Page 60

“Why do you think he did it?” Peony asks when my father has finally gone away ‘on business’ and it’s safe for her to come over. I texted her as soon as he left with my mother. She didn’t give me a backwards glance. Unsurprising. Yet it still stings that her one and only son has died three times now, twice at the hands of her husband, and yet she still stands at his side and acts as though I don’t exist.

The doctors like to joke that I’m the kid with nine lives, but I’m starting to wonder if my parents – plural – actually do just want me dead.

“Who knows?” My shoulders twitch. “He’s one fucked up son of a bitch, you know that. C’mere.”

I hold my arms out wide for her. She doesn’t disappoint, flinging herself into my embrace hard enough to make me wince as I pull my stitches a little.

“Shit, sorry!” she cries, trying to pull away.

I don’t let her. “Don’t be sorry. I’d take a thousand knives to the chest just to be able to hold you again.”

“We lost you,” she whispers, snuggling closer and sending me to heaven.

I wouldn’t talk to the guys about what happened, I didn”t want to relive it. Still don’t. But I do remember my last thought was of Peony. Her warmth. Her smile. Her lips.

Her beautiful full lips, turned down in a frown right now. Her beautiful green eyes shimmer with unshed tears and all I want is to make her feel better. To reassure her that I’m not going anywhere. To show her that I”ll never leave her.

And the only way I know to express all that is by kissing her.

So I do.