“Good,” she said, smoothing down her blouse. “I’m glad we understand one another.”
She turned toward the stairs.
“I’ll be upstairs,” she added.
And she walked away.
I stood alone in the quiet living room, hands shaking, heart aching, fury simmering underneath years of conditioning.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to run after her and say she was wrong, that Iwasgrown, that I didn’t need saving, that Alex was . . . good.
But I didn’t move.
I stayed frozen in place, caught between who she’d always told me I was and who I was trying to become.
Just like I had been as a stifled teenager.
Just like I promised myself I’d never feel again.
Feeling thoroughly criticized, I couldn’t even go back into the kitchen to say goodbye to Belle.
I just grabbed my sandwich and headed to my van to go pick up Ava from school.
Maybe my mom was right, maybe this was silly. Maybe I did need to take my life and Ava's life more seriously.
Yet, as I made my way to the school, my mind drifted to Ethan as it still so often did. What would he tell me?
What had he told me after so many fights like that?
He's told me that I deserved to shine, not just be polished. Shining came from within. I needed to find that light again.
And that's just what I was doing.
18
ELEANOR
Afew days later, I sat in the van with both hands wrapped around the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.
The sign above the building glowed in neon pink flashing Roll-O-Rama.Underneath, in smaller letters readFamily Owned Since 1981.
I’d known this was where the Grimm Reapers practiced. Belle had mentioned it in passing, usually right before adding something like,“We bleed glitter and adrenaline, babe.”But knowing that and actually pulling up to the building were two very different things.
Alex’s car was already parked two spaces over.
Of course it was. He was punctual, dependable, disgustingly sweet, and definitely the type of man who probably arrived early to make sure he got the best table at parent-teacher conferences.
I should go in.
I should open the door, stand up, breathe, and walk through those double doors.
Instead, I sat there like a terrified middle schooler waiting outside a slumber party she wasn’t sure she’d been invited to.
What if I made a fool of myself?
