Page 88 of Séance

It would destroy me.

With that in mind, I don’t look at Hicks when he opens the door to the police station, focusing on my need to escape. Despite my bruised ribs, I can’t resist taking a deep breath of fresh air. After being locked away for most of my life, I never would have imagined that air would taste different.

Air is air, right?

Wrong.

I’m startled when a vehicle pulls up in front of me and the driver calls my name. When Hicks says my name next, a touch of confusion in his voice, I stiffen my spine and force myself to get into the car.

No, it’s better this way.

A clean break.

My chest aches when Hicks slams his palm against the window, a demand not to ignore him. When he starts swearing, tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to look at him or my resolve might waver.

It needs to be this way.

I’m not aware of time passing until the car door opens. I blink, shocked when I look out the window and see we arrivedhome. Climbing out of the vehicle is slow and painful, my body having stiffened while trapped in the car.

It’s only when I reach the top of the stairs that I realize I am no longer alone.

I lift my head slowly, like an animal sensing danger, then turn to see Gunner and the twins waiting on the front porch. Even that slight movement sends a twinge through my neck and down my spine.

Jameson is seated on the ground, slumped against the house. One leg is up, bent at the knee, his arm resting on it, and his chin is nearly on his chest, like it’s too heavy to lift. Jaceson is seated next to his brother, his arm around his shoulder, their heads pressed together.

Jaceson scans my face, his eyes not missing one bruise or scrape, and my shoulders slump as I wait for their rejection.

Apparently, people frown on attacking a woman with children.

Go figure.

As much as I might want to explain myself, who would believe me?

Instead of rejecting me, though, his stiff posture relaxes, almost like he was worried about me.

My stupid stomach does a little swirl and dance, and I do my best to shove it down. I probably caught septic after drinking so much lake water.

Most people think hope keeps a person moving forward, but hope is a slow poison that can crush a person under its weight when it inevitably fails.

Gunner rises from his chair, walking toward me, and I straighten my spine. When he reaches for me, I instinctively flinch. Hurt flashes across his face. Even knowing that was the worst thing I could do to him, I couldn’t help it.

Sometimes, a person has to look out for themselves first.

I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, and I’m at the point where I fear I might shatter under one more blow. “What are you doing here?”

My voice is low and harsh, talking painful after swallowing so much lake water. Instead of retreating, Gunner takes a step closer, then gently tugs me against his chest. My resolve wavers for a moment, the warmth of his hug overwhelming my survival instincts, and I rest my head against his broad chest.

So this is what a hug is supposed to feel like.

It’s as dangerous as it is intoxicating.

I should pull away, but my strength seems to be gone.

When he speaks, his voice is a rumble under my ear. “We wanted to make sure you were okay.”

My throat tightens until it feels like razor blades fill my throat, and I barely bite back a sob. Instead, I just shrug, then wince when it pulls at my tender ribs. “I’m fine.”

It’s all I can squeeze out without breaking down completely.

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