Fire Inside (Chaos #2)(20)

I’d give him one thing. I’d give him a million things. I’d give him anything.

I knew that in my bones.

That wasn’t about great sex.

That was about him tucking the covers around me before he turned out the lights.

I didn’t tell him that.

I didn’t say anything.

Hop didn’t need me to.

His arm again squeezed and, this time, stayed tight. “Those bullets tore through you, baby,” he said gently and I felt my body tense. His other hand let mine go, came up and slid into the side of my hair, holding my head to his chest as he kept talking. “But you didn’t leak out. You’re still here. You lost blood, Lanie, and someone you loved. But you’re still here. Give me one more thing before this is over and promise me you’ll try to find it in you to remember that.”

So he would stop talking, I gave him what he wanted even if it was a lie.

“I promise, Hop.”

“Good,” he muttered, his hand pressing lightly against my head then sliding out of my hair, his palm gliding against my cheek before it fell away and he finished, “Sleep, lady.”

Sleep, lady.

I memorized his deep voice wrapping around those soft words as I replied, “Okay.”

My cheek rose as his chest rose to take in a deep breath.

My body relaxed as his chest fell when he let it out.

I paid attention and I kept doing it until I fell asleep and I knew I fell asleep before Hopper did.

But I slept deeply.

I knew this because, hours later, when I woke up, he was gone.

* * *

That night, I sat on the couch, heels to the edge, knees to my chest, arms around my calves, chin to my knees, staring at it.

Staring hard.

I didn’t ever look at it. I didn’t even know why I’d put it there. I didn’t know why I didn’t hide it away. Pack it up in a box and shove it into the back of a closet so when I moved or when I died and someone went through my stuff, they’d find it and wonder. Wonder what it was. Who it was. And if they knew, they’d wonder why I kept it.

I stared hard.

Then my feet came out from under me, hitting the floor as I straightened out off the couch, walked to it, and snatched it off the shelf.

I brought it to my face.

Elliott and me. Arms around each other, my head on his shoulder.

Smiling.

Happy.

I stared at the picture.

I brought it closer, my eyes moving over his face in the only place it could ever be anymore, contained in a frame, and I found my lips whispering, “You got yourself killed, nearly got me the same way, got Tyra stabbed for… f*cking… flowers.”

Elliott had no reply.

“You f**king ass**le,” I hissed.

Elliott made no response.

My body twisted, my arm going with it, and the frame flew across the room, slamming against the wall, the glass shattering before the frame fell and the shards tinkled to the ground.

I glared at it for long moments before I stomped to my purse, yanked out my iPod, and stomped to my stereo. I shoved the little thingie on the cord that led to my stereo into the little thingie on the top of the iPod, turned on the stereo, bent my head and moved my thumb on the pad until I found it.

Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band: Nine Tonight (Live).

I scrolled to the track, hit play, and walked to the couch, resuming my position, staring at my stereo as the crowd cheered then went silent as the piano started up and Bob started singing “We’ve Got Tonight”.

I listened to the words.

When the song ended, I got up, hit back, and played it again.

I listened to the words.

When it ended, repeat.

And repeat.

Again.

And again.

I did not cry.

I would not cry.

Not ever again.

I didn’t have it in me.

I had nothing left to give.

I not only had nothing left to give, I just had nothing.

And I was going to keep it that way.

If you had nothing, you couldn’t feel more pain because you had nothing left to lose.

Chapter Three

My Eye on You

Three weeks later…

“Uh… Lanie, honey, where’s the frame?”

I was smiling at Tack, who was standing in my doorway waiting for Tyra to pull the lead out and follow him to his bike, but at my best friend’s words I felt my smile freeze on my face.

Tack didn’t miss it.

Tack, the single-most decent man I’d ever met (regardless of how much he swore, which was maybe more than Hop did), was also the smartest.

He didn’t miss anything.

So when my smile froze, his sapphire blue eyes dropped to my mouth and his dark brows snapped together.

I pulled in breath and looked to Ty-Ty.

“What frame?” I asked. It was a lie and worse, I knew Tack would know it.

Tyra did, too.

This wasn’t a surprise. She knew me well. We’d been friends a long time.

Kane “Tack” Allen was tall, dark, handsome, and rough. He was also very smart, very loyal, very funny, and very in love with my best friend.

Tyra Allen was curvy, redheaded, green-eyed, and not rough in the slightest. She was also far from dumb, very loyal, very funny, very in love with her husband, and very true to me.