The Image of You Read Online Melanie Moreland

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Drama, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors: Melanie Moreland Advertisement

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All the pictures of them I could find online were stiff and posed. I wondered what would happen if either of them truly smiled.

I assumed their faces would crack.

Mrs. Givens said something else to Ally, and her shoulders fell in defeat. I was about done with this bullshit. I knew she didn’t know I was here and striding over there and pulling her away from the cold people she referred to as her parents was going to cause her more grief, but I couldn’t stand the way she was folding in on herself. I wanted to yank her into my arms and kiss her until she smiled the way she did in my loft.

I set down my glass and started to move forward, coming to a halt when a tall blond man appeared in front of Ally. Her relief was obvious when she accepted his embrace with ease and smiled when he spoke to her.

I gripped the back of the chair as I saw the familiar way he cupped her cheek, kissing it.

I could only assume the infamous great-guy-who-is-just-a-friend Dr. Bradley had just shown up.

He shook Ronald’s hand, air-kissed her mother’s cheek, then wrapped his arm around Ally’s waist, holding court in their small circle.

I narrowed my eyes, watching the way he held her possessively, his claim on her obvious to anyone looking.

Just a friend.

My ass.

I glowered through the entire dinner. The people at my table gave up trying to include me in any conversation and left me alone. I could see Ally’s table and watched the interactions the entire time. She was virtually ignored, even by her so-called boyfriend. Rarely was she included in the conversations, and if she was, her answers were short, mostly due to the fact that someone—usually Ronald or another man—would interrupt and talk over her.

I wanted to go over and tell them all to shut the hell up and let her speak. She seemed so small and vulnerable among the stiff bodies surrounding her. More than once, I saw her hand press to her collarbone in what I thought must be a defensive gesture. She hardly ate—her gaze often focused on her plate, and throughout the entire meal, she wore a distant smile.

I clenched my hands, watching her. She was a ghost to all of them. Did they not see what a special, wonderful woman was sitting in their midst? She wasn’t a cookie-cutter, younger version of all other women around her. She was unique and special.

I hated seeing her like that. I had witnessed her confidence at the hospital. When she was with me, she was warm and open. She smiled and laughed easily, and I found her clever. Here, among the people she had known most of her life, she folded into herself, trying so hard to be accepted, she lost what made her so special.

She lost herself.

I had done some research on survivor guilt. Ally fit into the syndrome well. I wasn’t a doctor, but it seemed to me that if she had received counseling and support, she would have been able to move past the horror of what happened. Instead, she was forced to relive it, the events on a constant loop in her mind. She was made to feel so guilty that it became part of who she was, and she hadn’t been able to break free from it. Even her training as a nurse hadn’t made her see how wrong they were. She could help other people, but she couldn’t help herself. I wanted to help her, and I hoped she would let me.

Bradley leaned back, his arm draped casually around the back of her chair as he focused his attention on the man beside him instead of her. He was deep in discussion, but his fingers played with the skin of Ally’s bare shoulder. I saw her shift away more than once, obviously not wanting his touch. I smirked to myself. When I caressed her skin, she leaned into my touch, not away.

I couldn’t take it another second. I pulled out my phone and texted her, hoping she had her phone with her.

Hello, my Nightingale.

I watched her head bow, and she fumbled with her purse, pulling out her cell phone. She tapped away fast.

Hello, my daredevil. Are you somewhere safe?

Her first instinct was to make sure I was all right. I wanted to kiss her.

Yes. Perfectly safe. Back to the land of communication. No more daredeviling right now.

No suckers needed this time?

I grinned.

Nope. How’s your evening?

Boring.

I smirked as I typed a reply.

Can I do anything?

You’re too far away. I miss you. When are you coming back?

My breath caught in my throat. I needed to get her alone.

You don’t have to miss me anymore. You look beautiful.

Her head flew up, her gaze scanning the room, and for the first time in days, our eyes met. Her hand flew to her collarbone again, and as the light glinted off the chain, I realized she wasn’t just doing it as a reflex.

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