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I’m not giving in to that pull, that gravity, that one-way ticket to hurt.
Absolutely not.
Iwillresist.
With one last silent, mutinous look at Grant—knowing damned well I’m being every bit the brat he thinks I am—I turn and walk out the door without saying a single thing in response.
* * *
In hindsight,rushing out of my house in nothing but his jacket, an oversized t-shirt, athletic shorts, a too-thin cardigan, and flip-flops was probably not the smartest move.
Dumber idea?
Walking home in the dark without the jacketalone.
In North Carolina in the middle of a biting October night.
I only have myself to blame.
But the teenage girl inside me almost wishes Grant would chase after me, just to make sure I get home safe.
I don’t have any business praying for special favors, though.
Our last run-in should’ve been a good reminder why I can never ask this man for anything.
* * *
I sleep so poorlyit’s a major chore to drag myself awake.
It’s not just because I’m on edge, waiting to hear strange footsteps on the porch again or listening for ghosts that haunt this little town with too many secrets.
It feels like long, anxious hours lying awake, staring out the bedroom window, watching the leafless branches of gnarled trees clawing at the glass like starving things trying to get in.
Or maybe they’re trying to drag me outside with them and force me to face everything I don’t know I can withstand.
Everything I can’t avoid forever.
When I pry my eyes open and check the time, it’s dawn. I need to be at the medical center first thing.
God, it’s so morbid.
There’s a problem with my mother’s DNR paperwork, something they can’t get ahold of Ros to sort out.
Well, neither can I. She’s ignored my last two voicemails and left my texts on read.
Ugh, what gives?
It’s so strange to come home and still feel like I’m alone when my mom is barely in this world anymore and my sister has just...
Checked out, I guess.
But has she, really?
There’s an annoying lump in my throat as I force myself through a shower, throw down an English muffin with jam, and drag myself out the door with a cup of coffee in hand.
My rental car’s still at Mort’s, so I’m on foot as I make my way through sleepy Redhaven. Its meandering streets flow through rows of picturesque houses that belong in a painting on a hotel wall somewhere.
Redhaven’s a place where everyone walks or bikes unless they don’t have a choice, especially during tourist highs when parking gets crowded.
