Page 196 of Burn Like An Angel
“Lots of stuff,” Brooklyn repeats. “God help you, Ripley. You must have the patience of a saint to deal with this one’s emotional vocabulary.”
“Says the woman married to five men.” Ripley giggles.
“Point taken. Speaking of…”
Winking at me, Brooklyn hoists Logan on her hip then tows Harlow from the studio, giving us some privacy. I linger by the door, feeling uncertain.
I haven’t found the words to say since the documentary aired a few days ago. Hell, it took me this long to watch it myself. The backlash has been pretty fucking horrific. We’ve all had to turn off our phones to stop getting calls and emails.
But did the planet implode when the truth was laid bare for public scrutiny? No. Did armed assailants break our door down to throw us in some off-grid prison for escaped delinquents? Also no. The world did not end.
I can handle some assholes on the internet spouting half-baked opinions about things they’ll never understand. They’re irrelevant. Frankly, I don’t need them to like what we did or even understand it.
All I need is for Ripley to be okay. We coasted for a long time, struggling to find our feet in the aftermath of what we survived. It took a long time to establish a semblance of normality before starting to rebuild our lives.
But she never quite got there. Her artwork has always given her some solace, and for years, I feared it became a cocoon. One she could hide in when the memories and guilt became too much to bear.
She’s finally torn down all her barriers.
Ripley has told her truth.
Why did I ever doubt her motivations?
“Xan,” she coaxes, a finger crooked. “You can come here.”
“Wasn’t sure if I’m forgiven or not yet.”
“For running away from us to break into an abandoned building? Stalking a journalist? Or attempting to sabotage my interview?”
“All of it?” The words come out as a question.
Ripley rolls her green-brown eyes. “You’re forgiven. We all make stupid choices when we’re scared, right?”
“Apparently.”
I step into her arms, letting my face hide in the crook of her shoulder. Ripley cups my neck, holding me close. She smells the same as always. A fresh, tropical thunderstorm. All things sweet and fruity.
“Thank you for organising this. It feels good to get everyone in the same room.”
Abruptly straightening, I check my watch. It’s past eight o’clock.
“We’re short by a couple, but I’ve seen to that.”
“Huh?” Ripley frowns at me.
“Come and see.”
Taking her hand, I pull her from the art studio.
“Xan—”
“Just wait.”
Logan is now snuggled up in Eli’s lap, eating something he definitely shouldn’t be while Brooklyn bemoans her husbands.Enzo has dragged the others in from the kitchen to gather the whole group.
Tucking Ripley into Lennox’s side so he can hold onto her, I head for the front door. A flashy company SUV has pulled up outside the building. They’re already headed up to us.
I open the door before Warner and Jude can knock. Both look at me in surprise.
