Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(117)

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and wiped away the single tear that slid down my cheek. “I’m so proud of you. Have I told you that?”

I laughed a soggy laugh. “Only about a thousand times.”

She smiled. “Then I’ll gladly tell you a thousand more.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, more grateful to her than she could ever know.

“Oh, sweet girl. I’m your mother. No matter how far you go, I will always be right here. Waiting for you. You are a gift, not a burden. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Her saying that just made me want to grab onto her, hug her and thank her again and again. Instead, I nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

We headed into the building and through security. I’d declined sitting through other testimonies and questioning. Declined putting myself through the presentation of evidence. I was here to tell my story. And I was here to stand in the place of Madeline since Cameron had robbed her of telling her own.

That didn’t mean my stride didn’t slow as we approached the courtroom. That I couldn’t feel my heart pounding in my chest, so hard I was sure it was visible beneath my white blouse, each step inciting a panic that quickened through my veins.

It only amplified when I was led through the double wooden doors.

Tingles flashed across my skin.

Evil and vile.

Oh God.

I gulped down the bile that threatened to rise in my throat, the fear that threatened to bring me to my knees.

Run.

But I’d done it for so long and I was so tired of hiding. So tired of pretending.

Just like I’d known I would, I’d reached a crossroads.

Decision made.

I’d turned in the direction of my past.

An anxious energy trembled in the room, voices muted and subdued as they awaited my arrival. Paneled wood lined the walls, even darker where it gleamed from the judge’s and jurors’ boxes, the same wood making up the benches where people were squeezed shoulder to shoulder.

It made everything appear dark.

Sinister.

Cold.

A shiver skidded down my spine, and I forced up my chin, searched for the strength and courage that had set me on this path in the first place.

Brave, beautiful Blue.

I clung to her, that girl Lyrik had exposed, even though I felt so weak, so scared as I tentatively made my way down the narrow aisle. Heads swiveled and eyes gawked as this restless energy crawled across the floor and clawed at the walls. It pressed at the domed ceiling that only seemed to echo it back.

Amplified.

It was suffocating.

But it was nothing compared to the moment when he turned to look at me.

I felt as if I literally might die as I got trapped in the vile glare of Cameron Lucan.

Those dark eyes held no warmth and that heart held no capacity to care.

Reeling back, I ran into my father who was following close behind. He held me up while I wanted to crumble to the floor, his support always staunch and stoic.

How had I ever compared the two?

Lyrik and Cameron.

Because I recognized the difference. The difference between broken and depraved.

I was sworn in and took the stand. I could feel the weight of those terrorizing eyes locked on me. As if with just a look, he could back me into another corner. Hold me hostage in that dirty, disgusting room.

Memories spun.

Pain.

I couldn’t look up. Couldn’t bring myself to meet his eye.

Trembling, I gripped the edge of the chair to keep myself from fleeing. Feet aching to move.

I couldn’t do this.

I couldn’t do this.

Sickness clawed at my spirit, breath locked in my throat.

Panic welled.

But I had to stay.

For me.

For Madeline.

For the shame. For the guilt I had born. To put away this man who had belittled and oppressed and abused. To ensure he could never do it again.

I just didn’t know how to lift my head.

“Ms. Gibson, can you tell us when you first met Cameron Lucan?” The female prosecutor stood a couple feet away from me, prodding me with sympathy woven through her voice.

“Ms. Gibson?”

Run.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Tighter than before.

Trembles rolled as awareness spread, my heart rate kicking up a notch, this disoriented comfort soothing across my skin.

I puffed out a breath and slowly lifted my head.

Drawn.

That magnet that wouldn’t let me go.

Inky eyes stared back at me, that intimidating, confusing boy like a vision where he stood just inside the courtroom door. My pulse hammered and sped, my mind and heart at war, fighting the stark relief in his presence and the echo of his cutting words.

Silently, he took two steps forward, his gaze unwavering as he slid into the very back bench. Still, he may as well have been under a spotlight, all that wicked beauty a lure, tattoos standing out against his crisp, dark gray suit.

Gritty and straight-laced.

Hard and so unbearably soft.

Edged in hostility and bleeding calm.

A blatant, bold contradiction.

So destructive and compelling it was impossible to look away, the man poised to strike and set you aflame.

But I was already on fire.

Burned by this man.

And I ached beneath his stare that filled with sorrow, that pouty mouth tipped down at the corners.