Page 27 of Alliance

She uncaps the bottle, tossing the metal to my counter and bringing the amber liquid to her lips. I give her credit, she swallows the whiskey down without even wincing.

“I wasn’t sure…” She trails off, her gaze avoiding me. “I thought maybe…”

“Almost,” I tell her, knowing exactly where her line of thought is going. She wasn’t sure if I was alive or if her family killed me.

Her eyes find me now and she leans against the island in my kitchen. I keep my distance, staying by the door. I don’t want to get too close to her, I can’t get sucked into her orbit again.

Lana could be the fucking sun, and I would just revolve around her like a planet, lost in her trajectory, forever focused on her.

So I can’t get close, because I have other people I need to be here for, and if I lose myself to her, I won’t live long enough to be there for my family.

“Your face.” My fingertips ache to reach out to the cut that marks her forehead, the angry red line staring at me. “Did he do that?”

The bottle comes back to her lips and she takes another gulp before she meets my gaze again. I know instantly, before she says the word, that I’m right. The man is a harsh asshole, clearly not above abuse.

Her eyes scan over the pale cuts that linger on my face, down to my arms where she finds the bruises that peek out of the sleeves of my black t-shirt.

She brings the bottle to her lips, taking another long gulp. “What did they do to you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lana…” I trail. “You don’t want to know.” We’re a sad pair, I think, both standing in my kitchen with a bottle of whiskey trading war stories and admiring each other’s cuts. How fucked up is that?

“I do,” she says, her response is so quick. “I need to know. I need to know what they did to you. It’s my—”

My legs take me to her in two quick steps, before I can even acknowledge what I’m doing. My hands find her shoulder, gripping them tightly and forcing her to look at me. “It’s not your fault,” I tell her sternly. “You didn’t do a damn thing to me. They did. And you can’t sit here and believe that their actions have anything to do with you.”

Those hazel eyes stare into mine. There’s a storm brewing behind them, I can see the twisting emotions, the grief that lingers there. I practically feel it, her storm radiates from her, covering me in her anger and grief.

I take the bottle from her hands, tipping it back and taking a chug of the whiskey. I don’t know how to be near her without losing myself. Sadness hangs from her, everything about her screamsI’m fucking depressed. I can see it in the shadows that rest under her eyes and in the water that pools on her lash line. I can see how the stress has morphed her smile, giving her frown lines. She looks at me like she’s treading water, grasping for anything to keep her above the surface.

But I know if I give her my hand, I’ll go under with her.

Maybe that’s all she wants, just for someone to drown with her.

I take another swig of the liquor, hoping for some kind of strength. But I know all I’ll find in this bottle is weakness. And fuck, if I’m not about to be weak with her.

“What are you doing here, Lana?” I ask, shoving the bottle of Jack back to her.

Her lips twitch, the movement so subtle, but I notice it. I can see how the corners perk up when she looks at me, like she sees something, and it makes her smile. Goddamn it, if I don’t want to see that smile.

Fuck, I think I would burn down this apartment if it made her smile again.

My hand lifts and my thumb finds the corner of her lip, gently skimming across the smooth surface. How is it even possible for her to feel like this? For her skin to be so silky and perfect? I want to run my fingers along every inch of her, committing every detail to memory.

I need her to leave.

I need her out of my apartment before I do something stupid.

“I needed to know,” she tells me. “I needed to see if you were okay.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

There it is. That twitch again. That threat of a smile trying to fight its way to the surface.

“All I do is worry, Naz,” she says. “I worry about everything and everyone. I can’t fucking stop. It’s all I can think about.”

We’re silent for a moment, our eyes staring into one another, our bodies far too close. Everything inside me screams, telling me to run, to get the fuck away from this girl.

“Lana,” I whisper.

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