Page 43 of Wicked Sin

“What?” Her eyes go wide.

Jesus, has this woman never been hugged before? I hold my arms open. “It’s called a hug, Taylor. It’s a common way for one human being to comfort another. They feel good.”

“I—” She stutters to a stop. “Oh.”

“If you don’t want one, that’s—”

“Sorry,” she mutters softly. “I’m a bit of a mess.”

I drop my arms. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. Nevermind me. Can I get you a glass of water for those pills? If you decide to take them.”

“Sure.”

I jog back downstairs and run the tap, hoping the sound of the water will drown out my groan of stupidity.

A hug? What the fuck was I thinking?

I’m not.

I need to realize I’m tired, too.

After filling a glass for her, I double-check the locks, the security system, and the camera feeds that go to my phone.

We’re all locked up tight for the night.

And when I get upstairs, Taylor is stretched out on top of her blanket, fast asleep.

I set the glass on the bedside table, turn out her light, and leave the door ajar before going to my own room.

16

Taylor

I don’t have a nightmare.I do have a panicky freakout for a second when I wake up, and I don’t know where I am—and when I do remember. It’s all very awful for a gross second before relief slides in. Limited, cautious relief.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

I don’t know who to trust. But I passed out in Luke’s house and he didn’t hurt me, so that’s something.

First order of business is having a shower. I feel disgusting.

I tiptoe out onto the landing. Downstairs, I hear Luke moving around in the kitchen. His house is small; he can probably hear me, too.

“Morning,” I call down.

He appears at the bottom of the stairs. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Bare feet. And a concerned expression. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”

No idea. So I don’t answer. “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure. There are fresh towels in there.”

I go back to the room I slept in and unzip my suitcase. Toiletries, new clothes. Maybe I can burn the ones I’ve worn for the last thirty-six hours.

Gross.

I stomp into the bathroom. So much for sleep being all that I needed to feel steady on my feet again. I’m angry, I realize. And then, with a start, other feelings pile in hard.

Grief has so many layers.

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