through my days. The smell of his breath, the feel of his fingertips; they were memories I couldn’t erase.
Until Rocco.
Until the man I thought I hated became my road to peace, to freedom.
Maybe I have to accept the fact that every experience in life is a teachable moment. You either learn from it, or you fail, ready to learn in another time and place.
Maybe Rocco was never my happily ever after.
Maybe he was a life lesson, or five.
He taught me strength. Building me up into someone I was proud to be. I no longer feared my dreams. They fucking feared me.
Come at me, motherfucker, I’d scream, and watch me destroy you.
He taught me self love. I no longer saw my broken parts as flaws. They were my beauty. The facets of me that made me the woman I am. The woman I wanted to be.
He taught me I was loveable. He sought my company over everyone else. He laughed at my jokes and listened to my fears. He smiled when I shared my dreams and encouraged them in the only way he could.
He taught me how to live. He showed me that even hurting, I didn’t have to hide away in my own self-inflicted bubble of self-destruction. Even hurt and angry, I could find happiness. In fact, putting myself out there was the exact thing I needed to pull me out of my pain.
He taught me I still had love within. I had it coursing through my veins like blood. For him. For the monster I was certain I despised. For the broken spirit not so different from myself.
Maybe my end goal was to learn these lessons before I died. To finally let me Rest in Peace.
He’s so fucking cliché.
An abandoned warehouse, really? Corroded metal and smashed windows.
They say life flashes through your eyes before you die. Your whole life played out before you in a blaze of light. Your achievements, your failures… your memories played out in a click of a finger.
I disagree.
Mine hasn’t flashed. It’s sailed over the span of the last hour.
Memories I’ve cherished, warming my heart in a way that has eaten away at the fear that was threatening to creep in.
The love I’ve felt, brandished on my heart, ensuring I know I was loved completely.
Regrets I refuse to feed.
Should I have said goodbye?
Should I have asked my dad for help?
The answer is no. Easily. I have zero doubt.
The more people involved, the greater the possibility of failure. An outcome that can’t be entertained. Too many lives are at stake.
Straightening my spine, I roll my shoulders backward, stepping toward the entrance.
My feet rest on tarnished concrete, the smell of dereliction twisting my lips in distaste. The scrape of a chair echoes as he stands,