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Her warmth covers my back as she wraps her arm around my waist and rests her chin on my shoulder.
“You knew?” I whisper.
“I’ve been living in this house since they discovered what happened to you, Eve. Of course I knew.”
“And you didn’t want to tell me?”
She chuckles. “Not my story. And plus, I was a little distracted by the fact someone had purchased my sweet and innocent little sister to really care all that much.”
“Not so sweet and innocent anymore,” I mutter sadly.
She doesn’t say the words that I know are on the tip of her tongue.
He’ll be okay.
It’s all fake promises and false hope.
None of us know the outcome of this. All we can do is pray. But the harsh reality is that nothing could be okay ever again after this.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes as a huge lump crawls up my throat. But I fight it.
Crying is going to get us nowhere.
If the guys do figure a way to get them out of this, if Alex and I have some kind of future ahead of us, then I need to be stronger.
I’d be naïve to think this is a one-off incident. They all live dangerous lives, and I can only assume that this kind of situation is fairly normal for them. Which means, if he can forgive me for the things I said, for the way I treated him, then it’s going to be my life too.
“I still need to pee,” I say, trying not to lose myself in all the what-ifs here.
Releasing me, Blakely takes a step back as I move across the room.
I don’t look back. I don’t need to to know that she’s watching me closely.
“I’m okay,” I say quietly before slipping into the room and closing the door behind me.
More of Alex’s things that I didn’t see when I was in here in the middle of the night make themselves known. And no sooner have I done what I came in here for than I find myself with his shower gel bottle under my nose, losing myself in his scent.
Come back to me.
I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean it.
I’ve no idea how long I stand there for, lost in memories of our time together, but a knock on the door startles me.
Not needing to be invited in, Blakely slowly pushes the door open and pokes her head inside.
Her expression turns sombre when she sees what I’m doing.
“Oh, Evie,” she says, rushing inside, taking the bottle from my hand and gathering me up in her arms.
But still, I refuse to let the tears fall.
I need to do something more productive than cry.
“Gianna and Calli want to know if you’re hungry,” she whispers.
“Umm…”
“They’re baking up a storm in the kitchen.”
