Page 152 of Unexpected Heroine

Freya opens her mouth, then closes it immediately. Her eyes dart to the side.

“What?” I ask, my pulse spiking.

She angles her head toward the hallway. “Stella, whatcha looking for?”

It’s only then I notice the sounds of kitchen cabinets and drawers opening and closing.

“Looking for something. No worries. I’ll find it,” Stella hollers.

“Freya, look at me.” I snap my fingers. “What are you trying to hide?”

“Nothing,” she lies.

Bullshit detector fully operational, despite everything else in my life being broken and irreparable.

“Was it him? Did he send it?”

Her eyes widen before she can school her features.

Dammit. It was him.

To avoid my probing gaze, she starts inching toward the door. “Stella, what do you need, hun?”

“Don’t leave.” Panic lodging in my throat, I reach for Freya, locking my hand around her wrist. “Don’t leave me alone.”

Her face softens, and her lips turn down at the corners. “Oh, Lettie. I won’t leave you.”

Like a trembling mess, I fold my body in on itself, collapsing onto the edge of my bed. I dig the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to physically hold back the tears.

Tears of shame, tears of fear, or tears of anger.

I can’t tell the difference any longer.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, unable to face her.

That shame I was longing for has arrived, making itself at home.

The bed moves beside me, and then I feel her arm wrap around my shoulders. I stay hidden behind my hands in accordance with section three of the Cowardice Operations Manual.

“Lettie, it’s okay to be scared,” Freya whispers. “I’m scared too.”

“What?” I gasp in shock, my face springing out of my hands.

A sad smile caresses her lips, and she nods sullenly. “I haven’t been able to go back to work.”

“Really?”

It’s been nearly a week since they rescued me.

“Yeah. It’s hard, you know? I don’t know who to trust.”

Guilt pierces a hole in my chest, stabbing me in the heart and lungs. Those fucking tears I’ve been fighting off finally break through my defenses. If I’d have been more careful, she wouldn’t be suffering this way.

Before I turn into a blubbering mess, Stella reappears in dramatic fashion. Her signature style.

“Okay, you can open the bottle now, Lettie.”

I narrow my waterlogged eyes at her, only to realize I can’t see very far. All this crying dislodged a contact lens. Fucking hell. Now I’ll have the pirate one-eye squint until I can get out of bed to get a new contact lens or find the missing one. It might be on my chest, up my nose, or in my hair line. Who the hell knows? It could be rowing a dingy down my perpetually flowing river of tears.

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