No, I was going to ride an elephant. Of course, I was picking up mail. Instead of saying that, I nodded. “How’s Addie?”
“She’s good. Getting tired more easily but still determined to keep working at The Gallery for now.”
“I’m sure Laiken is keeping an eye on her.”
The manager of the art space was one of Addie’s closest friends, and I knew she’d never let any harm come to her there.
“You’re right, but I still don’t like it.”
My lips twitched. “No, you’d rather wrap her in Bubble Wrap and confine her to the house until she gives birth.”
Beck chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, the strands of blond in his brown hair catching in the afternoon light. “Is that really so bad?”
“No, it’s just not very practical.”
And while my brother’s heart was in the right place, the feeling could be suffocating. Like you couldn’t move or breathe without someone analyzing every detail.
“You’ve got a point there. Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner next week? Just the three of us.”
The metal keys dug deeper into my flesh. I wasn’t a fan of large groups, but intimate gatherings were worse. And if Beck were there, he’d be using that doctor focus to evaluate everything about me. I swallowed hard. “Sure. Just let me know when.”
“Addie or I will text you.”
I nodded. “I should go. I need to get back to the ranch.”
“Sure.” He reached out like he might pat my shoulder and then stopped himself. “Glad I ran into you.”
My rib cage constricted, and my eyes burned. I felt like the lowest of the low that I couldn’t even stand for my own family to touch me. “You, too.”
My words came out choked, and I hurried inside before Beckett had a chance to say anything else. I strode towards my destination. Loosening my stranglehold on my keys, I searched for the one to my mailbox. Specks of red dotted the metal, and I glanced down at my palm.
The new, jagged tears in my skin looked angry under the fluorescent lights. I wiped the worst of it away on my pants and grabbed my mail from the box. Tucking it under my arm, I headed for the door.
I closed my eyes for a moment, bracing myself before stepping back into the sunshine. It was fifty-fifty whether Beck would be waiting with more questions. As I pulled open the door, I breathed a sigh of relief at his absence—and I hated myself a little more for it.
I closedthe door to my loft and leaned against the wood surface, finally releasing the air my lungs had been holding hostage. I fought the urge to peek through my curtained windows, sure that I’d see my mom or dad with their gazes firmly affixed to my apartment—too many eyes.
A burn lit the back of my throat, and pressure built behind my eyes. I just wanted to feel free. Not tied to expectations and worry. I wanted to know what it was like to be normal.
Yet, I couldn’t make myself take that step to go out on my own—for so many reasons. Fear still dominated so much of my daily life. The ranch, while oppressive, was the Devil I knew. And just when I thought I’d gotten up the courage to look for a place of my own, the guilt would settle in. My mom’s worry. Dad’s concern. So, I stayed put.
I pushed off the door, letting out a growl of frustration. I tossed my mail onto the counter, and it spread out into a fan. My gaze caught on an envelope.Oregon State Victims’ Rightshad been written in bold as the return address.
My stomach gave a vicious twist, and the world tunneled around me. This wasn’t happening. The moment I’d turned eighteen, I’d signed up to receive notifications about Howard Kemper through the organization. It was why I’d gotten my own post office box: to hide the letters from my parents.
I’d gotten used to the rhythm of them. Typically, they showed up once a year. I’d send a victim impact statement, and that was that. Never once had there been a sign that Howard might be released early.
I stared at the envelope as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike. My hands flexed and clenched at my sides as I tried to stave off the panic attack. As quickly as the fear swamped me, rage followed on its heels—such deep anger. Fury that the man could still affect me so much.
I forced myself to reach for the envelope. My hand trembled as I moved, but I grabbed hold of the paper. It took several tries to get the flap open before I finally succeeded. I tugged the single page free.
The seal for the state of Oregon was at the top, the name and address for the Victims’ Rights subsidiary of the parole board underneath. And then, my name.
My entire body shook as I scanned line after line of text.We are writing to inform you that Howard Kemper is deceased.The next words blurred together. Something about receiving no additional notifications from Victims’ Rights.
All the strength left me. The only thing I could do was lower myself to the floor, clutching the piece of paper like a lifeline. No more letters.
No more what-ifs. No more worrying about what might happen when Howard Kemper got released. I was free.