Page 66 of The Lovely and the Lost

“You hurt him.” Free was never one to sugarcoat things. “Whether you meant to or not—”

“I meant to,” I said quietly.

Free gave me a long, assessing look. “Then you and I have a fundamental disagreement about how you treat family.”

She was right. I knew she was right. But all I could do was repeat myself as I turned my back on her. “I need to lie down.”

I need you to go away.

“Not until you tell me what happened.” Free’s hand closed around my arm. She forced me to face her, and for a moment—just a moment—I wanted to hurt her. Not the way I’d hurt Jude. I wanted to hurt her the way I’d hurt Gabriel when he’d grabbed me. I wanted to let everything inside me—the anger and the sorrow and the fear—out.

No.

“Seriously, K, Miscreant to Miscreant—”

“Go away, Free.” I felt desperate, but I sounded angry.

Free dropped my arm. For a split second, I saw something raw and vulnerable cross her features, and then all hint of emotion disappeared from her face. “Fine.”

When I heard the bedroom door shut behind her, I shuddered. Once I started shaking, I couldn’t stop. I curled into a ball on the bed, and a desperate, keening sound made its way out of my throat.

I was supposed to be stronger than this.

I was supposed to be better than this.

I was supposed toprotectthe people I loved.

I noticed my bag sitting beside the bed. Free must have brought it up, just like she’d packed it for me. A horrible, twisting tension spread from my stomach outward. Sadness was a visceral emotion for me, as white-hot and sharp-edged as rage. One second I was lying there, and the next, my hands were tearing through my bag. I hurled the things Free had packed for me to the ground, one by one. I ripped a shirt, the cotton giving way beneath my need to do something, tohurtsomething. I heard the shirt tearing, and I felt it, and it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop, not until my fingernails scraped the bottom of the bag and hit fabric.Threadbare. Soft.

Free had packed my blanket.

I stopped breathing and sank to the floor, pressing it to my face, a sob caught in my throat. I heard someone padding toward me—Silver. I hadn’t even realized she was in the room. This had been her blanket once.

She’d seen me at my worst.Then. Now.

My constant guardian pressed her nose to my neck. I didn’t push her away. I hadn’t, even when I was wild and hurting and small.

“It shouldn’t matter,” I said through the blanket, squeezing my eyes shut and breathing in Silver’s smell. “What happened to me before the forest shouldn’t matter. Whether or not Jude knew—it shouldn’t matter.”

I fisted my hands in her fur—gently, but I couldn’t let go. “I know that I’m your pup, and I’m Cady’s kid and Jude’s sister and Free’s friend, but when you all treat me like I’m fragile, like I’m some bomb on the verge of going off…”

I don’t feel human. I don’t feel like a person at all.

Silver lay down next to me, her body pressed up against mine.Silver is here. Kira is here. Silver is here with Kira.I buried my face in her fur. I listened for her heartbeat instead of my own.

I broke.

I didn’t understand why I’d let a man like the sheriff do this to me. I choked on my own sobs, unable to understand what was wrong with me.

And Silver nudged my neck with her wet nose, saying—for the hundredth time or the thousandth or the millionth—that there was nothing wrong with me at all.

Girl’s mouth is dry. Her lips are cracked. There’s dried blood beneath her nails.

She tries to sit up but can’t. Can’t move—

“There you are.” The woman’s voice is sweet. She kneels next to Girl, and Girl flinches, but the hand that touches her face is gentle.

Soft.