Page 109 of Devil's Iris
…How do you love someone who destroyed your family?
A sound outside makes my head snap towards the window—a crunch like someone stepping on a branch or something.
I’m off the bed in seconds, rushing to slam the window shut and twist the lock. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely manage it. The sound of my own heartbeat fills the silence as I stand there, pressed against the glass, scanning the darkness for movement.
There’s nothing. No figure.
Still, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold works its way up my spine.Was someone watching me?
Sleep becomes a joke after that. I toss and turn on the bed, the sheets tangling around my legs, sweat making the fabric stick to my skin, until the sun finally bleeds over the horizon. Feeling like a zombie, I force myself up and straighten the mess of sheets before dragging myself into the bathroom.
The cold shower pounds against my scalp, soothing my headache a little, but my arm screams in protest under the water. Oh well. Small price to pay for feeling human again.
When I’m done, I make my way to Mom’s empty bedroom. Since I didn’t bring any clothes and the sweat-soaked outfit from yesterday is disgusting, I’m stuck with whatever I can findhere. I use her blow dryer to dry my bandage, then dig through her closet until I find something close to my style: a sundress, a little too tight around the bust, but good enough.
Stepping outside, phone in hand and ready to call an Uber, my eyes catch the SUV still parked at the curb.
The driver’s door opens and a disheveled-looking Logan climbs out. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Did you sleep here?” I ask, though I shouldn’t even be surprised. Of course Romero wouldn’t have left me alone here.
He gives me a warm smile. “Just in case you needed me during the night. In case you wanted to go back home.”
Home… What a foreign concept.
My eyes flick across the street, landing on another SUV. Logan follows my gaze. “It’s okay. They’re with Mr. Lombardi.”
That figures. I lock my phone and turn my attention back to Logan. “Can you drive me to my mom’s rehab center? The Meadows.” I frown, realizing I don’t even know where it is.
“Of course. Right away, ma’am.”
He opens the back door for me, and the gesture is so reminiscent of Dean that a sharp pain pierces my heart. I slip inside, trying not to think about my dead driver the entire ride.
But it’s impossible. Every time I glance at Logan behind the wheel, I see Dean’s worried face, remember his protective instincts that got him killed.
The car slows to a stop in front of a pair of thick wrought-iron gates where a security guard demands to know what we’re here for. Once our identities are cleared, we’re waved through, and my spine snaps upright as I take in the lush facility.
The Meadows looks more like a luxury resort than any rehab I’ve ever seen on TV. A lush, colorful garden stretches to one side, while a huge rectangular fountain sparkles in front of the double glass doors of a mansion-like building.
“Wow.” Romero must have spent a fortune to get Mom in here.
My heart squeezes at the thought of my husband, but I swallow the ache. I can’t think about him right now. Can’t process the contradiction of a man who kills fathers but saves mothers.
The front doors open before I even reach them, and a familiar woman steps out—Lori, the executive director who came to pick Mom up that night.
“Mrs. Lombardi,” Lori greets with a friendly smile, grabbing my uninjured arm. “How lovely of you to visit Amelia this morning. I’ve never seen her so excited about a visitor, even though I had to wake her up.”
I glance down guiltily. I should have come to check on her before now, but between the wedding and everything that followed, there just hasn't been time.
The director leads me past a luxurious front desk adorned with beautiful paintings and elegant furnishings, winding through a series of hallways, out to a back garden where flowers explode in color and a dark-blue pool shimmers in the morning light. Stunning.
Mom sits on a stone bench, hands clasped in her lap. She stands when she sees us approaching, her eyes—so similar to mine—immediately flicking to my bandaged arm with what looks like genuine concern.
“Leni, you should still be home resting.” The motherly admonishment is so foreign coming from her that I bite my lip and freeze mid-step.
She hasn’t sounded like a mother in so long I’d forgotten what it felt like. She was worried yesterday too when she came to see me, but I was too messed up to really notice.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone to catch up.” Lori releases my arm and disappears back into the building.
