The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(47)

No? Well, good because I don’t know if I’m ready to write them, but here I go…

In my eighteen years, I’ve been guilty of all seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. I was never innocent, and I’m not afraid to be honest and share them with you.

But how about I start with my first one?

Wrath.

My first true sin.

And it all happened the moment I met her.

Let’s just say, I hated her.

From the second she popped up on that ladder to the many years and memories later, I hated her.

But…and this is the kicker, I also loved her.

Her name was Cassie Wilson, and she was the daughter of Patricia and John Wilson, sister to Liam Wilson, friend to my girlish adolescence, and biggest enemy to my fledgling womanhood.

When she found us, I clung to Ren—partly trying to protect him from her and partly wishing he’d protect me. Even so young, I knew our lives were about to change, and I knew it was all because of her.

She’d vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, slipping down the ladder with skills of doing it a hundred times before, and bolting across the farm to grab her father.

In the few minutes we had alone, Ren barked for me to grab his jeans and boots and used the last of his remaining energy to hoist on sodden, cold things and helped me safely down the ladder.

He’d tripped going down and tripped again as he struggled to haul the backpack onto his shoulders.

In his flu-fugue state, he’d left our sleeping bag upstairs—our one valuable piece of equipment second only to our tent, and he’d left it behind.

At the time, that terrified me.

To have someone so strong and invincible suddenly become so sick and lost rocked my small world.

Not that it mattered.

Because we didn’t get far.

John Wilson arrived, flanked by his curious handsome wife, devious pretty daughter, and cute little son.

And that was when Ren pushed me behind him, stood to his full height, and spoke with the gruff and rasp of sickness to let us go. His hand flexed around the hunting knife in his jean’s waistband, his knuckles turning white, then pink, white, then pink as he flexed in preparation.

He was my protector, and he’d promised I wouldn’t have to share him with anyone, yet here I was…sharing him.

I wanted to run in front and scream for these strangers to let us go, but Ren kept a solid grasp on my bicep, keeping me wedged safely against him.

With my limited interaction with humans, I expected them to grab us and maybe murder us there and then.

I’m pleased to report, they didn’t.

Instead, they changed our lives.

They welcomed us into their home, fed us a home-cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs, and called a doctor for my brother and best friend.

And through it all, Cassie Wilson never took her eyes off my Ren.

And my hate grew wings and flew.

You see, I loved her for being so kind to me, for everything she became to me.

But I hated her for taking something from me, for claiming the only thing I had, for stealing the boy I loved in all the perfectly right and terribly wrong ways that a sister ever could.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX





REN



2005




I DIDN’T WANT to be here.

I didn’t want to be under the scrutiny or charity of John Wilson and his family.

But I had nothing left.

I could only accept their assurances that they meant us no harm, bow my head in gratitude as a warm-cooked meal filled the icy emptiness in my belly, and cough my thanks as Patricia Wilson led me into their guest room complete with donkey figurines and crocheted blankets thrown over yellow bedding and left me alone with a doctor they’d called on my behalf.

In my fuzzy state, I permitted them to close the door without Della by my side. In a flash of lucidity and rage, I remembered why Della had to be with me at all times, why I hated strangers, and how I could never trust anybody.

This might’ve been their plan all along—to lull us into a relaxed state, then steal her and kill me.

If my strength was at full capacity, I would’ve left right then.

Then again, if my strength was at full capacity, we would never have been in this situation in the first place. I wouldn’t have slept too long, and under no circumstances would I have ever entered a house occupied by unknowns.

All I could do with my lacklustre brain power and my pathetic excuse for endurance was to immediately storm from the guest room and demand Della to stay with me at all times.

She was only too happy to wrap her arms around my thighs and take my command literally, even as Patricia Wilson tried to argue that I should be examined on my own and for Della to keep her distance so she didn’t get sick.

Their logic tried to undermine my confidence.

A thread of fear filled me that she might come down with what I had, but it was a risk I had to take because I wasn’t risking her in any other way.

I wouldn’t leave her alone to be hurt by them, taken by them, or touched in any way, shape, or form.

Just because they hadn’t punished us for sleeping on their property, shared their food, and called their doctor didn’t mean I trusted them.

The only family I trusted was ours.

And Della would stay with me at all times.