He’s dead now.
But you aren’t.
Those thoughts and excuses have been running through my head on a constant loop. A record player stuck in a cycle.
Yet every time my gut starts to churn, carrying that twinge of guilt, I remind myself that if it hadn’t been Xander’s life that drained onto the floor of the carousel in a pool of blood, it would’ve been mine.
Some people don’t deserve second chances.
I realize that now, as I rewrap the bandage on my thigh protecting the bullet wound that Imogen stitched the night I thought I was going to die. I shouldn’t have missed the first time my blade penetrated his abdomen. But I was still holding onto that sliver of innocence I thought I had left until I realized he stole it from me a long time ago.
I’d say I’m not that same girl who let herself be a slave to a blade and a violent man, but I am. I’m just stronger now. Know how to fight for the life I deserve, even if it means taking someone else’s who was hell-bent on stealing mine.
It’s been two weeks since our date. The night when running for my life turned into fighting to keep the breath in my lungs and the heartbeat in my chest thriving. The night Preston held me to his chest, speaking beautiful words that made me feel more alive than the adrenaline and panic that was coursing through my veins.
Words he’s said to me every day for the last two weeks without fail.
Preston’s been here, taking care of me, as a part of myself scabs over to turn into another scar that I’ll carry around.
Metaphorically and physically.
It’s a reminder that sometimes the only thing that can save us is ourselves. A part of me wishes I could have learned that sooner. But I wouldn’t have found myself here. Wouldn’t have sought shelter in a cute small town and found a job at an amusement park.
I’ve realized that Lachlan Harbor and I share something in common, because pretty things that seem harmless on the outside can be just as dangerous.
I killed someone.
But I’ve never felt more power and strength.
I murdered someone.
But I’ve never felt this kind of peace.
Xander’s dead now.
And I can finally live.
Life around the estate feels somewhat normal now. Maybe that’s because I slay my demon, but Preston has yet to conquer his. But I’ll be by his side when he does.
He’s still pulled into countless meetings, works most of the day, and has just returned from a short trip to New York with Carter and Arden, where they delivered a shipment that arrived at the harbor last week.
He hated leaving me, but at the end of the day, he still has an empire to run. Knowing what happened in Virginia, I was a nervous wreck the entire time he was gone, especially since Imogen had put me on leave from the medical center.
Preston told me I don’t need to work, but I like being a part of it and working with Imogen and the team. Keeps me busy. It has helped me find that other part of myself that I lost. Now I get to help protect the place I thought I’d never escape from. I found a home here—a family, though I’m craving to see my own. In time, once I’ve healed completely. They don’t need to see me limping around and find out I was shot.
Preston surprised me last week by saying that he plans for us to head to Ireland next month to see the estate. But the surprise didn’t stop there. He managed to get my dad's contact information and has arranged for my family to join us for a few weeks. I’m not sure what story we plan to tell them about where Preston gets his money, or how we’ll address their questions about the guards with guns, but we’ll work that out when we come to it. The important part is that he knew how important seeing them was to me after running for so long—that a part of me has a hole without them to fill it. Preston understands that more than anyone. I cried so hard in appreciation and gripped him so tightly that I thought I would suffocate him.
Just because I had to wait three weeks to see my family didn’t mean I couldn’t call. It was a phone call filled with tears and “Oh my God, you’re okay!” When they asked about Xander, I went quiet. Heartbeats passed between us, somehow louder than words.
Still, I said, “He won’t be a problem anymore.”
Then my father’s voice calmed the twinge of guilt and shame that was stirring, making me feel lighter. “All that matters is that you’re safe now.”
My family’s voices have added a new sense of contentment, keeping me grateful to live life on my own terms now, rather than submit to it.
I can’t say the same for Preston and Arden, though.
They’re still in a war.
