Chaos and Control(87)

I force my body forward, ignoring the burn in my lungs and the dancing lights in my vision. Neither of them see me crawling toward the scuffle. I use that to my advantage. Summoning all the energy I can, I get to my feet and steady my shaking limbs. A flash of lightning sparks through the sky, and Preston’s determined eyes connect with mine. I raise my foot and kick Dylan between the legs. My weak effort does no damage, but it is enough to distract him.

Preston shoves Dylan as I press myself against the tower and out of his way. He lands a punch that sends Dylan stumbling backwards. I gasp as he grabs for the railing, misses…

And goes tumbling over the side.

I slump over and curl into a ball, my body’s adrenaline depleted. My lungs burn like there is a raging fire inside while my skin feels ice cold. Arms wrap around me, surrounded by wet warmth and calming words. This is my heaven. It smells like Preston.

“Wren.”

I blink up into the rain and see Preston’s face above mine. Relief washes over me, and I grab his face between my hands.

“Preston.”

“I’m here,” he whispers. “You’re safe.”

“Dylan!” I yell. “Is he…?”

Preston nods and pulls me against his chest. “He’s dead, Wren.”

Sirens wail from the distance and flashing lights reflect off nearby buildings. I search myself for some kind of reaction to Dylan’s death. He was an awful man, possessive and violent. Though I feel guilty for his death, the world is a better place without him in it.

“We killed someone,” I say, in awe.

“No,” Preston shakes his head. “It was me. We’ll tell them it was all me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I’m so sorry he got to you.”

I lean over the platform’s edge and see the police vehicles and fire trucks approaching below.

“How?”

“I heard him yell through the wall,” he says, pulling me away from the ledge and back into his arms. “I tried to get into the apartment, but the door was locked. By the time I broke it down, you were both gone. It didn’t take me long to figure out where you would go. I called the police and ran here.”

“So brave,” I say, leaning into his chest. “Preston-who-climbs-towers.”

Preston shakes his head. “Knowing you were up here with him, I didn’t even think twice when I got to the bottom of that ladder. Everything, all that bullshit that holds me back, vanished when I knew you were in danger.”

I press my lips against his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. My rescuer.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I whisper. “You saved me, Preston.”

Preston shifts beneath me, and his eyes dart around the platform. The chest muscles beneath my cheek tighten, and his breaths seem to pick up speed.

“Are you completely freaking out?” I ask.

“Now that you’re safe? Yes.”





A damsel in distress

A knight stands at the

Bottom of her tower

He shakes free of his

Heavy armor and takes

The first step

Every debilitating fear

Left on the ground

There is only one goal

Save her

Forward faster

Her cries fuel his spirit Because he cannot exist

In a world where she does not Because he cannot breathe Unless the air is filled with her At the highest height

He is victorious

In his arms, she is alive In her arms, he lives

- Preston





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Sounds of Silence


My father stands in the shade of a tall tree. The standard Reverend Hart uniform replaced with a new suit and shiny shoes that look odd on his feet. His favorite Bible is clutched in his right hand. A cool breeze blows through, rustling the leaves and casting an animated light show below.

The sweet scent of flowers sickens my stomach, and I try to take shallow breaths because of it. People say that grief can be numbing. In this moment, I pray for numbness. Right now, all I feel is immeasurable pain. Pain that cripples me and steals every good thing. My head is spinning, my heart is breaking, my insides are crumbling into dust, and I want to blow away.

Preston’s hands rest on my shoulders as I sit staring at the ground. Green blades of grass stick up in all directions, a few curling over the top of my black boots. There is such silence here, such reverent contemplation, I’m startled when my father finally speaks.

“Gracious God, in whose presence live all who die in the Lord, receive our sister into your merciful arms, and the joys of your heavenly home. May she and all the departed rest in peace.”

“Amen.” It is a chorus of murmurs from those gathered around the grave. I mumble the word a few seconds later than everyone else and refuse to look at the casket in the center of this crowd.

Preston squeezes my shoulder, and I stand on shaky legs. Everyone’s eyes are on me while mine concentrate on the wood-grain pattern of the mahogany casket. There is nothing but finality and sadness in that pattern. It makes me dizzy, so I drop my eyes to the ground. The words I want to say are scribbled onto a page from Preston’s notebook, folded and tucked into the sweaty palm of my hand. I don’t need to look at them. Words are a funny thing. There aren’t enough in the English language to say what I need to say.