Page 30 of Bound By Thorns
“Less effective though,” Delara shot back with a smirk. “Kaylan, back me up here.”
Her quip pulled a genuine giggle from me, the first in what felt like a lifetime.
Sebastian crossed his arms, his tone playful. “You know what? You’re right, Delara. Clearly, I’ve been doing it wrong. From now on, I’ll chug drinks at four in the afternoon—very dignified.”
“Four in theafternoon?” Delara snorted. “That’s practically bedtime for your ancient ass, Seb. I’d call it night.”
Suddenly, I found myself laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face as laughter turned to sobs and back again. The emotional dam had broken, and I couldn’t stop. Delara and Sebastian exchanged puzzled looks, unsure if they should be concerned or amused. I was either a lunatic or a severely ill person.
When I finally regained composure, gasping for breath, I managed to say, “I haven’t laughed in three months.”
Delara’s expression softened, her earlier teasing giving way to quiet empathy, and maybe pity.
But Sebastian’s face lit up with proud amusement. “We plan to make you laugh more often, Kaylan,” he declared, coaxing another quiet chuckle from me. The whole exchange words warmed a part of me that I hadn’t realized was cold.
???
The sunset painted a quietude over my room, where I sat near the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the inner courtyard, my gaze distant and unfocused.
Logan had returned to his squad. He didn’t need me anymore. His wounds would now be cared for by the capable clinical staff that Sebastian had assembled. I felt redundant, unnecessary. It was as if we had both been sprinting after a speeding train—Logan had managed to grasp a handrail and was pulled aboard without a backward glance, leaving me still running, legs burning, always chasing but never quite able to reach the safety and closure of that train.
A soft knock at my door pulled me from my reverie. Opening it, a middle-aged woman entered, bearing a garment bag, shoes, and a small makeup bag.
“They are requesting your presence in the lounge in twenty minutes, Ms. Bennett,” she informed me with a gentle tone, then promptly exited.
Unzipping the garment bag, I was greeted by a black dress adorned with red sequins and an embroidered boat neckline. While striking, the dress dredged up unwanted memories of Ravenrock, casting a shadow over its beauty. Dresses weren’t just dresses anymore—they were a reminder.
My breath hitched, shallow and quick, as if the room had suddenly shrunk.
I froze, willing myself to look away, but my hands moved of their own accord, opening the shoe box. Inside were crimson stilettos, their sleek design mirroring those I’d worn during captivity. My pulse thundered in my ears, my chest tightening painfully as the flood of images came fast and unrelenting.
I blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. My vision blurred, tears threatening to spill.
Not here. Not now. Not yet.
I straightened, drawing in three deep breaths as I wiped at the corners of my eyes. The tears didn’t fall. They wouldn’t—not here.
Compelled to erase any reminders of that time, I went to the reception desk to request a new outfit.
Minutes later, the woman reappeared with a sleek white shirt, gray pants, and black formal boots. Changing swiftly, I tied my short hair into a half ponytail and made my way to the lounge.
THIRTEEN
Logan
The lounge was a blur of chatter and laughter, the air thick with the scent of cocktails and perfume. As Zarek filled me in on Kaylan’s recovery, I scanned the crowd, half expecting her to appear in one of those haunting dresses from Ravenrock Hall, the memory of red stilettos sharply etched in my mind.
But then she surprised me, and perhaps everyone else too. There she was at the lounge’s threshold, not in a dress but in a plain white shirt and gray pants. My eyes dipped to see the absence of heels, instead she wore black practical boots. Her presence seemed to still the room for a moment.
She was beautiful, starkly so, in her simplicity. Her face was free of makeup, a slight smile playing on her lips as she approached Delara and engaged in conversation. I couldn’t pull my gaze away. I knew how she looked in dresses, the memory vivid and unsettling, but this attire, this Kaylan, had my heart racing in a way that was new and wholly unexpected.
Guilt. It’s just guilt, Logan.
“–are you listening?” Zarek pulled my attention back to him.
“Sorry, I was…what did you say?”
“I said Dr. Gabriella Mendoza is excellent with PTSD. Ronan saw her briefly after his assignment last year. I think you should go see her.”
