Page 69 of Blood Queen
I spend my days at the gym, pushing my body until the burn drowns out everything else. Push-ups until my arms shake. Pull-ups until my grip gives out. Burpees, cardio, anything to keep moving, to keep from thinking too hard.
But the thoughts always creep in.
The barn was sweltering that morning. The wood rough against my palms as I clung to the beams, watching through the gaps. Two men. Papa flashing the I love you sign. The barrel of a gun raised at him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the memory. The sound of the shot. The way his body jerked. The silence after he hit the ground.
I tell myself he wasn’t really my father. Not by blood. But it doesn’t matter.
He raised me. Fed me. Loved me. Taught me how to survive. How to fight and hunt and be strong.
And I justsat there.
I swallow the lump in my throat and push harder, sprinting until my legs scream, until my lungs burn. But the grief doesn’t leave. It never does.
I shower at the gym quickly. While I’m changing my phone vibrates.
Truman:Do you miss me? Nice of you tostay behind.
Me:I do, desperately. Just wasn’t in the cards for now. How’s Kenzie? Is Nate still being a pain?
Truman:Kenzie’s fine, being a little brat as usual, all shopping this and look at what I made. Nate’s still convinced he can run the entire family. You know how it is.
Me:Yeah, I remember. Sounds…fun.
Truman:Sure, if you like the chaos. But no, no big deal. I just thought you might’ve wanted to be here.
Me:Iwantedto be there, just didn’t feel like it was the right time.
Truman:Right.
Me:Truman, stop. Don’t do this. I’m just trying to check in. I’m sure your family misses you an is happy to have you visit.
Truman:Guess so.
Me:Truman, we’ll talk when you get back. I don’t want this tension between us.
Truman:Fine.
Me:Okay.
Truman:…I miss you.
Me:I’ll be waiting.
Back in the motel room, I drop my bag on the bed, peeling off my damp tee-shirt. Something flutters to the floor.
A business card.
Marcy’s name stares up at me, bold and sharp. I flip it over between my fingers, the edges slightly bent from being stuffed into my bag for so long.
I should throw it away.
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, rolling my phone between my palms.
Going to Miami. Joining the Testa family.
The idea sits like a weight in my chest, heavy and uncertain.
