Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The next part was kind of blurry in my memory. I guess the adrenaline had been surging through my system.
Because I could see the same end for myself.
And while I wanted to curl up and mourn, I guess my sense of self-preservation kicked in.
I just… ran.
I’d been half-blind with my fear, but I somehow managed to find my way out of that building, then onto the street.
It had been pure luck that there was a bus a block away. And I’d flown inside, ducking low, so no one could see me through the window, and praying that it would pull away fast enough to save me.
I’d gotten off relatively quickly as soon as we were close to my father’s place, grabbing my car, then speeding out of town.
I’d stopped to clear out my bank account.
Then I just… kept running.
State by state, stopping only for necessities, then to grab the essentials I would need to go to the woods.
“Can I ask you something?” Silvano asked when I finally stopped speaking, my throat actually sore from speaking.
“Yeah.”
“Why did he ‘kill’ you?”
“I was a witness,” I said, looking up at him, my brows pinched.
“Yeah, no, I get that. But if he wanted his money, why did he kill you before he got that information?”
That… was a good question.
I hadn’t even considered that part.
A memory came back to me.
“He said he would find it without me,” I said.
He sat with that for a second. Then, voice soft, “I’m sorry about your father, Mills.”
Hearing those words seemed to crack open a dam inside that I’d desperately been trying to keep intact.
“Hey,” Silvano said, sounding alarmed as the first sob finally escaped me. “Alright,” he said, arms reaching for me, pulling me so my legs draped over his, holding me against his chest.
I appreciated that he didn’t try to tell me it was alright. Because he knew that wasn’t true.
It wasn’t alright.
My father was dead.
I felt the burden of guilt for that, whether that was realistic or not.
It might be okay someday. I might come to that point. But that was not today, and it felt good to have someone there who understood that I just needed to be not okay for a while.
I’d cried a lot over my father. In private moments when Silvano couldn’t see or hear. But this felt like the “big cry” I’d really been needing to do.
By the time I was done, Silvano’s shirt was wet, my chest and belly hurt from the sobs, and my face felt raw from the tears.
Silvano seemed unbothered as he snatched some of the napkins on the table from the last take-away meal, handing them to me wordlessly.
“You handled that well,” I said after blowing my nose, and finally pulling away from him.
To that, he exhaled hard.
“Had a mom who got the shit beat out of her all the time,” he admitted. “Not unfamiliar with crying.”
My heart, already obliterated, somehow still managed to ache for the little boy he’d been. Beaten and abused himself, but still being strong enough to comfort his hurt and upset mom.
“Better to get it out, right?” he asked, watching me.
“Yeah,” I admitted, feeling a little embarrassed about how long and hard I’d cried.
“Maybe the nightmares will ease up now,” he said, reaching for me, and pulling me onto his lap again.
But he didn’t stop there.
His arms tightened, then he got to his feet, holding me to his chest.
“What are you doing?” I asked, even as I leaned my cheek against his wet shirt.
“You’re sleeping upstairs with me,” he told me.
“Oh,” I said, feeling a warm sensation move across my chest. “Okay then.”
Silvano effortlessly climbed those dangerous steps to the loft, even with his arms full of me.
I glanced back, seeing Storm happily moving into my spot on the couch, his head on my pillow.
Silvano lowered me down onto the side of the bed furthest from the steps, taking a second to pull the covers up over me, then moving around the bed.
He paused on his side to reach up and remove his wet t-shirt.
Despite the nightmare, the memories, and the fog of grief, I felt a ping of desire at seeing him mostly bare to me again.
But then he was sliding into the bed and pulling up the covers.
I expected him to roll away from me and pass out, since I’d woken him up, then kept him from sleep for an hour or two.
But he rolled toward me, then reached to pull me against him. My back to his chest. Me, the little spoon to his bigger one.
His arm draped across my hip.
And I could have sworn I felt his lips press a kiss to my hair.
“Get some sleep, Mills.”
Then, despite not thinking it possible, I did.
Dreamlessly.
In his arms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Millie
There was a tickling sensation on my face, making me grumble in my sleep.