Justin says something that I can’t hear—there’s no audio—and then removes his phone from his pocket. He types something out, and my own phone buzzes with incoming text messages.
Maxine is safe for now; she’s not my prisoner, but I am with her. Make sure you behave. So long as you follow the rules, she’ll have a splendid time. No harm will come to her.
Enjoy your reunion with Parrish.
That is not a request.
Justin ends the call, and I shove the phone back in my blazer pocket. I can barely breathe. I can barely think. I never agreed to trade Parrish for Maxine; that isn’t a bargain that I can live with.
So far, Justin has kept his word. Do I believe him now? What if I still tell on him? Would Maxine be dead before the authorities arrived? There was that cop tonight; I can’t forget that. Justin couldn’t possibly control everyone in the FBI though, could he? What is he doing right now with my sister? There are other people present; she appears to be there of her own free will.
What do I do? What the actual fuck do I do?!
My eyes meet Parrish’s as he finally gets a moment to himself, and I find my feet moving of their own accord. I close the distance between him and wrap my arms around his waist as he does the same to my neck, pulling my face against his chest.
Tess is right there, staring at us. So is Kimber. But … this could look like a stepbrotherly hug, couldn’t it?
Either way, I can’t resist. I can’t stay away from him. Physical distance is nearly painful at this point. The three of us risked and sacrificed so much to bring him back; I have to savor this moment while I can.
Because you never know when you might not get another.
More than once in the last few weeks, I’ve wondered if every conversation I had with Parrish would be the last. It makes me care a lot less that Tess is staring at us, that she might be wondering, that I could be upsetting Kimber.
“Don’t be scared; I’ve got this,” Parrish whispers, his voice so low that I’m sure only me and Maxx, who’s standing on my right, can hear him. Even Chasm, who’s just off to my left, probably can’t hear. “You don’t have to fight alone.”
Parrish releases me, standing up and catching the blanket as it slides down his shoulders, revealing all of that gorgeous ink. I see the dragon tattoo on his chest, the blue-green one that I scraped my teeth over once upon a time. His almond eyes narrow slightly as he drags them away from my gaze and over to Tess.
“I want him taken to the hospital,” she says, gesturing at one of the paramedics. Several more cars pulling down the length of the driveway draw my attention. One of them is Paul. The others are … FBI, maybe?
“I don’t want to go to a hospital,” Parrish declares, lifting his chin in that haughty way of his. “I’m fine.”
I’m not the only one who drops their gaze to his chest.
To the numerous slices ticked across his skin, counting the days.
There shouldn’t be so many; I should’ve found him sooner.
Parrish looks down and then frowns, reaching his fingers to one of the fresher wounds and swiping it through the blood. Then he glances at me, and his eyes widen slightly. I drop my gaze to my own chest, to the ruby red streaks across my pale skin and the soft pink of my princess dress.
Then I look up again and catch his attention.
“You need a hospital, Parrish,” Tess says, her voice so gentle and soft and tender that I don’t recognize her as anyone I’ve ever met. This is not the bio mom I know. She touches his shoulder, running her hand down his arm.
He tears his gaze from me to look at her again.
“They’re not that deep,” he argues, which is silly. The newer ones are bleeding; the older ones are scabbed. But none of them look pretty. “I want to go home.”
“Parrish!” Paul comes around the corner with Amelia’s hand clutched in one of his, Henry’s in the other. Ben is just ahead of them, his eyes lighting up as his glasses slide down his nose.
“Pear-Pear!” he shouts, and Parrish’s entire face brightens up.
“Don’t call me—” he starts, but then Ben is launching himself at his midsection and squeezing him so tightly that he just laughs. The twins break away from their father, grabbing onto their brother and clinging to him as Tess gently admonishes them.
“Is your sister okay?” Chasm asks, looking over at me. He drops his hand down to capture mine, curling our fingers together. Parrish is laughing and tousling our siblings’ hair, but then his eyes slide over, take note of our conjoined hands, and then flick away again. Chasm’s jaw tightens and he very carefully, very purposefully unhooks his fingers from mine.
