A slow smile spreads across Will’s face, but before I can formulate more words, I’m shoved out of the way, the crash of my shoulder into the doorframe as Spade flies out onto the porch barely even registering.
I’ve heard that emotional pain can be more painful than physical assaults on the body, but I didn’t believe it until now.
I feel almost ghost like as I watch Angel and Spade overpower Will, pinning him to the ground just past my porch steps.
Like I’ve only seen on movies, the darkness boils, commandos coming from all corners, as if darkness and gloom materializes right before my eyes. Guns are drawn, and for some reason, my brain forces me to focus on the black barrels of military grade weapons. They seem so out of place in my suburban neighborhood.
Will is lifted from the ground, the men dragging him up more than assisting him to stand.
My body had stopped shaking, as if the news of my mother’s demise had the power to shut me down completely.
Sound is the first sense to return, my ragged breaths in my ears a grating noise that makes me want to scream.
“Sylvie?”
Warm, damp hands cup my face, but my eyes are locked on the spot where Will was just seconds ago.
I blink, finding Spade standing right in front of me, his skin covered in dirt and grime from his tussle with Will.
I press my hands against his chest when he tries to pull me closer, the red marring his chest making my stomach turn.
He looks down, noticing the blood on his forearms.
“It’s not mine,” he says, but that just makes it worse.
I want no part of Will touching me.
He must understand because he takes a step back.
“Need me to stick around?” a female voice asks.
“I’ve got it,” Spade hisses without pulling his eyes from me.
“I think she needs—”
“I’ve got everything she needs,” he snaps before urging me to turn around and reenter my house.
Nothing seems familiar. Nothing in this room is comforting.
In minutes, my home has transitioned into a place I no longer feel welcome.
Unbeknownst to Big Daddy and I, most of my life has been a lie. The truth doesn’t help.
Will was right, and I know the answer to his last question.
No, my mother wouldn’t still love me or her father if she were alive and knew we’d given up on her so easily.
The truth is a shotgun blast right through the middle of me.
A warm palm urges my face up, a thumb swiping at tears I didn’t even know were running down my cheek.
His throat works on a swallow, and I expect him to say something stupid like everything will be okay, but he kisses me instead.
It isn’t an impassioned kiss, just a brush of his lips on mine. I’m sure under different circumstances it would have the power to fix all that was broken inside of me, but it barely registers.
He’s frowning when he pulls back.
“I’m going to go grab a quick shower. The guys are still outside. You’re safe.”