by Fiona Keane
I know I am. He won’t let anything happen to me. I studied the way his head hung, almost like he felt defeated or hopeless.
“I didn’t make the connection at first, Soph,” he mumbled. “You fit into this puzzle. Simon used your mom’s death as an excuse, or an opportunity, to work with the DOJ. He told them he wanted to help people who were starting over, you know, like both of us. That was his in. Jules’s poor sister was murdered and who better than to promote justice than Simon Bellini?”
“My mom.” My mom. My heart.
The thought of her death somehow being a trigger for Simon, an antecedent or horrible chance for him to take out some twisted revenge toward Jameson made my milkshake churn into spoiled milk within my stomach. I would kill before my mom’s memory was tarnished like that, and I was not a violent person. My mom. I had the urge to call Jules, to warn her, but…we ran away.
“Yeah.” Jameson’s scoff was oozing with resentment and anger. “Simon used your mom’s death as a way to get into the DOJ and do his research to find me. He had tried tracking Olivia first, before you even got here, hoping she and I would have dated so she would be his in with me.”
“You don’t date.”
My hand immediately flew to my mouth, angered with myself for allowing my mind to find any humor in this situation. It was just so unbelievable. I didn’t know which emotion was appropriate to show. I didn’t know which emotion I should feel; they were all beginning to dance within my ribcage.
“Precisely.” Jameson nodded, staring out at the freeway, mindlessly reaching for my hand. “Until you. But this isn’t dating. I don’t date. I’m with you, Soph. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” I nodded, climbing to my knees and scooting closer to him.
I reached for Jameson’s worried face, holding it steady within the shaking grasp of my palms while I turned his head toward mine. Jameson’s eyes were enormous, entirely wide, and calling to my soul with a desperate need of reassurance.
“I’m really sorry, Soph,” he said, hazel burning into me. “This all happened before you got to Florida…and when you got there, Simon’s pieces fell into place. He was using anyone he could to get to me and it just so happened the sweetest, most innocent, and precious way to get to me fell into his lap like a prize.”
“How could you keep this from me for so long?”
He shrugged. “I just needed to find the right time to tell you. I only found out when you left the Ritz. Thomas’s friend from the DOJ called and told him everything. And even after that, we don’t have enough to lock away Simon.”
“Then we continue to run,” I stated, swallowing the panic tickling into my chest.
I needed to be stronger than I ever had imagined, stronger than I knew my heart could be.
“This is beyond fate, Jameson,” I told him, rubbing my thumbs along the skin of his cheekbones. “You and I…it goes beyond that. But you said first we’re going to Memphis. What’s after Memphis?”
“How do you feel about British Columbia? We could find your mom’s friend. We could get set up there.”
“Canada? Like really running, no saying goodbye, or ever seeing Jules again…”
“No.” His head shook.
Jameson’s fingers slowly wrapped around my wrists, lowering my hands away from his face. His right hand lifted to my cheek, placing some stray hair behind my ear as he allowed me time to process his simple response.
“Not until Simon isn’t a threat, for you at least. I always have to run,” he whispered. “Witness protection has forced that upon me.”
He always has to run. Like me. It was what we did.
“Soph,” Jameson pulled me from my frozen fixation, my eyes finally able to return to his cautious stare. “Running gets easier the longer you do it. I promise you. Eventually, you just become the other person and make new memories with your new background story…it isn’t easy, I know that, and I’m not saying you need to forget Jules or your mom, or even Oregon, but the more distance and time placed between the old and new…it gets easier every day. We just have to wake up every morning, and be the wandering runaways that we are. As long as we’re together.”
“I don’t want to wake up.” I fell against his chest, feeling consumed by his arms wrapping around my body. “This is…this is so much. I don’t want to wake up, Jameson.”
“It’s worth waking up tomorrow.” His lips hung at my ear, burning my mind. “It is dark and scary and messed up, but our tomorrow will be worth it. I promise you that, Sophia.”
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Acknowledgements
I want to acknowledge my friends and family, and thank them for the unconditional support they have given my words and dreams.
I am incredibly fortunate to work with the Limitless Publishing team. I would like to thank my editor for continuing along my side through the second part of Sophia and Jameson's story. Thank you to the marketing teams for helping Sophia and I find an audience, and for helping Sophia's story touch the lives of others.
To those of you who have found a part of yourself in Sophia, I would like to thank you for following this second phase of her journey. I hope that her storm can somehow give you strength within your own.
About the Author
Fueled by coffee and rainy days, shelves of books consuming her home in the Pacific Northwest, and a vivid imagination, Fiona writes about love because she believes the world needs more of it. She could spend eternity lost in a story, taken into someone’s thoughts while she is left lingering there long after the pages have turned. Fiona works to meld themes in the current world and spin them into stories of longing, determination, and hope. Her characters are relatable and relevant, as they battle their own fictional version of existence.
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