AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How did … how did you manage it? Who flew the helicopter?”
It seems the time is now.
“The newscaster just stated that Scott Filmore often flew himself,” Wells volleys before the rest of us can even open our mouths.
Celeste scoffs, her spine snapping ramrod straight. “I’m not in the mood to be fucked with. Who flew the helicopter?”
There’s my girl.
A smirk graces Wells’s mouth as he palms the baby’s head. “The first rule in erasing is that you don’t speak about the event, past, or people who have been erased. They cease to exist, and you assume the new reality.” He plants his stern Chief gaze on her, but there’s more compassion in it than she may recognize. He’s invested in her well-being, so when she sneers, he yields. “We’ll discuss it once, but then the only story discussed, even at home, has to be the one we concocted.”
It’s the way we live, the way we’ve always fucking operated. If you don’t become the new identity, assume that new reality, you fail. You reveal yourself, your past, or even incite validity for the version of truth others may have fabricated.
But this is different. This is eating away at my girl, so I slide her stool closer, wrap my arm around her waist, and lift her chin with my other hand. “Except with me. You can always talk to me, baby.”
“And me,” Ivy adds, side-eyeing her husband with a dare to admonish her.
A stern Ivanna is surely on the tip of his tongue, but he smothers it for, I’m assuming, Celeste’s sake. For now. He’ll undoubtedly have his way later, convincing Ivy of her insubordination.
“It isn’t healthy to keep it in. She was traumatized and needs a safe space,” Ty interjects between bites. “You can talk to me too, Lettie.”
Celeste casts a contrived smile at the three of us, but addresses Wells. “Rules are valuable. It’s how I approach things too. I appreciate the way you want to protect me, and I respect the way you run your home or … business. Whatever.”
Your home now too, baby girl.
Her eyes close on a cleansing inhale-exhale cycle. She’s working so hard to maintain the mask she’s typically so adept at constructing. “I just need answers.”
“The more you know, the more you have to hide,” he counters. “The only story I want in your brain is the one you remember, right up until you parted ways after dinner. That’s all anyone needs from you.”
And the mask fucking shatters. Her lip quivers. “I get it, but my brain won’t let go of the helicopter question, so please—”
“Someone else parachuted out of it,” I furnish, unable to stomach that anguish threaded through her plea. It’s the bare minimum, and surely, she already suspects that, but maybe she’ll feel like she’s somewhat informed.
Ivy ceases her mixing, stretching across the island to squeeze Celeste’s hand. “It’s best if we leave the rest alone, Lettie.”
“Fine,” she concedes with a disgruntled huff, right as Gage busts through the door from the garage.
“Your guys are ready, Graves—”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Ivy hollers, pointing at him with her batter-covered wooden spoon. Faster than my Aprilia motorcycle. Compassion to contempt in under two-point-eight seconds. “How many times have I told you not to come in here covered in some degenerate’s bodily fluids?”
While Wells, Ty, and I all chuckle, Gage glances down at himself, and sure enough, his clothes and skin are splattered with blood.
“Oh fuck.” His bald head scrunches as he deliberates on how to slant this conundrum in his favor. “It’s chilly today, Ives, and I’m hungry. I smelled—”
“Don’t you butter me up and ask for a baked good.” She shakes her head, skin flushed with irritation. There’s no budging High Society once she makes up her mind. He even tried using Ives, an endearing nickname generally only slung by the Chief. No point. Her fury is unwavering. “You know the rules.”
Gage growls, “I’m not showering just so I can go back to interrogating.” His narrowed eyes float around the room for a savior. He won’t find one, simply because this is far more entertaining than what’s on the news, but he commandeers one all on his own. “You know”—he points to the gentleman seconds away from sinking his teeth into a sandwich—“Ty’s been calling Felicity F-bomb when you aren’t around.”
“Fuck, man,” Ty snarls, dropping his sub onto his plate as his whole frame slumps into the chair like Gage wielded a punch, in the same breath that Ivy’s head whips toward him with she-devil eyes.
“F-bomb? Seriously, Tytan?”
He throws his arms out wide in a defensive move. “It’s cute when you think about it, Freckles.”
That exchange affords Gage the split second he needs to rush in, snatch the loaf of banana bread, tuck it up tight, and dash for the door, cackling. “Suckers.”
“Gage Porter, I swear to God, if there is blood in my kitchen …” Ivy bellows.
