. . .
Brian hasn’t come home in days.
Thank fucking God, because I’m still trembling from the way he put his hands on me. The bruise on my side is tender, and it throbs when I move too fast.
I’m curled up in bed, with only the glow of my phone lighting the room, as I scroll through the comments on the video I posted of Reed’s bar and the footage of Ruby Ridge.
It’s blowing up; it’s my most-viewed video ever.
People keep mentioning how cozy it looks, how they can almost smell the whiskey through the screen.
I smile softly, feeling a pride I haven’t felt in a long time.
A notification chimes in; I swipe down to see it’s Reed.
My heart aches and swells in one breath.
Reed
You still awake, sunshine?
Layla
Yeah, I can’t sleep. Are you looking at the moon like me?
Reed
Yeah, baby. I miss you.
Layla
I miss you too
Reed
When can I see you again?
Layla
I have some brand deals and events out here. I’m hoping once that’s done, I can fly back out there.
Reed
I’ll be waiting, sunshine.
I bite back a smile that barely reaches my eyes, rolling onto my back, my heart fluttering like it forgot it was allowed to feel something good.
I wipe my thumb across the screen, rereading his words until my vision blurs.
For a moment, I almost forget the bruise, the silence in my apartment, the dread lurking in every shadow.
The click of the lock comes within my hearing, and I clench my jaw, feeling my stomach flutter with nerves, nausea, and worry.
My phone slips from my hand and falls face down onto the blanket just as Brian walks in, carrying a bouquet of sunflowers and an iced coffee.
His expression is gentle, almost pleading.
“Baby,” he says gently, stepping closer. “I’m so sorry.”
