Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 160732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Oh my God.
“Tia—” I started.
“Now…you,” she demanded.
“No, you aren’t done. Are you safe? Who is he? What happens next?”
She smiled at me. “It’s all good. Damian gave the stuff I had to Rayne. He told me Rayne is,” she lifted her fingers and did air quotation marks, “running with it, whatever that means. We just needed to get to Phoenix, give it to him, pick you up, and then Damian is taking us to Seattle or wherever we want to go.”
“When did you get home?”
“About five hours ago. We got here and Rayne told Damian you were hooked up with the
Aces High Motorcycle Club. He made some calls, found out West Hardy was at a party there, told us you were likely with him, and if we wanted to find you, we had to go to a party. But we got there, and there you were, running down the street. That was pretty surprising. Rayne said you were solid with what he called,” more air quotation marks, “the MC, but I didn’t believe that. My Clara doesn’t run with a motorcycle club.”
Hmm.
She smiled again. “And I was right. You were running away.”
Hmm.
“I was solid with them,” I admitted, and this time, she blinked.
Then she leaned into me. “What?”
“If Damian has Superman ears, my story is for later. A lot later.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“Because it’s private, personal, and when I tell you, I want it to be just between you and me.”
She examined my face and I knew she read it because hers got soft again and she whispered, “Okay, honey.”
That was my Tia.
My Tia.
My Tia could read me.
And she wasn’t dead. She was sitting right next to me.
Not dead.
Not dead.
I moved forward, wrapped my arms around her, gave her a tight hug, and it took a lot, a whole lot, but I managed to do this without sobbing.
“I’ve been so worried,” I said in her ear, my voice sounding clogged.
“I’m sorry,” she said back, her voice clogged too.
I held on and Tia held me back, and we did this for a long time.
Finally, she gave me a squeeze and we let go.
I took in a shaky breath.
Tia spoke.
“So, tomorrow, we’ll get your stuff and we’ll head out.”
I shook my head.
“No stuff. We’ll just go.”
Her brows knitted. “What?”
“Buck has my stuff and I’m leaving it. Fresh start all around. I have a little money in the bank. We’ll just go visit Mrs. Jimenez so she can see you’re okay and we can say good-bye, and then we’ll go.”
“You can’t leave your stuff.”
“I can.”
“You can’t, Clara. They took everything from you, but you held on to what you had left. You have to hold on to what you have. You always hold on to what you have. We both know that.”
We did.
We’d learned that early, packing our little suitcases with our meagre belongings that were prized possessions and taking it from foster home to foster home.
Still, I was letting it go.
“I’ll get a job making coffee and buy tie-dyed shirts and hippie jeans. I’ll be good.”
“Clara—”
“We’re leaving it.”
“Honey—”
I couldn’t do this.
I could not do this.
Not right now.
Buck thought I’d been using him.
When I’d been falling in love with him.
I felt the tears sting my eyes, and I whispered, “Don’t. Please. Don’t.”
She examined my face again.
Then my sweet Tia whispered, “Okay.”
* * *
“This is unnecessary, I can take the couch,” I told Detective Rayne Scott as I stood by his big, very comfy-looking bed in his bedroom while he opened a dresser drawer.
I was freaking out because the arrangement was, I was sleeping in his bed, and I was freaking out more because the arrangement included Damian and Tia sleeping together on the queen bed in his second bedroom.
“I’m good on the couch,” he muttered, pulling something out of the drawer.
“No, really, I can sleep anywhere.”
“Good,” he stated, closing the drawer and turning to me, carrying a T-shirt. “Then I’ll know you won’t be tossing and turning here.”
Oh dear.
“Listen, I—” I started, but he made it to me, and his hand came up and curled around the top of my shoulder.
“Clara, I’m a cop. Cops learn early to read people. On you, sweetheart, I’m readin’ heartbreak. It’s written all over your face. What you need to do is take my tee, put it on, climb into bed and go to sleep. What you do not need to do is expend the little energy you got left discussin’ somethin’ meaningless with me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
He was right.
And Tia was right.
So I also suspected he was a nice guy.
More than nice.
So I said, “Okay.”
He nodded and let me go. “Okay.”
Then he handed me the T-shirt, I took it and he started to the door.
“Rayne,” I called, he stopped and turned back to me. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He stood there and stared at me, his eyes moved to the bed and they came back to me.