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And wouldn’t you, in his shoes? Would you be able to forget about it and go on living as if nothing happened? As if you wouldn’t mind letting the murderer of your family go unpunished and roam the streets, free?
Damn. I probably would have gone after the guy, too. You have to face your fears to overcome them, and he decided to do just that. He said he’d tell me everything—and he did. He came clean.
And I walked out.
That’s bad.
Hey, I needed to get out, to clear my mind, think things over. That was quite a lot to drop on a girl, right? Especially since, in the past few days, he’d gone from hot to cold and back so often it made my head spin, and showed up at my doorstep half-dead the other day. It’s normal to be worried, to be afraid.
God, I love him.
I’ll talk to him. Tell him I understand, that I’m with him. That I’ll wait.
But first…work. Oh crap, I have to go out. Stuffing my face with chocolate and staying under the covers all day sounds like a great idea, but it isn’t possible, unfortunately.
So I get up, shivering, and go to get ready for work.
***
I can do this, I decide as I clear tables and serve customers, trying to keep a s
mile on my face. I can support Rafe in what he needs to do and not freak out.
Violence. Blood. Death.
Stop it.
He won’t die. He’ll be fine. Zane says Rafe’s an awesome fighter. Asher and Tyler have been training with him for the past year, and he’s like a black belt in muay thai and jujitsu, or something like that. Nothing to worry about.
Right?
Right. So shut up, mind. If anyone can pull this off, it’s Rafe. I’ll call him after work. I’ll be calmer by then. I hope…I hope he hasn’t changed his mind—about me. About wanting me. About being together.
Shit. Enough.
I try not to think about it as I work—not that I succeed. It’s a quiet Saturday evening, and for the first time I wish for more customers, more work, anything to keep my mind off Rafe.
Anything to leave the fear behind, the gut-wrenching dread that everyone I love will leave me, that I’ll be alone. That everyone will end in a pool of blood, dead and gone. That it’ll be my fault for not stopping them, not doing more.
It’s time to move on, leave the past behind.
Only the past, as it turns out, doesn’t want to cooperate. My cell phone rings as I’m carrying a tray stacked high with dishes and cups to the kitchen. A quick look tells me it’s Mom.
I almost drop the tray. Mom hasn’t called me since I left home more than a year ago. I try calling her once every other week, but she rarely picks up.
My pulse is thundering in my ears as I quickly put down the tray and take the call. Bad news, my mind chants, has to be the bad news I was dreading.
Vaguely I hope she’s mixed up the dates and thought it’s my birthday today, but I know I’m never that lucky.
“Mom? Hello?” I pass the cell to my other hand and push the door open, heading out into the back street. “Are you there? Are you okay?”
“Meggie? That you?” Mom’s scratchy voice is like a punch to my stomach. I sink down on the step, not caring for the wet and cold, and struggle to hold back tears.
“Yeah, it’s me. How are you?”
“Fine, baby. I’m fine, and I met this wonderful man. His name’s Jim and he takes real good care of me.”
I close my eyes. Crap, another man, and I’m not there to look after her. “Does he, really?”
