Page 119 of Crossed

I want to glance around and see if Dalia is on her way, but I’m too afraid to look up and see Cade. I can feel that he’s here, but I won’t seek him out. Parker made it very clear what’s expected, and I’m under no illusion he won’t make good on his threat.

Besides, I have no doubt that if Cade takes one look at my face, he’ll know something is wrong, and I’m still coming to terms with what happened myself. I don’t want him to know, because he’ll find a way to get to me, and I crave his comfort too badly to stay away.

He could kill Parker for you, a thought whispers.

More voices filter in from behind us, people filling up the pews and chattering while they wait, and my shoulders tense, my body on edge even though there’s no logical reason for it. My foot taps against the floor, and Parker’s hand moves from my shoulder down to my thigh, squeezing tight enough to make me wince.

I stop the movement, letting the anxiety build inside me instead.

Someone knocks into my shoulder and my heart jolts. I snap out of my daze, looking over into the smiling face of Dalia.

“Hey, girl.” She leans forward. “Hey, Parker.”

He nods to her, his arm tightening around my shoulders.

I hadn’t realized that just seeing a friendly face would make me want to scream, but here we are, with me wanting to do exactly that. “Hey,” I force out.

Dalia’s smile drops and her brows furrow as she looks at me. I smile at her, trying like hell to be convincing because she can’t know anything’s wrong.

I don’twanther to know.

I just want to forget that it ever happened.

“Can you believe Quin’s about to be in a play?” I ask, taking the risk and glancing toward the stage.

The concern drops from her face, and she laughs, settling into the pew. “I know. He’s gonna be such a little badass. Is he excited?”

I shrug because honestly, this morning he acted like he couldn’t care less. “He seemed kind of meh about the whole thing. I don’t even know how big of a part he has.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She waves her hand in the air. “He’ll be the show stealer either way, obviously.”

“You’re right,” I sigh, shifting and trying not to visibly wince. I glance around again, hoping to see Quinten getting ready, but none of the kids are in sight. Idosee Florence freaking Gammond though, her beady eyes locked on Parker and me.

I don’t have the energy to deal with her, so I pull my gaze away, and then they fall on Cade.

He’s standing off to the side of the stage, his shoulder leaned against the wall and his hands in his pockets, clerical collar around his neck, and like usual, he’s watching me.

Longing spreads through my chest, sticky and slow like molasses, and I wishso badlyto stand up and run into his arms. To have him soothe away the pain that’s sitting heavy on my soul.

I inhale deeply, and the pain in my side from where Parker kicked me pinches tight, making me wince, my hand flying to the spot.

Cade straightens, his eyes narrowing.

Parker leans in, his lips against my hair. “You better stop looking at him, or I’ll be forced to make a scene.”

My spine stiffens and I rip my gaze away, faking a smile over at Parker instead.

There’s this weird ball of energy swirling in my solar plexus, tightening and tensing like barbed wire about to snap.

People continue to fill in the pews, and then Florence takes center stage, announcing the children and saying what an honor it was for her to work with them. I hadn’t even realized she was part of the production, and I chew on my bottom lip, wondering what else I don’t know.

I should have paid more attention.

The kids file out onstage, and I scan the area for Quinten, but I don’t find him. So I wait. Minutes pass and I zone out, going to the safe corner in my mind where I don’t have to feel the things hurtling through my body or my heart.

Dalia leans in when the play is coming to a close. “Where is he?”

I shrug, wondering the same thing, but I don’t voice my concern because that ball of energy in my middle is winding up too much to speak. Parker’s hand has moved from my shoulder to my thigh, and he squeezes, right on top of a bruise.