“I don’t like compliments,” she muttered as she closed the door behind him.
“Well, you better get used to them.” Luke laughed, and the sound immediately put her at ease.
“What do you want for breakfast,” she asked, leading him to the kitchen.
He grabbed hold of her hand and turned her to face him. His face had gone serious once again. “I'm serious, Summer. You are amazing. Most women would have run a mile. We don’t know each other, you have no reason to believe that I'm innocent. I really appreciate your support. Thank you.”
While every fiber of her being wanted to argue that she wasn't amazing and he didn’t have to thank her for anything, instead she nodded soberly. “You’re welcome. But really, no more compliments,” she couldn’t help but add.
Luke gave another laugh. “I’ll stop complimenting you when you stop being so perfect.”
She hated the word perfect. How was Luke going to feel when he learned the truth about her? When he found out that not only had she killed someone but that she was also partially responsible for the deaths of several more people? Would he walk away? That he would see her differently was a given, but she wasn't sure if it would end things, if he could come to terms with it, or if she even had any right to ask him to try to see her side of things.
The only thing she knew was that it was inevitable that he would find out.
If they were going to date, and seriously date with the expectation of seeing if something real could grow between them, then she would tell him. She would have to. There was no way to avoid it.
“Summer?” Luke’s brow furrowed in concern, and he took hold of her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
She averted her gaze. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You can talk to me, I'm a good listener.”
Not yet she couldn’t. She wasn't ready to spill her secrets. Against her will, tears filled her eyes, and she quickly blinked them back. Carlton had always hated when she cried, and even though she shed a lot of tears in those first months after killing him, she hadn’t cried much since.
“Summer.” Luke sounded dismayed.
“I'm sorry.” She sniffed. “You’re the one who was dragged off to a police station, who spent the night in an interrogation room.” She had been there and done that. She knew how terrifying and overwhelming it was. “I'm sorry, I don’t know why I … I shouldn’t be …”
She broke off when Luke’s arms circled around her, drawing her against a sturdy chest. For the first time in so many years, she felt like she was encircled in security, in support, and in safety. Summer thought she should be embarrassed as her tears overflowed and chased each other down her cheeks, but instead she just felt a sense of peace as she allowed herself to rest against Luke and let him hold her up.
It got so tiring being strong all the time.
Everyone needed a little break sometimes, a brief respite from the burdens that life gave you to carry.
Giving herself permission to be weak, needy, and not completely in control, just for a moment, Summer pressed her face into Luke’s chest and wept.
* * * * *
10:10 A.M.
He was out wandering the streets.
Maybe he was just out for a walk?
Maybe he was looking for his next victim?
He wasn't really sure.
He felt conflicted about his last kill. It hadn’t given him the same rush he usually got. He was pretty sure it was because of the baby.
That stupid, crying baby.
He had thought it would be easy killing it. Just the same as killing the adults. But when the time had come to climb up the tree and drop the child out of it, he had frozen.
Part of him had wanted to do it. Part of him didn’t. The two parts had warred inside him.
Good and evil.