Page 84 of Please Open Me
“Seb!”
Cold fingers on my shoulder—and I flinched.
My hand shot up to tear them away, but I saw her. Thank God, I saw her.
Mason.
Standing over me, face tight with concern. And Rosie, fussy and red-faced in her arms.
Afternoon sunlight bathed them in gold.
No burns. No blood. No missing eyes.
Just two beautiful, alive girls.
My lower lip quivered, and I barely swallowed the sob. My hands shook as I reached up.
“Can I have her?”
Mason hesitated, studying me for a second, then passed Rosie down.
The baby clung to me instantly, sniffled once, then buried her face in my chest, smearing her boogery nose all over my shirt.
It was disgusting. I didn’t care.
All I wanted was my baby.
And her mama.
I kissed Rosie’s curls a hundred times, whispering apologies into her hair, inhaling the scent of breastmilk, baby lotion, and laundry detergent.
My baby was warm. Soft.Alive.
And right now, her mom was watching me like I was a bomb about to explode.
“Let me have you, too.” My voice was hoarse, and it was then I realized I’d likely been screaming outside my dream.
I reached out, hand open.
Mason hovered for a beat.
“Please, don’t make me beg,” I added.
Her shoulders lifted with a breath, and then she crawled in beside me.
Rosie nestled deeper between us. And Mason? She pressed in close enough that I could feel her heartbeat against mine.
“I want to get the fuck out of Hartwood. I don’t want to live here anymore.”
The words tumbled out, raw and honest. But the second I said them, I realized two things:
One: I sounded insane.
Two: Leaving wouldn’t fix anything.
Because I didn’t know how big the Sons of Christ really were. And I knew Dale would find me.
I’d seen the scars on Cameron’s back. Heard what Dale did to people who tried to run. But, in Cameron’s younger days, he had nothing left to lose.
