Page 245 of Saving Her

I stare into those eyes, the noise increasing, my pulse deafening.

He lessens the panic. There’s the strong hold of his hand, the unfaltering focus, the confident tilt of his chin. Everything about him makes me want to be bold.

I can do this.

After everything I’ve been through, I can do this one simple thing.

I inch forward, stealing my hand from his to place my palms against the door for grounding. At first, the view is the same as outside. People are everywhere, the faces unrecognizable.

Then I spy Sebastian in his suit with Keira wearing a floral flowing dress and cream jacket nestled close at his side.

I hold my breath as my gaze drifts over the people in front of him. The shorter height. The greying hair.

My eyes blaze as I stare at the back of my parents’ heads.

That’s all there is through the crowd. Their familiar hairstyles. The recognizable frames.

But it’s them.

My heart.

My home.

Overwhelming gratitude consumes me. I stare at them for a lifetime, the noise disappearing, the outside world evaporating.

“You’re smiling.” There’s pride in Luca’s voice. “Really smiling.”

I sniff through my tingling nose. “It may only be the back of their heads, but I’m currently seeing the most beautiful picture right now.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Me, too.”

The emotions intensify and I tremble with thanks as I turn my attention to Luca, ensnared in his pride-filled eyes.

“Go on.” He jerks his chin at the peephole. “Keep lookin’. I’m going to steal something to eat and stop distracting you.” He winks and walks away, aiming for the kitchen staff preparing hors d’oeuvres.

“Thank you.” It takes a moment for me to drag my gaze back to the party. I watch. Listen. Pretend I’m part of the festivities.

I let the laughter from the people inside the restaurant sink into me, the happiness, the calm, and attempt to read Sebastian’s lips as he continues to talk to our parents.

I don’t move as waitstaff walk in and out of the kitchen, the whoosh of the door beside me bringing clearer insight to nearby conversations. I hear names and punchlines. Drink orders and compliments.

Then horror.

Every ounce of my joy evaporates when a male voice asks, “Hey, Dodge, how have you been?”

That’s all it takes. One question. One name.

Dodge.

Ice enters my veins. My breathing labors.

I can’t see who the speaker is. I can’t even determine who they’re talking to, but that name brings crystal clarity.

My memory hadn’t triggered this morning when I wrote that list, but it does now.

Dodge was a man who supplied Luther with information. A spy of sorts. A traitor to Cole.

I inch back from my peephole and try to get my memories to cycle while attempting to hear the respondent at the same time.

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