wrapping an arm around his wife. “Go home and make a plan that will keep you safe.”
I nod in agreement for his benefit. But no matter how many plans they make, I’ll never truly be safe.
Those that step in, never get out.
Never, ever, ever.
Chapter 3
Lyric
The most depressing song of all time is playing from the surround sound. Definitely not my choice of music, especially when so much dreariness haunts Ayden’s life already. Every day, he’s plagued by the fact that the same people who kidnapped him and his siblings over four years ago are holding his sister. The same people have also been tormenting him for the last several months by breaking into his house, stealing his hair, and as of three days ago, leaving him creepy notes in his car.
With my sketchpad propped open on my lap, I stare across the room at him, assessing the pain he tries to keep hidden while drawing the shadows of his smoldering dark eyes framed by the longest, darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.
Today, he’s dressed in all black and sporting the leather bracelets that match mine—Christmas presents we gave to each other a few months ago. Each stroke of my pencil captures the pain concealed below the surface of his strength.
As I’m shading his eyes, the iPod shifts to the next song, which turns out to be equally as energy draining as the first.
“Who picked out this playlist?” I climb off the sofa and pad over to the stereo that’s below the flat screen mounted on the wall.
Ayden peers up from the notebook he’s been scribbling in for over the last hour, sweeping wisps of his inky black hair out of his eyes. “I thought you did.”
“Yeah, right. These songs are too depressing for me to be listening to at the moment.” I frown at the stereo. “My mom must have turned it on before she took out the sugar junkie clan for dessert.”
The Gregory’s kids are staying over for the night while Ethan and Lila are away at their son, Everson’s, football game. At fourteen-years-old, Everson is living his dream already, playing quarterback for the middle school league. While the Gregorys wanted to take the whole clan with them, they thought it’d be best if they stayed behind, considering it’s a school night. Lila acted like a nervous wreck when they dropped everyone off and gave my mother an hour-long lecture about keeping Ayden in the house at all times with the alarm on and an adult always around.
After dinner, my mom suggested everyone go get ice cream, but Ayden and I stayed behind with my dad who retired to his office about thirty minutes ago to put together a band line-up for his club.
I tap the skip button, moving to the next song, “My Heroine” by Silverstein. “Much better.”
“Much better?” Ayden cocks his brow. “It’s as slow as the last one playing.”
I hold up a finger. “Give it a minute.” I sway my hips to the slow rhythm of the song while sweeping my hands through my hair. When the tempo quickly picks up, I grin cockily at Ayden. “See. Much better.”
He chuckles, a rare but breathtaking sound. Then he sets his pen and paper aside on the coffee table and stretches his arms above his head. “Do I lose points against me for not knowing that?”
“Hmmm . . .” I thrum my finger on my bottom lip as I amble across the living room toward him. “I might consider letting you keep all your points for a small fee, of course.”
“And what’s the fee?” he asks, mildly amused.
I straddle his lap and announce my fee with my actions. He briefly tenses from the contact then relaxes when I tangle my fingers through his hair.
“There. Much better,” I whisper. “I don’t like you being so far away.”
He offers me a small smile. “I wanted to sit by you, but I worried your dad would maybe get mad or something.”
“That we were sitting on the couch together?”
“I don’t know .
I nod in agreement for his benefit. But no matter how many plans they make, I’ll never truly be safe.
Those that step in, never get out.
Never, ever, ever.
Chapter 3
Lyric
The most depressing song of all time is playing from the surround sound. Definitely not my choice of music, especially when so much dreariness haunts Ayden’s life already. Every day, he’s plagued by the fact that the same people who kidnapped him and his siblings over four years ago are holding his sister. The same people have also been tormenting him for the last several months by breaking into his house, stealing his hair, and as of three days ago, leaving him creepy notes in his car.
With my sketchpad propped open on my lap, I stare across the room at him, assessing the pain he tries to keep hidden while drawing the shadows of his smoldering dark eyes framed by the longest, darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.
Today, he’s dressed in all black and sporting the leather bracelets that match mine—Christmas presents we gave to each other a few months ago. Each stroke of my pencil captures the pain concealed below the surface of his strength.
As I’m shading his eyes, the iPod shifts to the next song, which turns out to be equally as energy draining as the first.
“Who picked out this playlist?” I climb off the sofa and pad over to the stereo that’s below the flat screen mounted on the wall.
Ayden peers up from the notebook he’s been scribbling in for over the last hour, sweeping wisps of his inky black hair out of his eyes. “I thought you did.”
“Yeah, right. These songs are too depressing for me to be listening to at the moment.” I frown at the stereo. “My mom must have turned it on before she took out the sugar junkie clan for dessert.”
The Gregory’s kids are staying over for the night while Ethan and Lila are away at their son, Everson’s, football game. At fourteen-years-old, Everson is living his dream already, playing quarterback for the middle school league. While the Gregorys wanted to take the whole clan with them, they thought it’d be best if they stayed behind, considering it’s a school night. Lila acted like a nervous wreck when they dropped everyone off and gave my mother an hour-long lecture about keeping Ayden in the house at all times with the alarm on and an adult always around.
After dinner, my mom suggested everyone go get ice cream, but Ayden and I stayed behind with my dad who retired to his office about thirty minutes ago to put together a band line-up for his club.
I tap the skip button, moving to the next song, “My Heroine” by Silverstein. “Much better.”
“Much better?” Ayden cocks his brow. “It’s as slow as the last one playing.”
I hold up a finger. “Give it a minute.” I sway my hips to the slow rhythm of the song while sweeping my hands through my hair. When the tempo quickly picks up, I grin cockily at Ayden. “See. Much better.”
He chuckles, a rare but breathtaking sound. Then he sets his pen and paper aside on the coffee table and stretches his arms above his head. “Do I lose points against me for not knowing that?”
“Hmmm . . .” I thrum my finger on my bottom lip as I amble across the living room toward him. “I might consider letting you keep all your points for a small fee, of course.”
“And what’s the fee?” he asks, mildly amused.
I straddle his lap and announce my fee with my actions. He briefly tenses from the contact then relaxes when I tangle my fingers through his hair.
“There. Much better,” I whisper. “I don’t like you being so far away.”
He offers me a small smile. “I wanted to sit by you, but I worried your dad would maybe get mad or something.”
“That we were sitting on the couch together?”
“I don’t know .
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