Page 45 of Fire Away


Font Size:

She leans back against the headrest and lets out a long, frustrated breath.

“I think if I had friends like that, parents like that . . .” she trails off, deep in thought. “I’d be different. I don’t like being jealous or constantly struggling like this. I just don’t know if my life will ever feel easy.”

“It might not get easier, but you’ll get stronger.”

A tiny smirk threatens to break out on her face as she thinks about what I said.

“And I wouldn’t want you to be any different anyway,” I add. “A world without the Savannah Chase that I know? Boring as hell.”

Her head swivels to face me and she narrows her eyes. “You say that like it’d be a bad thing. Some people want that. Maybe I’d like a boring life.”

“Maybe,” I shrug. But I can’t picture her trapped inside a dull existence forever. She thinks that boring means less pain, which might be true part of the time. But less pain can mean less love too. “I don’t see it. You’re too bright to be boring.”

Her lips purse while hiding a smile.

“That’s cheesy,” she laughs. “But you have a way of saying things that make sense and leave me feeling better about myself.”

The second part of what she said wasn’t an easy flowing sentence. It sounded like something she’d normally hold back from saying, but forced herself to voice out loud this time.

Before I have the chance to respond, she lifts her hand to run her fingers through the hair just above my temple.

“What are you doing?” I chuckle.

“Just looking for any distinguished gray hairs to match the wisdom that you insist on spewing out whenever I’m around.” Her eyes are squinted as she leans forward and focuses intensely on my hair which is most definitely not gray.

“If you keep driving me crazy, I wouldn’t be surprised if a few silver strands started popping up,” I joke.

“When this is over,” she contemplates, hand still in my hair and eyes roaming over anything but my eyes, “you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Fat fucking chance. The idea ofthisbeing over is what drives me so mad in the first place. I bite down on my molars, flexing my jaw.

I don’t mean to lean in toward her—it was pure instinct. I don’t think she notices though, because her hand is already falling away from the side of my head. Her attention switches to the steering wheel in front of her while I inch closer to her. I almost fall forward before jerking back like a dumbass.

“Now go take off that ruined shirt that smells like roadkill and then get in the shower,” she scolds me with a scrunched-up nose. Her foot presses on the brake while she presses the start button, bringing her SUV’s engine to life. With both hands on the wheel, she looks over at me still holding her door open and keeping her from leaving.

“Or you could take it off for me,” I say in a low voice with one arm hanging over the top of the door, and one braced against the roof of the car. “Right after we talk about last night.”

At first, she subtly bites her lip and readjusts the chain on her gold necklace. Then, she pulls her phone out of her purse and flashes the screen toward me.

“Would you look at the time!”

I roll my eyes and lean into the car. “Later, then?”

“Okay. Later.”

When she’s out of sight down the driveway and I drag my feet back inside to clean myself up, a smirk tilts up one corner of my mouth. Sitting on the edge of my tall bed is Savvy’s overnight bag. I think I'll conveniently be “unable” to bring it to her later. Then she’ll have to come back here herself.

18

SAVANNAH

Leaning over the counter toward the mirror, I dip the applicator back into the tube of nude lip gloss and swipe it across my lips. The bathroom at the office has terrible fluorescent lighting, and I would normally never do my makeup in here. But this is just a little touch-up after having breakfast at the bunkhouse this morning before coming into work.

From the amount of times that I’ve touched my lips with visions of last night, I’ve already had to fix my makeup twice. Since I woke up, I’ve been teetering on the edge of madness trying to focus on anything but mental snapshots of Warren’s body, the way he spoke to me, the way he touched me . . . no luck blocking it out so far.

Hopefully, this morning’s meeting will do the trick and serve as a distraction.

Mrs. Powell insists on this “gathering of the minds”, as she calls it, at the beginning of every week. I am still determined to continue impressing her and Mr. Grant, so I’ve done everything that I can to prepare mentally to contribute and learn. Even though most of the senior attorneys do all the talking, I make it a point to listen and take copious notes.