Page 79 of At Your Mercy
Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and turned on the faucet for the bath. I slipped out of my sleepwear and sat down in the tub, watching blankly as the water slowly inched its way up and over my toes.
I slid back and stared up at the shower head, remembering the way Wes had helped me through my recent breakdown.
He was just sogood.
Too good to throw away his life for someone like me.
19
Ronan
It’d been six days since Elias had given me a deadline. One week to make a choice. One week to finish the job.
One week to watch the light fade from Wesley’s kind eyes.
Tomorrow was the last day.
I tried not to think about that part as I lugged a couple of bags of groceries up the stairs and into my apartment. We had plans to meet up tonight to go over the plan once more before D-Day.
The plan was to cook us dinner, although I’d never actually cooked for someone else before, and the most I ever cooked for myself was macaroni and cheese or scrambled eggs. Still, I wanted to try this for him. I wanted to try living for him, instead of just surviving.
As I set the bags down on the kitchen counter, I looked down at my phone, thumb hovering over the message I’d typed out in the car.
Do you like German food?
I hesitated, then added a smiley face.
Deleted it.
Typed it again.
Deleted it again.
It looked stupid either way, so I just hitsend—smiley included.
The message went through instantly, the little “delivered” bubble mocking my impatience. I waited a minute. Then two. Then five.
No reply.
Wes was probably busy. After all, itwasthe day before he planned to liberate three warehouses of trafficking victims and take down Elias. He was probably super busy.
He’d answer later. He always did.
I set the phone face down on the counter and rubbed at the back of my neck.
German food.
Right…
I didn’t actually know how to make German food.
I just… after the nightmare the other night, I realized how hard I’ve always tried to push my family into the deepest, darkest crevices of my psyche. It was always easier than being plagued with the memory of them, knowing that I’d never hear my sister sing along to Disney movies again, and I’d never help my mom set the table again, I’d never listen to music in the basement with my dad again, and I’d never be jealous of Henri stealing our parents’ attention again.
Mom liked to make a mix of American and German recipes. She was almost always in the kitchen, cooking or baking. Sheloved it. And she especially loved watching our reactions when she’d try something new.
I couldn’t remember her favorite dishes anymore, or even the basic German I’d learned growing up. I couldn’t even remember if Lia liked to eat her vegetables or not.
My heart ached from the realization that I had been erasing my memory of them.
