The Problem with Forever

“He threw the doll in the damn fireplace,” he said gruffly.

And in an ultimate act of desperation and stupidity, I’d tried to save the doll. If I hadn’t already seen what I’d seen that night, I might not have done what I had. The act with Velvet broke me. I panicked as I saw the only thing I’d ever owned, a gift from Rider, on the brink of being destroyed. I rushed past Mr. Henry and reached into the fire. I vaguely remembered Mr. Henry laughing and then there was this horrific screaming and this terrible smell.

The screams had been mine.

Rider didn’t say anything as he reached between us and picked up my left arm. His fingers were cool against mine as he pushed the sleeve of my shirt up to my elbow. He turned my arm over, like he had done the first day, in the parking lot.

“I still can’t believe there’s hardly any scar.” He smoothed his thumb just below my wrist, causing me to suck in a soft breath. The caress zinged all the way to my spine. “Just a little more pink than the rest of the arm. Amazing.”

My mouth dried. His thumb kept moving, traveling over my skin, making its way to my elbow.

“I wish this had never happened.” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t have lost...” Trailing off, he peered up through his lashes and grinned. “It worked out, though. Weird how something good can come out of such a big screw-up.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I insisted, meaning it. “You couldn’t watch over me twenty-four hours a day. I wasn’t your responsibility.”

His gaze held mine and a moment passed where he seemed to be considering what he wanted to say. “Anyway,” he drew the word out. “None of that really matters, right? You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. The way you talk isn’t a big deal. And if people are asses, they’re not important. Only you can let yourself make them important.”

“And what if none of that works?” I asked.

Rider’s lips tipped up at one corner. “I’ll just start beating people up.”

My brows flew up.

“Seriously.”

Tipping back my head, I laughed—laughed long and hard—and when I looked at him, he was staring at me in his intense way. “What?” I asked, my smile starting to fade slowly.

He gave a little shake of his head. “Nothing.” He paused. “It’s just that I haven’t heard you laugh like that in...yeah, a long time. It’s nice.”

I was smiling again.

“Really nice,” he repeated, and our gazes locked again. He was still holding my arm and his thumb was still moving in slow, smooth circles. “I hope you do it more often.”

Chapter 18

I knew this wasn’t happening.

In the furthest corners of my mind, I knew what I was seeing, what I was hearing, wasn’t occurring right now. I knew that, but I couldn’t pull myself out of it. Not when it started with the voices. Loud. Sharp. Explosive. Detonating a bomb loaded with terror.

Clapping my hands over my ears, I inched backward, pressing against the wall. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. They felt like they were peeled wide open, held by tiny pins. The pain radiating from the center of my face was forgotten.

Cheeks flushed a bright red and eyes bloodshot, Mr. Henry dragged Rider across the dirtied, ripped linoleum floor by the arm. Rider was almost as tall as Mr. Henry now, but the man had a good hundred pounds on Rider. He was yelling so loudly I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but Rider wasn’t struggling. He covered his nose with one hand. Blood ran between his fingers. My tummy twisted.

Mr. Henry threw open the back door. Cold air rushed in as tiny snowflakes fell across the yellowish-white floor. The storm door, broken, swayed unsteadily in the wind. “I’m done with your shit, boy. You think you have it bad? Maybe you’ll realize just how lucky you have it after a couple of hours out there.”

In a stuttered heartbeat, Mr. Henry shoved Rider outside, onto the snow-covered porch. I cried out, peeling myself off the wall. Rider couldn’t be outside. He was just in a shirt and jeans. It was too cold.

The door slammed shut. It was too late.

Mr. Henry whirled on me, and trepidation seized my heart.

Fists pounded on the door, from the outside, and I started to back up. Nothing was between Mr. Henry’s unfocused gaze and me.

“Get out of my face, girl,” he shouted, spraying spittle into the air. “Or you’re gonna regret it real quick!”

Spinning around, I ran out of the kitchen and into the den. I pressed myself against the wall as I lifted my arm, dragging my fingers against my nose. Pain spiked, but there wasn’t a lot of blood on my hand when I lowered it.

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.