I shut down each question with “I had the flu” and a polite smile before heading to the next office, and then the next, and so on. Skipping the empty one that once belonged to James Henderson, now a temporary storage area, I eventually arrived at Kate Whitmore’s office at the end of the hallway.
My mother was on the phone as I peered through the door and mouthed if she wanted anything to drink. She shook her head, so I left for the kitchen.
Making the coffee orders came back like muscle memory, and, without worrying about the unwanted advances of a colleague, it was easier to relax into. It was easy to daydream again as I stirred the coffee, staring at the swirling darkness in the mug until my mind wandered too far.
I felt that dread lingering within the compartmentalized section of my brain. Sometimes, it got through and reminded me of what almost dying felt like.
It was horrible, knowing how easily everything could slip away, but be so peaceful at the same time. And then there were the thoughts that were evenly split, like pros and cons. One reminded me that every single moment alive was precious andshould be treasured. The other wondered if it was worth it when death was a promise for everyone…
If I were religious, maybe the thought of death wouldn’t feel so dark.
My hand drifted to my side, and I glanced down as I lifted the hem of my top to take a look at the scars. I touched the one above my hip bone, where the bullet had passed through my side, and traced the tip of my finger along the two-inch-long, raised area of skin.
I had to twist to look at the other one beside my spine.
That one was as small as the first but more twisted. A bullet’s exit wound was always more gruesome, and mine was no different. Roughly shaped like an X marking a spot, it was where most of my blood poured from. Of course, in the now fuzzy and partially lost memories of when I was bleeding out on Dean’s backseat, I thought I was bleeding pretty heavily from both wounds.
All of the past couple of months felt like some strange dream, going by so quickly. The fire at The Den was like a finite closure to one chapter of my life. In turn, ending some friendships…
Dean had mentioned that Terry was working at another of Antonio’s clubs. Meanwhile, the old work group chat was mostly quiet now as Jen and Xavier moved on with their lives. They knew of my accident and visited me in the hospital, along with sending me their love in the chat, but sometimes friendships grew apart. I was appreciative of the relationships I had with them at The Den. They taught me a lot in my brief time there.
The last I heard of them was that Jen worked in a tattoo parlour and Xavier was bartending elsewhere.
They had moved on with their lives.
I inhaled deeply to clear my mind and smiled faintly to myself. It was forced, but it briefly tricked my mind into a more positive space.
I’m alive. I have good friends, a family, and a supportive man to be grateful for.
“And coffee orders to finish,” I added out loud to myself.
I delivered the coffees two at a time and returned to the cold foyer, having also made a peppermint tea for myself to warm up. I hugged my hands around the mug and held it close as I took a seat at my computer.
“Just going to the ladies’ room,” Candice said, already on her way out from behind the desk.
As I sipped my tea and enjoyed the silence before I set the mug down to get back to work, two things happened within seconds of each other. The first was Mom walking in behind the front desk and instantly complaining about the cold. I was about to explain to her why the AC was cranked to near Arctic temperatures, but was cut off by a loud bang outside.
The logical part of my brain knew it was only a car backfiring, but it didn’t stop my thoughts from racing. Suddenly, I was brought back to Aiden’s living room. The gun had gone off, Kira was crying, and I was bleeding. But I couldn’t remember the pain.
The human body couldn’t remember pain—
“Lily.” Mom’s voice cut through the memory.
I blinked and turned in my seat, quickly smoothing over my reaction. “Yes, sorry. Candice said it was a little stuffy out here.”
Mom rolled her eyes and plucked the AC remote off the wall before bringing the temperature back to something bearable. She then collected what she originally came out for — a folder from her mailbox — and headed back to her office. She was busy for most of the morning and kept her conversations with me brief. But I had a feeling she was giving me a partial silent treatment. Mom was still bitter about me choosing Dean to help while I healed instead of going home to her, but she wouldn’tvoice her opinions about him anymore, not when he was the reason I was alive.
Candice returned from the bathroom. When she found the AC was turned up, she tutted and turned it back down again with a sideways glance at me.
I couldn’t be bothered wasting my energy, telling her it wasn’t me, and focused on going through my emails instead. With a soft but heavy sigh, I curled and uncurled my fingers as I reached for the mousepad, trying to gain some control of the faint shake in my hands.
Chapter 5
Kira
“And what do we remind ourselves after every meeting?” asked Libby, the support group leader.
How many times had she heard it all before? The stories of excuses, misplaced forgiveness, and abuse. Libby had listened intently to each of our stories. She made sure we felt heard.
