Page 145 of Murder

I lift it off the toothbrush handle, set it in my palm, and hold it up near my face. My eyes are still blurry, but it looks like… I chuckle, despite my raw throat. That’s a fucking mood ring: just like hers, but a thick band.

I grin down at it. All the tightness in my chest: the cold, tight, empty feeling— That shit dissolves as I look at the ring in my palm. I set it down and wash my hands and try it on before I brush my teeth.

It’s too tight on my middle finger, but it fits the one beside my pinky, on my right hand. I watch amused as it turns from brownish green, before I brush my teeth, to sea green when I’m finished. I take it off so I can clean the sink up, put away the cloth I stuffed into my mouth, and use a spare hand towel to soap off my neck and chest. I don’t think they’re really dirty, but I want to be sure before I get back into bed with her.

I put the ring back on and smirk at myself in the mirror. Pretty princess. Breck used to call me that when I called him our special snowflake. Breck would like her, I think, as I run a hand back through my hair. He was so outgoing. He always liked the quiet, sweet ones. Gwen’s not quiet—she’s more talkative, which is a good foil to me—but she’s sweet as hell.

I give the ring one more glance—dark blue now—before I turn out the bathroom light and step quietly into her room. It smells so fucking good in here. Like fruit and sex and…vanilla. I look up at the ceiling, at the twinkle lights, then I let my gaze find Gwen. Her narrow shoulders, her small body curled into a little “c.” She isn’t skinny, but compared to me, she’s tiny. So small and soft—and warm.

I climb into bed. She’s facing me, so I position myself around her, arranging things so her pretty face is tucked against my throat. I wrap an arm around her back and bring my knees up below hers. It takes all my self control to resist kissing her, but based on her breathing, I don’t think she seems soundly asleep, and I don’t want to wake her up.

It feels so good to be here with her, but I don’t want her knowing how fucked up my head is. It would be best if she could think it’s better when I’m near her. One, because it really is. But also because I don’t want to be trouble to her. She said she could tell me what to do for the nightmares, but that’s not what I want. She doesn’t deserve to have to deal with that. It’s mine. I deserve it.

I inhale right by her hair, trying to find a label for the sweet, unique scent.

I wonder how I’ll ever be away from her again.

Maybe I really don’t have to be. Now that I know her and care for her, I feel more sure than ever that I can keep my secret. I can take it to my grave.

I’m so damn glad I didn’t tell Kellan or Cleo. No one knows but Dove and Blue. I can handle Dove and Blue.

I shut my eyes and with her silky hair against my face, I think about my mom. I have the weirdest, hot feeling right under my throat. My chest feels like it loosens up, so I can breathe. I take a deep, slow breath, and it feels good.

Gwen’s lips tickle my throat.

“Hey…” Her voice is raspy.

I kiss her temple. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“You like it?” She smiles sleepily.

“Blue—for happy.” I kiss her nose. “Yes. I like it.”

I end up inside her, breathing hard in time with her soft breaths… Groaning as my pleasure takes me over. We fall asleep entangled in each other.

Knocking wakes us.

GWENNA

The mattress bounces as Barrett gets down off the bed. I hear the swish of fabric over flesh as he pulls pants on.

“Stay there.”

Before I can clear the sleep from my eyes, he’s disappeared. A minute later, I hear the echo of his laughter.

“What the fuck?” He sounds happy as he chuckles; very male, as if he’s greeting a guy friend. At my house?

“Come on in— well, wait a second. Gwen’s— How are you here?”

I can’t hear the answer, but my stomach does a slow flip. Does he have Delta Force friends? My pulse pounds in my head as I hop out of bed and race into my closet, throwing on the first things I touch: Lularoe leggings in magenta and black, and an oversized heather gray sweatshirt with a hood and a big hand pocket on the front. Thank Jesus for the tiny mirror on the back of my closet door. Looking into it, I smooth my hair and do the universe’s quickest braid, then bind the end with a small rubber band I find around the door knob.

“Piglet?”

I suck in a deep breath and poke my head out of the closet. “Yeah?”

Barrett’s face is radiant: his eyes alive, his smile bright. He’s shirtless, too. He steps into my closet and throws a big, bare arm around my shoulders. “Kellan’s here. And Cleo.”

“What?”

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