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Damon smirked. “Having Alex means you’re in the family, and there are two ways to get initiated into our gang. If you want to be in ours, you can either be beat in or—” “Damon!” Rika barked.
What? I looked around at all of them, lost. What was he going to say?
I came alone, without much else to offer these people, but I was starting tomorrow with everything I ever wanted.
I had a career, an education, and the Carfax Room. I also had Will behind me . . . and in front of me, willing to take a bullet if I were ever in danger.
Happy people don’t fear death, because there’s nothing more they want out of life than what they have right now.
Finally, I was free.
“Will . . .” I scolded under my breath. He looked at me. “I have Godzilla vs. Kong at the theater waiting for us.”
“Live for your love,” the judge said, “love your life, and raise hell.”
And then it hit me. Reverie Cross. Edward McClanahan’s best friend and Reverie Cross’s boyfriend. The rumor that Reverie might not have jumped. The rumor that Edward or his friend or both of them . . .
Jesus Christ. After helping Damon bury a body, getting kidnapped, making the great train escape, and everything that went down tonight, I supposed a sixty-year-old murder mystery could sit for another evening or two more.
CHAPTER 42
new foundation,” he told me. I opened it up, finding what I knew I’d find. A plastic bag with the necktie, the Ride-All-Day bracelet, and the empty box of Milk Duds from Will’s and my first date.
I recapped the container, too afraid to raise my eyes as I said, “You gave me the key to the Carfax Room, didn’t you?”
Finally, he nodded. “As someone gave it to me once.”
But he just shrugged. “I was in the church every Wednesday. I saw you hang out sometimes.” He looked over at me. “After I saw the bruises in the shower, I figured fate was trying to tell me something.”
I might not have survived if I didn’t have that one place where I knew I’d be safe. Even if I rarely used it.
Damon sighed. “I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll be waiting for the beating.”
It was no wonder I’d gotten knocked up, and I was surprised it didn’t happen sooner with as much as he was on top of me.
They had told her when they adopted her this past winter that she could call them whatever she felt comfortable calling them, but it only took a few weeks for her to love the fact that these were her parents. She wanted everyone to know Michael and Rika were her mom and dad.
Damon and I ran the construction business together now, him building and me designing, so I’d gotten used to his . . . brand of humor.
“Or eight months,” I offered, a tingle fluttering under my skin. “Eight-ish. Give or take.”
This was always our story. We want what we want.
BIRTHDAYS
