I supposed she considered this a solitary journey, one we had to walk alone, albeit guided to a certain degree. Our cities were the same, but our footfalls completely different.
It was funny, though, given that I’d always been compared to her. Her feet were mine, but I was even better, is what that world had said.
The sound of a sob erupted from my mouth, and it shocked me, that the sound came from me, before I cut it off. I refused to cry, just like I refused to show my children the grief that I carried around in my heart. It was a steady weight dragging me under.
I should be thankful to be alive. Ecstatic, even.
My family was safe.
I was safe.
Still, something in me had died, and the loss hit me down to my soul.
After waking up, I experienced quite a bit of physical pain. It took a while to get it under control. To get to the point where I could sleep at night and move around during the day without complaint. Not that I complained, but I’d sweat and tremble—and Brando would complain for me.
The pain meant that I was alive, though.Otherwise, life felt like death. All that physical pain seemed to switch places with the emotional side of things.
“Scarlett?”
At the sound of my name, my hand flew to my chest. I stuttered before rising without consent, my feet somehow twisting and sending me toppling over to the side. Brando caught me and held me upright. He had been watching me, and I hadn’t even realized it. We were both good in the silence.
Was it Chris? Yes, Chris. I hadn’t heard Chris—one of Brando’s friends from high school—walk up. Not realizing he’d even pulled into the driveway, so lost in thought, the scare of him calling my name made my heart throb in my chest, close to rising in my throat, suffocating me. My palms were slick, and suddenly, the sweat at the nape of my neck felt cool.
The sensation brought me back to the night I woke up in one of the cabins and ran, the nightmare chasing me. I lived that nightmare, and I hadn’t realized how paranoid I had become until the ordeal with Nemours was over and sounds (even normal ones) could bring on a panic attack, but other times—I couldn’t seem to leave the safety of my mind. It was like it put up a shield between me and the rest of the world.
I met Brando’s eyes and he nodded forward, reminding me that we were not alone.
Yes, Chris. Some said he’d be the next sheriff. Others said it would be the sheriff’s nephew. My father was trying to sway the pendulum to Chris. Even though Chris was married to the sheriff’s niece, Destiny, Chris was different from the sheriff—he took personal out of his business.
Though Chris and Brando were considered friends in the eyes of this town, they were more social acquaintances than anything, so I wondered why he’d come.
Realizing a moment too late that my hand was fastened to Brando’s in a death grip—my nails sunk into his skin—I let go, but he refused to let me go.
The moisture from his body seeped in through the thin dress—his skin was so warm while his sweat was cool. His scent drifted in the air, made stronger by the heat.
“Chris,” Brando said, offering him his free hand.
They shook, hard and quick.
“It’s good to see you both. Better than the last time.” He nodded at me. “I apologize. I assumed you heard me drive up. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“The dogs,” I muttered. “They usually—”
“Yeah.” He smiled at me. “I went over to your parents’ place before coming here. Word had it that you were spending time there. All I found were the kids and two big dogs that made me appreciate the fact that I’m wearing brown pants today.”
Brando vibrated for a moment, not quite a laugh, but close. He was being polite. Neither of us laughed much lately—unless it was for the kids.
I stared at him blankly, wondering what he meant by “better than the last time.”
Chris cleared his throat, perhaps to smooth over the awkwardness. “I’m not here to take much of your time. I just wanted to thank you for saving the sheriff. You know he’s my wife’s uncle. The family appreciates all that you did. I would have come sooner, but I didn’t want to intrude. I know ya’ll had a lot going on.”
Brando refused to let me move when I tried to turn around and look at him.
“Think nothing of it,” Brando said, his voice casual, but with a distinct edge. “Any man would have done the same.”
“No.” Chris shook his head. “Not so. Especially given the—history between you two. Too bad the son of bitch got away.”
Got away. Two words that made me stiffen, and Brando held on to me even tighter. I could almost hear his thoughts—Relax yourself, Ballerina Girl. Don’t give anything away. He’s suspicious.
