Page 82 of Dangerously
In reality, I know I am all those things. I also know he can’t hurt me anymore because I can kill him with one hand. But the memories that live inside me, that live inside my former home, they are very real. And very frightening, and very disturbing. They have the power to pass through reality and touch my subconscious.
“Hey, you okay?” Declan asks with worry etched on his handsomely rugged face.
“Fine, why?” I snap out of my internal tirade and concentrate on him.
“Because your finger is bleeding.”
“Huh?” I look down at my hands and realize I have chewed half the cuticle off my thumb. “Shit.” I stick my finger into my mouth and taste the tang of my own blood.
“It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.” He reaches back and touches my knee. I look down at the black clover tattooed on his hand before I touch it.
“Tell that to my memories.”
“It’s twenty-four hours, Fallon. You’re strong enough to hang in there for twenty-four hours. Try to look at the positive,” March tries to spin it.
“What positive?”
“You get to spend some time with Farrah. I know she’ll be happy to see you.”
“Maybe.”
“Girl, please. She’s going to lose it when you walk through that door.”
“I should be staying far away from her.”
“Says who?” March contests.
“Says me. This whole thing just feels wrong.”
“Well, you better get over that, ’cause here we go.” He turns onto a private road and stops at the gate. Really, it’s a mile long, tree-lined driveway leading to the estate.
“Code?” he requests.
“Six-two-seven-four-three.” I get a chill as I recite the numbers.
March punches them in, and the gate slowly swings open.
“Fancy,” Declan remarks.
I growl in response.
We drive down the curvy road surrounded by an acre of manicured lawn and bare, cherry blossom trees. When the house comes into view, my stomach begins to hurt. Being here is physically painful.
“Lon–” Aisling reaches for me, and I take her soft, sweet little hand. It’s like she knows I’m in distress. Declan’s right. She is intuitive.
“Thanks, baby.” I kiss her fingers, grateful for the comfort.
“Ho-ly shit. This is where you grew up?” Declan leans forward, gawking through the windshield at the ostentatious, stone-and-siding chateau-like structure.
“This would be it. Beautiful on the outside. A house of freaking horrors on the inside.”
March parks in the courtyard. We all get out of the car, and when I stand, I am wobbly on my feet.
“Hey.” Declan steadies me.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, standing up tall.I can do this.
With a deep breath, and confidence I find buried somewhere deep down inside, I walk up the stone steps.
