Page 14 of Laila Manning
“Isn’t this something a friend would know?”
“Friend?” She raised her brows at me in surprise and then rolled her eyes again, making the alpha in me ache to correct the bratty attitude. “We’re not friends, Zeke.”
“Ouch.” I feigned insult, and she smirked the tiniest smile before dropping her gaze to her feet and hiding it. “So let me be your friend. For five minutes.”
“Why?” She shook her head, sneaking a glance up at me. “What do you care?”
“Humor me. Let me know something about you.”
She scoffed and kicked a stone with her sneaker. “You already know the worst parts of me, Zeke.” She replied quietly, “Everyone does.” A redness crept up her neck, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. It looked like anger. “Everyone knows the darkest and most terrible parts. Don’t I deserve to have anything that’s just for me?”
“You’re wrong, because I don’t know you at all.” I argued, waiting for her to look up at me before continuing. “I know the darkest and most terrible thing that happened to you, but I don’t know anythingaboutyou. Things that happentous do not define us.” I took a step forward, closing the distance between us, and swelled with undeserving pride when she didn’t take a step backward like she usually did. “So, for five minutes, let me be your friend.”
She mulled it over, but I thought she was going to just remain mute indefinitely until she sighed and turned back away from me. Instead of walking away from me, she looked over her shoulder and nodded for me to walk beside her.
“What about your car?” she asked as we started down the sidewalk away from my car.
“Do you think someone in East Valley is going to steal it?”
She shrugged her shoulders, “I grew up in a neighborhood not much different from this one.” She kept her gaze forward, “And terrible things happened there, so who knows.”
I smirked at her attempt at sarcasm, but kept my mouth shut, giving her control of the conversation. It was one of the first conversations we had if you didn’t count the one in her bedroom theother night.
I didn’t count it, because I couldn’t focus on a single thing besides how good she looked in her cute little pajama set, rumpled and sleepy as she stared up at me.
Or the noises she made as she dreamed. God, those noises.
“I’m practicing walking down sidewalks.” She finally admitted. “For therapy.”
All sexual thoughts I’d been having about her faded away as the gravity of that statement hit me square in the chest. I pressed carefully, not oblivious to the fact that she was finally giving me a glimpse into her life, and I didn’t want her slamming the door in my face just yet.
“What is it about walking down sidewalks that bothers you?”
“It’s not sidewalks in particular.” She hummed and took another deep breath. “There was a long hallway,” She paused again, like the words were evading her. “Every time they ushered me down that hallway, I was hurt.”
“And now walking down certain hallways,” I motioned to the long strip of concrete ahead of us, “leaves you triggered.”
She peeked up at me from under the curtain of hair blowing around her face and nodded.
“I see.” I acknowledged, focusing on maintaining my strong composure when the small tidbit of information rattled me. “How are you feeling right now?”
She scoffed a bit with a smirk. “Like I’ve fallen into some alternate universe and wound up with you walking down a sidewalk with me while I try not to have a panic attack.”
I snorted from her attempt at deflection and humor but kept walking with her. “Anxious.” I looked at her, and she rolled her eyes before nodding in agreement. “How do you combat your anxiety?”
She sighed, sliding her hands into the pockets of her tight jeans, and kicked a stone with the toe of her sneaker. “Besides a near-lethaldose of medication?” She shrugged, “Meditation and journaling have helped, I guess.”
“What do you journal about?” I asked as I pinpointed a black sedan rolling down the road toward us, slower than usual, even for the residential street.
“Uh,” She shrugged again, peeking up at me, drawing my eyes back to hers. “The past. The present.” She licked her lips. “My dreams and my hopes for the future.”
“Manifesting what you want out of life is a great way to put into action.” I tried to sound sure and supportive. But I didn’t have a fucking clue how to be a self-help guru. Damn if I wasn’t trying, though.
“That’s what Carly says.” She chuckled, shaking her head.
“Carly’s one of the smartest people I know, so that makes sense,” I responded, looking back at the car as it slowed to a stop next to us. I turned toward it, sliding my hand down Laila’s arm, tucking her behind me as the tinted window on the vehicle’s back door rolled down. One hand was on her, and the other was next to the gun in my waistband.
“Zeke.” A sickly-sweet voice called from the darkness inside as its occupant leaned forward, revealing herself.
