Page 42 of Corpse Roads

Above it, we have a top-of-the-line flat screen television and sound system Hunter insisted on when movie nights used to be a common occurrence. Two dark-green, velvet sectionals fill the floor, with cosy cushions and blankets.

The thick, woven rug beneath my bare feet adds a final layer of warmth. Hunter and Leighton’s mum used to work as an interior designer. She took one look at our sparse, lifeless house and insisted on making it a home.

“Harlow? I can’t see a damn thing. Where are you?”

“Leave m-m-me alone,” she hiccups.

I flick on a lamp and follow the sound of quiet sobbing until I find her. She’s curled up in the furthermost corner, half hidden by a towering bookshelf that fills the back wall.

I’m afraid to even go near her for fear she’ll splinter into a thousand pieces. I’m no shrink like Doctor Richards. Hell, I can hardly understand my own bloody head. This is all new territory for me, but I can’t stand helpless as another person dies.

Not again.

“You want some company?”

Harlow stares blankly over my shoulder, tears running down her cheeks in thick rivulets. Crouching down, I join her on the floor, folding my body into the uncomfortable corner.

The little ballbreaker has staked a claim on me already. Each second I spend around her only cements that bond even more. Despite the past, I always help people in need. It’s hardwired into my DNA to look after the vulnerable.

“Enzo... am I broken?”

Taking a leap of faith, I prise her hands away from her face, revealing devastating doe eyes that resemble the lightest tropical ocean.

“Broken? No. Perhaps a little damaged, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

“You don’t know me. I c-can’t… be fixed.”

Engulfing her hands in mine, I squeeze lightly. “You’re still here, aren’t you? That’s one hell of an achievement.”

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” I assure her. “You’re doing better than you think.”

She nods to herself. “Can we get out of here or something?”

I weigh up the risks, daggered by the desperate look in her eyes. She looks like she’s going insane, trapped in this house with us.

“Please?”

Her final plea breaks my resolve.

“Hunter’s going to fucking fire me for this.” I offer her a hand. “Let’s go. We can go somewhere out of the city to avoid the press.”

Harlow lets me help her up, brushing off her oversized, borrowed clothes. I ignore the fact they belong to Leighton, and how much that annoys me. My possessive asshole is clearly in overdrive.

Throwing on my leather jacket in the entrance hall, I watch as Harlow shrugs on her hospital hoodie. She cringes at the sight of her unlaced Chucks on the shoe stand.

Grabbing the shoes, I gesture for her to take a seat on the stairs. Her mobility is still limited, but she seems to be moving with slightly less pain than when she first arrived.

“Foot,” I demand.

“I can give it a go.”

“Watch one more time, alright?”

Easing the shoe on her left foot, I take my time tying the laces, giving her a moment to observe. She reaches for the second shoe and awkwardly ties a bow, favouring her unbroken arm.

“Quick learner?”

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