Among the Echoes (Wrecked and Ruined #2.5)(49)

I crack my neck, desperately trying to distract myself. She won’t let me touch her as she breaks down in front of me. Screaming at her is only going to make her shut down, but I need some God damn answers before I lose my mind. I take a breath, praying for a magical calm to wash over me.

"Riley, you’re mine. We’ve established that. No one, and I mean no one, will ever hurt you again. But you have to let me in on a little of the backstory here. I will fight the entire world for you, but I need you in my corner. I can’t do this blind."

"It’s the only way."

My frustration gets the best of me and I let out a long string of expletives. "You’re right, beautiful. I can see you, but I can’t hear you. There are too many lies and secrets echoing around us, distorting the real woman. I don’t know who you truly are, Riley, but tiny flashes of that woman whisper around the room between us. I will find the real you among the echoes—and I will make her mine."

Her eyes fly to mine, and in a sad voice, she breaks me. "Oh, Slate. That woman doesn’t exist. All I am are the bits and pieces of static."

"Not to me, you’re not," I say forcefully. "I’ll stop with the questions, but make no mistake. I will find you. I need that woman. Not this fa?ade you put on or the fears that overwhelm you. I’m talking about the woman you only show for the briefest of seconds when we are alone. I will search to the ends of the earth to find that woman—because I love her. I don’t even know her real name, but I love her—fiercely."

"Slate," she breathes, shaking her head.

"Riley," I respond, taking another step toward her.

"Erica," I hear Dave interrupt from the doorway.

I turn around to find him standing behind me with defeat and grief painted all over his face.

"No!" she screams, rushing toward him.

"Her name is Erica," he clarifies, looking me directly in the eye.

"Shut up!" she screams, pushing him as hard as she can. My eyes go wide as I watch her detonate. "They will take him away from me! You *!" she cries, pounding on his chest. I loop a restraining arm around her waist, but she continues to wildly kick her legs and swings her arms. "I hate you. I f*cking hate you."

"Good, because I f*cking hate me too," Dave bites out. "But you know what? He needs to know you. And more than that, you need him to know, Erica."

"They’ll make us disappear. You know that!" she cries, crumbling in my arms.

"I won’t let that happen, I swear. Tell him all of it, babe. Free yourself as well." Dave nods to me and walks away, leaving me holding the pieces of the shattered woman I’m madly in love with.





I have no idea how long Slate and I have been lying in bed. He hasn’t said a single word since he carried me in here, but then again, neither have I. I’ve been lying facedown, alternating between crying, sleeping, and wanting to puke at the idea of telling him everything. I don’t think my past will send Slate running for the hills, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried that it will ultimately make him leave. But no matter how long I wish I could put this off, I know it’s time. I suddenly roll over to face him and find him propped up on an elbow, watching me.

"You ready?" he asks, and the familiar words make tears once again flood my eyes.

"I think so," I whisper as he lies down on my pillow, only inches from my face. He places a hand in the curve of my hip and gives me an encouraging squeeze. I suck in a breath and prepare to spill it all. "My name is Erica Hill. I used to be an emergency room physician—" My words are immediately cut off as Slate leans in for a deep and lingering kiss. He holds his mouth to mine while breathing me in and pouring his heart out with only a single kiss.

He pulls away, flashing me a crooked smile. "It’s nice to meet you, Erica."

"Oh, God." I try to fight back the emotions, but the sound of my name coming from his mouth is just too much. It’s a word I took for granted for almost thirty years, but now, it’s something so incredible that it leaves me speechless.

In true Slate fashion, he holds me patiently, waiting for me to continue.

"Almost four years ago, I took a house call that changed my life. Everyone will tell you never to take house calls, but residents make shit for money. Combine that with over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in student loans and just like everyone else without a rich mommy or daddy to lean on, I was broke. A guy I worked with did some after-hours stuff all the time. He told me the patient was some sort of hypochondriac that just wanted a doctor to tell him he didn’t have a horrible illness. I would later learn that some people can be bought for mere dollars. My crooked-coworker asked me if I would be interested in some quick cash, and of course I said yes." I stop to laugh at myself. "Well, a few weeks later, they called me in the middle of the night, asking if I could come right away. When I arrived, I was escorted in by a large man who immediately cleared the room so I could do my evaluation.

"The patient who was described to me as a hypochondriac was anything but. He was obviously ill, probably cancer, but I’m not completely sure. I never even got a chance to ask any questions—I was just the distraction. As soon as everyone left the room, three men came in through the back, firing a single shot to the patient’s head."