Picture Perfect - Page 167

Her joke echoes strangely in the sterile air, but no one laughs. It isn’t funny; it’s too close to desperation, to the fear that clung to my subconscious even in the depths of fitful sleep.

Saint steps forward, his hand extended, fingers slightly curled as if he wants to touch but doesn’t dare. Dre mirrors him, hesitance written in the tight lines around his mouth.

“Addy,” Saint says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. I can almost feel the weight of his gaze, seeking connection, a sign that I’m truly here and not lost in some unreachable darkness.

“Hey,” Dre adds softly. “You had us all worried sick.”

But their worry, their presence—it’s too much. The memories surge, raw and terrifying, and instinctively, I recoil, a shiver running down my spine. My arm twitches away from their outstretched hands, pulling myself into a tighter ball on the hospital bed. The IV line tugs at my skin, a sharp reminder of the fragility of my current state.

They freeze, their expressions crumbling. Pain flickers across Saint’s face, registering as a tightening of his jaw, the slightest flinch in his otherwise stoic demeanor. Dre’s disappointment is clearer, a crack in his armor that lets through the hurt.

“Please, Princess,” Saint pleads, his voice low. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“We’ve been losing our minds, Snowflake?” Dre chimes in, his plea wrapping around Saint’s like two parts of a desperate harmony.

I look away, fixing my gaze on a nondescript spot on the wall. It’s easier than looking into their faces, reading the turmoil there, the reflection of my own twisted emotions.

“Thanks for coming for me,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper; it’s an olive branch, a token acknowledgment of what they’ve done. Yet it gives them nothing else, no reassurance, no forgiveness. Not yet. It’s all I have to offer while the shadows of betrayal still linger, a dark shroud between us.

“Addy…” Chess starts, but his voice trails off, filled with questions and words left unsaid.

“Let her be,” Gen murmurs from somewhere behind them, and I silently thank her for understanding, for standing in the gap when everything is too raw, too near the surface.

They retreat reluctantly, but they don’t leave.

Gen’s hand is a whisper of warmth against my own, the gesture tentative, as if she’s afraid I might shatter under her touch. Her voice is soft, but it carries the weight of oceans in its depths.

I glance back at where the boys are still hovering. She follows my gaze and shakes her head before returning her attention to me.

“They’re not going anywhere, Addy,” she says, and I can hear the steel beneath her concern. “What they saw… whatever those monsters did to you.” She shakes her head, and even without looking, I can picture the fierce glint in her eyes. “It’s etched in their minds. They can’t unsee it.”

I flinch involuntarily, the memory surging like a riptide, dragging me back to the moment they found me. The door splintering open, their faces—a maelstrom of rage and fear.

“Hey, hey,” Gen soothes, sensing my distress. “You don’t have to go there, not now. But, God, Addy, when you didn’t wake up…” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat, chasing away the vulnerability with a cough. “We thought we’d lost you for good.”

“Gen,” I murmur, “I’m here. I’m still here because of you guys.”

“Damn right,” she affirms, but her bravado doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The silence stretches between us, filled with things unsaid and emotions too tangled to unravel. Then the door opens again, and Mason steps in, his presence filling the room like a shift in the atmosphere.

“Alright, time to clear out,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Saint, Dre, and Chess hesitate. They don’t want to go, it’s written in every line of their faces, every coiled muscle. But, one stern look from Mason and they deflate, their movements synchronized in reluctant compliance. They cast lingering glances my way, each one an unspoken promise, a silent vow. As they file out, their shadows stretch across the floor, fingers of darkness reaching for me.

Mason watches them leave before turning his gaze to me, his expression unreadable. He pulls up a chair next to my bed, his posture relaxed but eyes sharp, like he’s preparing for a battle only he can see.

“Addy, we need to talk.”

His words settle over me, a prelude to the storm I know is coming. I nod, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to say. Whatever it is, I’ll face it head-on. It’s what I do—it’s who I am. And somehow, I’ll find a way through this too.

The door clicks shut as Gen slips out. Mason’s eyes never waver from mine, the weight of his stare as heavy as the secrets we both carry.

“Addy,” he starts, voice steady but lined with an undercurrent of urgency. “There’s no way in hell you’re going back to the Winthrops.”

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a quiet rush, relief and fear mingling in a war within me. “But… they have rights. They won’t just let me go, will they?”

He shakes his head, the lines of his face set in grim determination. “Legally, you’re still underage. They could demand you return home. And without solid evidence…” His voice trails off, the unspoken truth hanging heavily between us.