Breaking Out (The Surrender Trilogy 2)

She was and would always be a loner. She didn’t fit in at the tracks. She didn’t fit in at St. Christopher’s. And she didn’t fit in at Patras. So where was she supposed to go? She wanted Pearl, but didn’t know if her heart could tolerate her mother’s cool welcome. Getting to Pearl was a daunting task as well, so she shoved off any plans of visiting her mother.

As she stared up at the clouded night sky, she tucked her quivering shoulders under her blanket. The apartment was filled with parts of her that only existed through him. She hated it. Spring was coming, and she found solace in the terrace garden where she spent most of her time gazing at the empty, cold sky, wondering what the point of it all was.

She’d sleep with no recollection of letting go, only waking up. Her body temperature adapted to the gentled elements, and she simply adjusted her blankets and snuggled deeper into the soft cushion of the lounge chair she was slowly becoming fused to.

She had everything she needed. A wool cap, her thick cable-knit sweater, heavy socks, a blanket, and her picture of Pearl. The tattered sketch was no longer stiff. The lines were smudged from too many foldings and fingers brushing the paper. It was her most cherished possession, and in times of sadness it always comforted her.

She didn’t need to look at the image to see that long-ago day in her mind. It had been cold and rainy, and Pearl had again stuck that ridiculous rubber hat on Scout’s head. The artist had captured the desolate look in her mother’s eyes, but that was not what Scout saw when she looked at the drawing. No, she saw her mother holding her hand, a silent promise that they would make it through anything. And they did.

Rain never lasted forever. After every harsh winter she’d experienced from the outside looking in, there came a rebirth of life. It seemed that was all Scout had ever done, get reborn time and time again.

She was tired of starting over. She was tired of fighting and clawing her way to the top. For the first time ever, she lacked the reserve of determination she’d been known for all her life.

She hurt. She hurt, not the way an empty belly aches or even the way a scrape burns. She hurt from someplace hidden deep inside of her, and she had no idea how to make the terrible ache go away.

He’d deserted her when he promised to love her. She didn’t want to think about him. The problem was she couldn’t recall how she used to think before he interfered in her life.

Her eyes shut out the stars moving behind the clouds and, mercifully, she slept. Her thoughts subsided for broken moments in her timeless mind.

There was a sound. Something woke her. Her lashes slowly fluttered open. Her nose was chilled, her lips tucked under the wide satin trim of the blanket. She scanned the area without really moving. When she saw nothing out of the ordinary, she shut her eyes and tried to return to her dreamless sleep. That’s when she heard it.

“Scout.”

Her breath sucked in and her eyes pulled open. A dream, she must have been falling into a dream, her consciousness pulling her back just before she stepped over the threshold of sleep. Curling further under the blanket, she searched for a warm place to tuck her hands.

“Scout! You up there?”

That was real. She frowned. Parker? Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her voice so neglected she had to concentrate to talk. With shaky limbs, she sat up and cleared her throat.

There was a whistle, a familiar whistle, the kind of whistle that rang out “Shave and a Haircut.”

“Two bits,” she rasped, her whispered reply floating away on the fingers of a far-reaching breeze. Her sleepy mind snapped to life.

Scout clumsily staggered to her feet, catching the blankets before they fell to the cold cobblestone floor.

“Parker?”

“Scout?”

Her mouth parted, as though too skeptical to smile. “Parker!”

“Scout! I’m down here.”

His voice was like the sweetest music to her ears. Her legs propelled her to the edge of the garden balcony, and there was an extraordinary release of tension from her shoulders. There he was, as real as ever, in jeans, Converse, and a cozy crewneck sweater. So very Parker.

Her face split with the greatest grin. Muscles she hadn’t used in days protested, but gave way as the first sense of happiness washed over her in what felt like an eternity.

“Oh my God, Parker! Is it really you?” How did he find her?

“Of course it’s me, ass. Let me in! I’ve been waiting down here forever.”

Was he really there? Did Lucian tell him what happened? Maybe he came with a message from Lucian? No, that didn’t make sense. Who cared? He was here!