Chapter Twenty-eight

RUE

I used my one phone call to contact a car service.

While the police read me my rights, they don't arrest me—small mercies. The detectives talked, then yelled, doing their best to browbeat me into a confession.

They wanted answers.

Hell, I fucking wanted answers about my abilities, but no one could ever give them to me. I've researched ghosts extensively on the internet, but most of the articles were crap. The scarce nuggets of valid information I found were few and far between.

It was only by trial and error that I managed to successfully put together the puzzle pieces of my fucked-up abilities—a puzzle that has no borders and over half of the pieces missing.

I've never run across anything like La Llorona . The largest body of water I've ever been near was my bathtub. Can a ghost live in a bathtub? I shudder at the thought.

I'm not sure if dragging her out of the water would have weakened the spirit enough to banish her, but I was desperate and had to try something.

Honestly, I'm not even sure how I banished her.

The ancestor I encountered mentioned something about focus and intent, but I didn't understand what she meant. While miraculously banishing the spirit should be considered a blessing, I find it troublesome. What happens the next time my powers activate without my permission? Will I accidentally raise the dead? What if I rip a soul from a living human if I sneeze wrong?

Without control, I'm a menace, just like my father predicted.

Used to my father's tantrums, it's easy to block the police as they rant. At least with the cops, they don't lay a hand on me.

Then, to my shock, an older gentleman enters the room, claiming to be my lawyer. He takes one look at me and orders the officers out of the room. Even with the door shut, I can hear him berating them.

By the time the lawyer returns, the police finally remove my cuffs and released me. It takes longer than it should to force my aching body into motion. When we pause by a locked door, waiting to be released, I don't look at him as I speak. "Thank you."

The lawyer turns toward me and scans my face, then his expression softens. He reaches into his pocket, retrieves his card, and offers it to me. "If you ever need anything, call me anytime."

I blink at the card—Mr. Hollis, Esq.—then look at him for the first time, ready to politely decline, but when I stare into his gray eyes, the compassion I see in their depths has me swallowing hard. They shimmer with gold for a moment, almost like a glow, and my breath hiccups in my chest.

A pure soul, or that's what I call them.

Very few people carry that little shimmer of gold, and I barely resist the urge to lean into his chest and cry at the way my new life has unraveled around me. I take his card, then slip it into my pocket.

As the door unlocks, the lawyer sighs then leads the way. I register Hicks waiting for me, but my eyes are locked on the door. I can almost taste the fresh air. All I want to do is put distance between me and everything that's happened today.

I need time to shore up my defenses and decide what the hell I'm going to do next.

I'm not strong enough to live next door to the guys and see them carry on with their lives without me. After today's fiasco, their friendship will turn to hatred.

It would destroy me.

With that in mind, I don't look at Hicks when he opens the door to the police station, focusing on my need to escape. Despite my bruised ribs, I can't resist taking a deep breath of fresh air. After being locked away for most of my life, I never would have imagined that air would taste different.

Air is air, right?

Wrong.

I'm startled when a vehicle pulls up in front of me and the driver calls my name. When Hicks says my name next, a touch of confusion in his voice, I stiffen my spine and force myself to get into the car.

No, it's better this way.

A clean break.

My chest aches when Hicks slams his palm against the window, a demand not to ignore him. When he starts swearing, tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to look at him or my resolve might waver.

It needs to be this way.

I'm not aware of time passing until the car door opens. I blink, shocked when I look out the window and see we arrived home. Climbing out of the vehicle is slow and painful, my body having stiffened while trapped in the car.

It's only when I reach the top of the stairs that I realize I am no longer alone.

I lift my head slowly, like an animal sensing danger, then turn to see Gunner and the twins waiting on the front porch. Even that slight movement sends a twinge through my neck and down my spine.

Jameson is seated on the ground, slumped against the house. One leg is up, bent at the knee, his arm resting on it, and his chin is nearly on his chest, like it's too heavy to lift. Jaceson is seated next to his brother, his arm around his shoulder, their heads pressed together.

Jaceson scans my face, his eyes not missing one bruise or scrape, and my shoulders slump as I wait for their rejection.

Apparently, people frown on attacking a woman with children.

Go figure.

As much as I might want to explain myself, who would believe me?

Instead of rejecting me, though, his stiff posture relaxes, almost like he was worried about me.

My stupid stomach does a little swirl and dance, and I do my best to shove it down. I probably caught septic after drinking so much lake water.

Most people think hope keeps a person moving forward, but hope is a slow poison that can crush a person under its weight when it inevitably fails.

Gunner rises from his chair, walking toward me, and I straighten my spine. When he reaches for me, I instinctively flinch. Hurt flashes across his face. Even knowing that was the worst thing I could do to him, I couldn't help it.

Sometimes, a person has to look out for themselves first.

I've been hurt too many times in the past, and I'm at the point where I fear I might shatter under one more blow. "What are you doing here?"

My voice is low and harsh, talking painful after swallowing so much lake water. Instead of retreating, Gunner takes a step closer, then gently tugs me against his chest. My resolve wavers for a moment, the warmth of his hug overwhelming my survival instincts, and I rest my head against his broad chest.

So this is what a hug is supposed to feel like.

It's as dangerous as it is intoxicating.

I should pull away, but my strength seems to be gone.

