Page 21 of Until You

I pick up the letter and toy with its edges as I read it again.

You haven’t been living, Tenny.

This is not my forte—organizing a town event. Not even close.

You’ve been merely existing.

I look at the letter again. At the harsh pink of it—Bobbi Jo’s signature color—and before I can stop myself, I sit down to my computer and type up an email telling her I’d be happy to be on the committee and take part.

I’m sick of being scared. Of living in and scared of every shadow I come across.

I hit send before I can chicken out and delete it.

It’s time to live again.

CHAPTER SIX

Crew

There’s serenity in the chaos.

Paige.

An order in the confusion.

Addy.

Every second is measured in heartbeats. In ragged breaths. In the blink of my eyes to try and process and assess and react.

Fuck.

The room. Smoke weighs down the air and creates some kind of magical art as it swirls and dances through the single sliver of light from the barely closed door across the family room.

My ears ring.

My mind races.

The smell. Metallic mixed with gunpowder. Two scents you never want mixed. One I’ll never forget.

My body shakes as the adrenaline owns me. As it overshadows the pain. The helplessness. The desperation.

I press harder against my lower abdomen just below my vest. The warm stickiness of blood coats my fingers while my other hand aches from its tight grip on my Glock’s trigger.

My lifeline right now.

Gut wounds. Bacteria. Sepsis. Infections.

My mind reels with the things I know, and none of them are fucking good.

Addy.

Paige.

Their laughter.

They need me, goddamn it. Don’t do this to me. They need me.

A noise to my left has me straining to hear more—to place it—in the screaming silence.