Page 294 of Satan's Spawn

My hope is shot right up my behind when I find a security guard standing in front of the double doors of the designated Crayton shitshow.

With sagged shoulders I drag my feet toward the guy, who barely looks down at me when I offer my brightest morning smile.

“What are the chances of you letting me sneak by so I can witness the fate of my boyfriend’s freedom for the next twenty-five years of life?”

The shift on his feet tells me he wasn’t entertained by my little prison sentence reference.

With a grunt I spin on my heels and find the closest bench to sulk on.

Between sulking, there was tapping, rocking, biting my lip to blood as I waited for those damn doors to open.

Even a call to Hendrix and Archer with a stranger’s phone telling them to delete the search history on my laptop if I end up getting shot while attacking a guard.

What? The internet is a scary place when looking up kinky sex positions.

I cross my arms and thin my eyes on Mr. Security Guard, who must have a platinum bladder because the jerk hasn’t attempted to use the bathroom once in the entire two hours I’ve been sitting here.

I stand to walk his way once again, but an aggravated “still a no” whips out of his mouth.

Asshole.

I plop back in the seat, reaching for a piece of gum in my bag to waste the time.

I don’t get the chance to chew my weight in Bubble Yum because the doors finally open, and I’m tossing the entire pack onto the floor as I dart toward the people swarming out, getting blocked once again by Mr. “I Take My Job Way Too Seriously”.

I peer over and past the guard, looking for signs of Crayton and praying he will be following behind the masses, free to come home so I can love him.

After thirty seconds when there’s no sign of his buzzed blond head, doubt starts to creep in, dragging me down into an invisible hole in the floor.

Not deep enough to stop a Hail Mary.

I try my first attempt at getting past the stubborn behemoth without being seen, which works well as I snake the crowd, until I slam into something else very big and hard.

Someone.

Who’s bergamot scent smells fresh off the vine.

I look up to find an unreadable Crayton, since a tight jaw and fixed fierce glare is his default facial expression.

He wraps a hand around my arm, navigating me through the crowd until we’re by the bench I was living on.

Another burst of anger followed by relief has me slapping a palm across his cheek, leaving Crayton with a hand against it as I jump into his arms.

“That was for leaving me behind you selfish selfless jerk.”

Crayton squeezes me in his arms like he’s afraid to let go, which both thrills and terrifies me at the same time. “Did we do it? Did we win?” I ask impatiently when he finally lowers me back to my feet.

His smile is restrained when he says, “I’m not a murderer if that’s what you’re asking.”

We both know that’s a lie but I jump up and down anyway. “Eeep! You see!” I sling my arms around his chest. “I knew the truth would prevail.”

Crayton pets me on the head, like a father does to a child to comfort them. “You were right, Little Ghost.” He tucks two fingers under my chin, lifting my head. “Your confession helped.”

More squeals and obnoxious bouncing breaks our embrace.

“I told you, Crayton. A little belief goes a long way.” I press a hand to my heart in an attempt to steady it. “We can finally put this crap behind us and move on. You can even come back to school.” Excited tears pool at my eyes as I go over all the endless possibilities. “We can take a trip right after school ends to celebrate. Maybe to La Jolla?” I pause, thinking. “You can come with me to visit my Dad. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

Crayton nods, and the first genuine smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “That sounds perfect, Rebecca.”