Page 20 of Brazen Criminals

Call Emma for girl-talk

Crash for the night

Yup. I’ve got a busy night ahead of me. Who knows how long all that crying is going to take?

I’m finishing the last of my crust when bumps and thuds echo from the back hallway. I hurry back to my room to help, kicking myself for not getting back there fast enough to hold the door. Walker’s already in my room, leaning my mattress roll against the wall, looking at the handful of bags and the box I dropped off earlier. “Do you want to wait until you get your bedframe in here before we open this up?” he asks.

I kick my stuff off to the side. “We can just open it here.”

“It’s heavy. Are you sure?”

“Yup. I don’t have a bedframe. The floor will be fine.”

Walker’s brows furrow. “You don’t have one right now, or you don’t plan on having one?”

I topple the mattress over, Walker catching it before it slams onto the floor. “Probably no frame unless I can find something cute at the thrift store,” I say.

Walker stares, something between pity and curiosity warring in his gaze. “Okay then. I’ll go grab some scissors.”

I drag the mattress over as Walker leaves, but once it’s situated, there’s nothing left to do. Tapping my leg while I wait, all I can think is that at least my stupid nervous habit keeps me from wallowing, so it’s got that going for it.

After what feels like forever, Walker returns, brandishing an orange-handled pair of scissors. As he gives them to me, he runs a hand through his thick black hair. A surprisingly impressive bicep stretches the sleeve of his T-shirt. Huh—a muscly, neat-freak artist—way to break the mold, dude.

I squat next to the mattress as I slide the scissors along the seam in the wrapping. When I’m three quarters of the way down, the mattress springs out of the plastic, unspooling and slamming into my shins. I tip forward toward the newly free mattress, but my toe catches on the edge, changing my momentum. Instead of falling onto a cushy mattress, I lurch backward, my hand slipping on the plastic when I try to catch myself. I bounce once on my ass before sprawling across the floor. “Well shit,” I mutter.

A huff, then a full-bodied laugh bursts from Walker. I spin on my ass, slipping on the wrapping as I try to get back up, and I end up glaring at him upside down. “It’s not that funny,” I grumble.

“I’m adding that to my list of highs for today.”

I flip him off before I think about it. Immediately, my heart pounds, my breath tight as I wait for a lecture about childish behavior.

Instead, Walker chuckles as he saunters to the door. “I’ll grab the rest of your stuff from my truck,” he says.

I lie there, taking deep breaths, waiting for my pounding heart to slow.

Now that’s something about Bryce that I definitely won’t miss—needing to maintain constant vigilance over my conduct. I take a few more breaths and a new mantra settles in my head, repeating over and over. A new truth: I’m free to be me.

A smile creeps across my face, a lightness filling my chest. By the time Walker returns with my curtains and curtain rods, I feel like I could fly.

If I only had wings.

He looks at me upside down, his dark eyes sparkling. “I think that’s it for my truck. Need help with the stuff in Jansen’s car? Or are you just going to lie there all night?”

I raise a brow at him. “It’s nice down here. But I’ve got it. Thanks, Walker.”

He empties his arms except for one of the curtain rods, reaching across the bed to poke my nose. I wave it away, a giggle escaping.

“Well, let me know if anything changes. I’ll be in my room the rest of the night.” He drops the last rod, tucking his hands in his pockets as he leaves.

Lying there on my new mattress, hope flutters inside me. Once it roosts next to my heart, I roll over, hauling myself upright to survey my nearly empty room. This wasn’t the day I’d planned for. But maybe this fucked up awful day will be the start of something great. Because here, now, I’m free to be me. I’m free.

Chapter 12

Clara

AfterIgetmystuff from Jansen’s car, I crank up some music, dancing around as I jerry rig a temporary storage situation for all my clothes using my leftover boxes. Then I drape my hanging clothes over the top of the boxes and line up my shoes against the wall.

Making the bed with my floral sheets feels like ownership—my big bed. Mine.

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