Free Stolen by Jalena Dunphy Page B

any questions. Instead, he tilts my head up with his
fingers under my chin and softly grazes his thumb across my lower lip. I roll
my eyes closed and wait for his lips to touch mine. When they do, I inwardly
sigh, a contented breath, relishing this moment; perhaps the last moment I’ll
ever feel this way with anyone, unconditionally loved and desired.
    I walk out the door and walk what feels like The Green
Mile—the walk to my execution.
    Before I step into the house, I try to calm my
drifting thoughts and remind myself that whatever happens next isn’t my fault,
but that whatever I’m asked to do, I’ll do to protect my family. I feel like
I’ve aged ten years in less than a day. Oh, how I wish I could just keep up my
vow to do the dishes more often.
    Life’s a bitch.
    I’m surprised to see Bruce still sitting in the family
room. Did he stay the whole time I was gone? I highly doubt that; he probably
just got back or something.
    I close the door softly, needing as many seconds as I
can get before I face this. I pad quietly toward where Bruce, and now I notice
mom and Cass are sitting too, and clear my throat. Two pairs of tired,
tear-stained eyes turn and focus on me, followed by a set of gentle, comforting
eyes. I’m quickly growing desperate for the serenity his eyes bring me.
    He rises, and with open arms walks toward me. Just
before he attempts to hug me, he raises his brows, silently asking if it’s
okay. I answer by walking into his open arms, breathing in the scent of strong
but pleasant cologne. I had planned to have to be strong right away, but Bruce
is helping me feel like it’s okay if I’m not because I’m not alone. Mom and
Cass seem to have checked out, but at least he’s here for me. I shouldn’t have
judged him so harshly before, but it’s too late to take that back now.
    I don’t pull away from him immediately, and he doesn’t
seem to mind; he keeps holding me, soon beginning to rock me from side to side,
not saying anything in words, but speaking volumes in actions. I know he won’t
leave me to deal with this alone.
    He eases me out of our hug, keeping one arm around my
shoulder, leaning in to whisper into my ear, “I know why you had to bail, but
you worried me half to death . . . and your mom and sister.” He adds, “Please
don’t do that again. I know you don’t know me, but I’m here for you. I won’t
stop being here for you, okay?”
    An uneasy, foreboding feeling washes over me, as if it
was just confirmed that my world has been irrevocably altered. With a pain in
my gut at this realization, I nod in understanding. Good or bad, things will
never be the same.
    With his arm still on my shoulder, we walk into the
family room. Instead of sitting back in the chair, he sits us both down on the
loveseat, moving his arm off my body, but keeping it close to my leg, as if he
knows I need to feel the close proximity to a caring, comforting person.
    He looks between my family and me, then begins
speaking directly to me. “We’re so happy you’re back. Your mom received a text
from Rogan that you were at his house, but, unfortunately, for a little while
anyway, it’s probably best you don’t bring him into this like that again. It’s
not safe.”
    Rogan had let mom know I was with him and safe? I
should have known he would do that, keeping her from worrying, taking care of
me like always. I miss him already.
    I hear Bruce clear his throat loudly, snapping me back
to this dreadful chat. I nod, already accepting that as a given. He seems
pleased with the fact that he doesn’t have to convince me to stay away. I am
not so pleased, but I love Rogan too much to take any chances.
    “While you were gone, I talked to my partner at the
station. She said the lab didn’t find any prints on the letter, but I kind of
expected that. They’re running the handwriting through analysis to see if there
are any hits in our system to other similar cases; it’ll take a little time to
do that, but