Page 40 of Renegade Rift
“What do you mean?” Concern plagues his face, and rightly so. I might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At this point, I’m no longer sure, but I’m on a roll and I’m not about to stop now.
I gesture between our chests. “Us being here. You, the white knight. Me, some form of tortured princess. And yet, Tyler is still the King who holds all the strings—tangled up secrets between us, so neither of us wins. Aren’t you tired of being his puppet?”
Maybe it’s relief, or maybe it’s understanding that has the corner of Ford’s lip tipping upward, revealing a mischievous dimple I didn’t know he had. “So, what do we do to stop the prick from winning?”
What I’ve been needing to do for far too long.
“We lay him to rest.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FORD
Before I can ask what she means, Juliet has cleared the kitchen island of food and is sliding on her shoes. There’s a manic, almost desperate jerk to her movements. Like she’s one wrong move away from losing it. But maybe losing it is exactly what she needs.
Who am I to judge? It worked for Bishop.
But I can’t just let her fly blind. So, I risk asking, “What are you doing?”
Juliet snaps her head up, her short brown waves dusting her shoulders. “We’re going to cut the strings of the puppet master.”
Eyes wide and determined, she says it as if it’s so simple. Like she’s somehow gained possession of magical scissors that will allow her to do just that. It reminds me of the way she used to look all those years ago, hunched over her Bunsen burner, watching the liquid inside as if she could will it to boil.
It was that look that made me think twice about letting Tyler keep her. Like I had any say in the matter. She was head over heels for him. But every time I witnessed it, I had to remind myself that I could only take so much from him before he snapped. He got the girl. I got everything else. And that was enough for me.
I haven’t seen that look in Juliet’s eyes since finding her. It’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Popping up from tying her shoe, she doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Come on, get your shoes on. And maybe grab your bag for the field later.”
“What about breakfast?” I cast a longing look at the half-assembled quiche.
“I’ve got a protein bar in my bag.”
Looks like I’m going hungry.
Juliet hurries me out the door and into a cab. She gives the driver an address I don’t recognize and settles back in the seat, staring out the window. Gone is the high-strung energy from upstairs, replaced by an eerie calm. Almost like right before a storm. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I let her take the lead and resolve to cautiously watch from her side, ready to jump in when she needs me.
Thirty minutes pass in silence until we pull into our destination, and my stomach drops out of my ass.
It’s a cemetery. Specifically, the cemetery where all the Renegades are buried.
“Juliet.” My voice is wary. “Is this a good idea?”
“Please.” Her lower lip trembles, and when she lifts her eyes, they shine with a desperation that is no longer manic, determined, or calm. It’s a culmination of the three that I can only describe as hopeful.
“I need this,” she continues. “And I think you do too.”
If I knew whatthiswas, I might agree, but I have no idea what she has planned. Still, I nod, noting the way her knee bounces as she gives the driver directions on where to drop us.
The moment the car stops, Juliet is gone. She takes off toward Tyler’s grave, down the hill next to the pond. It surprises me she knows exactly where it is, considering I don’t remember seeing her at the funeral.
It’s almost eerie as I cross the sprawling grass. There’s not another person in sight. Just me, Juliet, some obnoxiously loud birds, and the ghosts of our past.
By the time I get to her, Juliet is as still as the headstones that surround us. Hands tangled at her chest just above the Rolling Stone lips of her shirt, she doesn’t look the part of a mourning widow. But I know deep down that’s what she is. That’s why we’re here. With everything going on, she never gave herself the chance to process. She’s been in a constant state of fight or flight. This is her come down—her way of moving forward.
Silently I slide up next to her, taking in the ornate headstone with a gargoyle perched on top.
Tyler Mason Martinez.
