Page 81 of Flame
Chapter Twenty
If I were to write my essay for the Fenwick program now, I know exactly what I’d center it around.Fear, the most insurmountable of inner demons. For so long, I’ve let it choke me. I’ve run from the truth and caused untold damage every step of the way.
To Lexi’s memory.
To her mother.
Even to my parents, who have no choice but to face the truth now. My dad hasn’t spoken to me in over a week. When and if he will again? I have no idea. In a sense, I can’t even blame him.
Living in fear is comparable to hiding beneath a security blanket, pretending all the while that if you never remove it and look beyond, the reality can’t touch you. Until that blanket is ripped away, and you’re forced to face everything all at once.
“I don’t pay you to stare into space,” comes a mocking taunt that snaps me from my thoughts.
I look up to find Rafe watching me from over the counter, his head cocked, eyes a stormy dark hue. “You’re slacking.”
I startle to awareness, glancing down at the same section of the floor I’ve been sweeping for the past five minutes. He’s right—if “slacking” is synonymous with“contemplating the current state of my life.”
Compared to just a few weeks ago, the difference is night and day.
My brother is in prison.
My family is in shambles—between Kaitlin having to reconcile the truth of her marriage, and my parents coming to terms with present events and the past…
And amongst it all, I may have to testify in an upcoming trial, not to mention that I am still technically homeless.
In so many ways, I should be in a much worse state than I actually am—wearing a borrowed, oversized graphic tee and shorts, broom in hand. But for the first time, I don’t feel that weight on my shoulders. That fear constantly lurking at the back of my mind has vanished.
I’m not under Branden’s thumb any longer—and while my relationship with him is forever altered, at least I still have a handful of others to fall back on.
The man standing across from me, for one. And Mara. Once the news of the arrests hit the media, she was the first person to call me, even before my parents.
“Look alive, bunny,” Rafe goads. Setting a stack of documents aside, he circles around to meet me. His hands find my waist, drawing me closer despite the broom held between us. “With my uncle in the slammer, I’ve got no choice but to be a stand-up citizen now.”
“A stand-up citizen on conditional probation,” I point out softly. It’s the best terms, according to Liam—in exchange for him testifying against his uncle, he’ll be looking at a lesser charge for any participation in criminal activity.
Which is a far brighter outlook than his uncle is facing. Branden, too, for that matter. Parallel to the investigation into his actions with Shen, the police back in PA have reopened Lexi Winacott’s murder case. If everything proceeds toward its likely conclusion, then that’s yet another trial I’ll have to participate in.
But finally, I’ll have the chance to give Lexi’s mother some ounce of closure.
“So, a semi-criminal,” Rafe corrects, his lip quirked. “Some people would find that a turn-on.”
“A semi-criminal and a college dropout,” I say with a wistful sigh. “What a pair.”
He frowns. “You never mentioned anything about dropping out.”
I lift one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, but I can’t meet his gaze directly. “The deadline for the Fenwick program passed. I’d rather not waste money on a useless semester.”
Still frowning, he pulls away, returning behind the counter. “Funny you say that,” he murmurs, lifting a stack of what looks like old mail from a drawer. From it, he withdraws a single envelope. “This came for you the other day.”
Wary, I take the slim envelope, and I nearly fall over when I spy the name of my college admissions office—and judging from the fact that my old address is printed beneath my name, someone went through the hassle of collecting it for me. Whipping my gaze to Rafe, I feel my eyes widen. “You didn’t.”
I can’t even say it out loud—turn in my essay to meet the deadline. And I have no doubt which piece of mine he chose. The one I wrote while watching him draw, feeding off his creativity.
“How did you even—”
He silences me with a kiss that takes my breath away. “You’re technically still in college,” he says.
Overwhelmed, I can’t even challenge that assertion. “And what about you?”
