Free House of V (Unraveled Series) by Raen Smith

the Jones family’s lives.
    I turned to see an empty spot next
to me. I felt my shoes heavy against the sheets and my canvas jacket
restricting my movement. I was fully dressed, lying in bed. I should be gone by
now.
    Shit, again.
    I was abruptly brought back to the
time when I was seven, living with Holston - even in my memories, I can’t
resign myself to calling him my father - in a tiny, single-story home he’d
rented. It was right before he had made all his money; his empire still in the
budding stages as he scratched his way to the top. He had just come home, and
it was past my bedtime, by a long shot, I was sure.
    I had packed a suitcase with my
toothbrush and one pair of underwear, determined to leave. He hadn’t muttered a
word to me, but simply stepped aside, letting me stroll through the front door.
Holston had shut the door behind me. So there I was, a
seven-year-old with a tattered suitcase, set to take on the world. However, I
had never moved from that front porch, and instead, had curled up on the bare
concrete like a cat. I had awoken in the morning to find myself in the same
clothes from the night before, suitcase still by my side and a low grumble in
my stomach. I had walked back through the front door, Holston sitting at the
table, drinking coffee with a stoic stare. A single apple sat across from him.
    Are you finished? Those are
the only words he had said to me as I sat down across from him. I replied with
silence, knowing that I couldn’t leave him or that house. At
least, not then. I would obey, I had no choice.
    And now here I was, fully dressed
and unable to leave again. It was different this time around, though. I didn’t
want to leave. I had someone here that loved me, and I loved him. That was the
problem.
    The fresh aroma of coffee beans
wafted through the air and beckoned me into the kitchen. He would be there,
waiting for me. I thought about snagging the bag and crawling out the window,
but I owed it to Ryan to talk to him one last time, so I walked through the hallway,
feeling the shame wash over me. I hated myself for the last twenty-four hours.
    He stood with his back to me and
looked out the window above the kitchen sink. He knew I was standing behind
him.
    “I thought you said we were going to stay,” Ryan said, not
turning toward me.
    I was silent because I didn’t know
what to say. How could I argue with him? He was right; I had lied to him.
    “Why didn’t you go then?” he asked,
putting the mug of coffee down on the counter before turning to face me. He
held the knife he had given me in his other hand and twirled it for a moment
before setting it down. The emptiness sank into my chest.
    “I don’t know,” I answered. Why did
he have to love me so much? Why did he have to look at me with those eyes? Why
did I have to love him so much?
    “That’s not good enough,” he
replied. I knew he was right.
    “Come with me,” I said.
    “You know I can’t.”
    “I love you.” The words didn’t
quite come out right. They fell empty in the kitchen, the distance between us
too far.
    “But not enough,” he retorted,
leaning his hand against the counter.
    “I can’t stay here knowing that
Sister Josephine is in danger. That my family is in danger. I just can’t do it. This is who I am. I can’t pretend that I am someone else.
I’ll get in and out before they’ll know I’m even there and then I’ll come
back.”
    “And if you actually do it, which I
highly doubt, what’s going to happen the next time? And the
time after? What is it going to be the next time something pulls you
away from me? You want me to sit and wait?” Ryan asked, his brown eyes staring
straight through me. I knew it wasn’t fair. Not to him. Not to us.
    “It’s not like that, I?” I
stammered, looking for the right thing to say, but it didn’t come.
    “Just go, Evie ,”
he said, pointing to the front door as he hung his head down in rejection. He
was tired and so was I. “Just don’t expect