When he speaks, his voice is a rumble under my ear. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."

My throat tightens until it feels like razor blades fill my throat, and I barely bite back a sob. Instead, I just shrug, then wince when it pulls at my tender ribs. "I'm fine."

It's all I can squeeze out without breaking down completely.

"You aren't fine. It's okay not to be fine." Gunner tightens his hold around me for a second before he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back. "I'm not fine. Knowing you were hurt when I wasn't there to protect you kills me."

I peer up at him in confusion, then glance at Jameson before my eyes drop to the ground. I shrug my shoulders, not sure how to put my question into words. "You're not disgusted by what I did? I swear I wasn't attacking the woman. I was trying to save the kids."

It was important that they believe me.

"Disgusted? Never," he vows, sliding his hands down my arms and tugs me closer. "Is that what you think?"

I very purposely avoid looking at anyone and shrug again, my throat aching with so many emotions that I can't speak.

Gunner gently places a finger under my chin and lifts my face. "We never doubted you. Not once."

"James was triggered by seeing children in danger and watching you being hurt. When it's bad, he gets trapped in his head and can't break free. We usually need to talk him down or he's liable to kill someone…most likely himself."

I search his dark blue eyes for the truth, and he grimaces, running a hand through his hair. "It's partially my fault. When we were younger, I was late meeting with the guys. James came over to drag my ass out of bed.

"Only, my father was in one of his moods. He was beating my mother. When I tried to interfere, he turned his rage on me. I think he meant to kill me that day. Finally." He turns and looks out over the yard, not really seeing it as he recounts his past. "James knew he was never supposed to come into my house. It was too dangerous, and I refused to put them at risk, but James being James, he ignored my one and only rule, and he saw what was happening."

His laugh is dark and bitter as he shakes his head, then he shoves his fists into his pockets. "This ten-year-old, skinny dumbass burst through the door like some avenging superhero and charged my father. He received a blow to the head that threw him across the room. The impact broke his arm."

Gunner glances at me, his eyes drowning in sadness. "To this day, he can't stand seeing women or children hurt without going on a rampage."

"Watching me beat on a woman while her children were near…" I murmur to myself, horrified by what he witnessed. "It must have been his worst nightmare."

"No!" Jameson shoves to his feet, shaking off his brother as he storms toward me.

"You could have killed her for all I cared. I promised to keep you safe, and I failed you. She was a woman, her kids were right there, and I froze. I should have helped you, but I did nothing," the hoarse whisper is torn from him, shame practically oozing from his pores.

Not once does he lift his head to look at me, his gaze never leaving the ground. His shoulders are bowed inward, his body curved like he received a mortal blow that would never heal. His hands dangle uselessly at his sides, and I can feel the shame radiating from him. "I'm so, so sorry."

I can practically see his confidence crack and splinter.

He couldn't protect his friend.

He couldn't protect me, and it's breaking him.

I step toward him, afraid he might spook like a skittish mouse caught in a trap. As much as I want to gather him into my arms, that's not what he needs right now.

"Look at me," I snap, planting my hands on my hips as I glare up at him.

He instantly obeys, his head jerking up, and my heart cracks to see his bloodshot eyes and shattered expression. "Did it look like I needed your protection?" I poke him in his chest, and he stumbles back like I hit him. "I gave you an order to protect the children. You did what I asked. If you interfered, it would have looked like a man was beating on a woman. She would have gone free, and she would have killed those kids."

"But you?—"

"I'm not finished!" I ruthlessly cut him off as his gaze slides to my injuries. I lift my hands, gritting my teeth when my ribs protest the movement. Dragging my hair from my face, I make him look at the wounds. "Are you telling me that you've never been hurt on your quests to protect women and children?"

"That's different," he mutters, his expression turning mutinous.

I'm just glad as fuck that the defeated look in his eyes is gone. "Why? Because only you can save people?"

I drop my arms and roll my eyes, stepping forward until I invade his personal space. "I'm not asking to be saved. I can fucking save myself. When I needed you" —he flinches, the defiance on his face sliding away— "you were there. You did what I asked. You kept the kids safe."

"But I promised to protect you…" He trails off, glancing at my injuries again.

I know he won't accept the answer easily. It's a trigger, and he won't just magically be cured, but maybe I can ease his burden. "And you did protect me in the way I needed most." I grab his bruised and battered hand and place it over my chest, then I tap the back of it. "Here."

I wave a hand at my face and shrug. "I can heal from physical wounds. It's the wounds to our soul that are more dangerous. They never heal properly. They scab over and scar. They harden us. You stopped that from happening today."

His eyes remain glued to his hand on my chest. I would say he's staring at my boobs, but I sense he's trying to look inside me to see if I'm telling the truth. His thumb gently brushes against my skin just under my collarbone, and I swear I can feel his touch down to my bones.

When he finally lifts his head, animation returns to him like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "Pookie?"

"Yes, baby?" The pain from earlier vanishes, leaving me exhausted from the day's events. My aches and pains are making themselves known, but I refuse to budge from my spot until I know he's going to be okay.

"How did you know what was going to happen?" As if he senses my retreat, he reaches out and captures the back of my neck, stopping me from pulling away. His expression hardens, his pale blue eyes turning stormy. "Please don't run. I'll be forced to chase you. To the ends of the world if I must."