by Sally Mason
“I dunno.” He chews on his lip. “Girls do that sometimes.”
A snort escapes me. “This is not some cheap remake of the Runaway Bride with Donna standing you up at the altar. You shouldn’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t look convinced, falling back on the bed with a loud huff. “She was really upset earlier.”
That gets my attention. “And why was that?” I nudge him. “Did you do something to her?”
He sits up like a rocket. “Hell no.” He avoids my eyes when he gets on his feet and walks back to the mirror. “It’s Hallie. They won’t allow her to come because she was caught lying again, so Donna was in tears. As you know, Hallie is her only family left.”
I let the air slowly escape through pursed lips. Hallie’s condition has been a constant concern in Marcel and Donna’s relationship. The DA worked out a deal with her in return for her testimony against Luke, which only resulted in a juvenile conviction, though they could have easily charged her as an adult for the kidnapping.
The court still locked her up in a mental institution until she’s at least nineteen, claiming she is a threat to society without proper treatment. Ultimately, I had to agree and just hope she will be able to pull herself together. Lately, she hasn’t been doing as well as everyone had hoped.
“What did she lie about this time?”
He grimaces. “You’re not gonna like this. Apparently, she convinced one of the janitors to smuggle out a letter for Luke. The prison caught it, but when the therapist confronted her, she said it wasn’t hers. You were trying to frame her to get her into trouble.”
I roll my eyes—we have been here before. Though I have written her a long letter forgiving her for her involvement, she is still convinced I hate her. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah, I know.” He fidgets again with the bow tie. “Worst thing is that she can’t help it. Being the pathological liar she is, she actually convinces herself that her lies are true. People like her can trick out lie detectors.”
It’s one of the reasons why she could so easily trick me with the staged rape at the cabin. In her mind, it really happened. Add real tears and fear, and she actually convinced herself that she was a kidnap victim like me. Otherwise, she might have sabotaged our escape or accidentally prattled away their plan. Coupled with her severe fear of abandonment, she had been a powerful weapon under Luke’s spell. After her parents’ death had pushed her over the edge. She was so afraid of losing him, too, that she would have done anything to please him.
Ultimately, I hope she’ll get her act together. “Do you want me to talk to Donna?”
“Would you?” He looks like a little boy with big pleading eyes. “I’d really appreciate that.”
I check my watch. “Okay, I’ll swing by the hotel before going home to change. My mom should be there, too. She promised Donna to help her get ready.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.” The tension is gone—it doesn’t take much to make Marcel happy.
“But before I go, we’ll figure out this bow tie.”
That puts a wide smile on his face. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best friend anyone can ask for?”
I divert my gaze. “Don’t try to smooth-talk me, Officer Brown. It won’t work.”
He snorts. “Smooth-talking is not my area of expertise.” He winks at me. “I’ll leave that to someone else.” My cheeks flush when I start on the bow tie while his eyes stay on me. “You know he likes you, right?”
I quickly glance at his face, not in the mood to talk about it. It’s too early to think of Finn as anything but a friend. Maybe once I come back from my trip, things will be different—but not now.
~~~~
Four hours later, I’m standing in the chapel as Donna walks down the aisle, looking prettier than ever with the happiest glow on her face. Having dealt with plenty of blows in her lifetime, she got over the fact that her sister couldn’t be there rather quickly. Donna is a practical woman that way. Why cry over something you can’t change—life is too short for that.
She is beaming when Marcel takes her hands. As they exchange vows, I wipe a few tears away. Of all people, they deserve to be happy. Yet my eyes return more and more to Finn, standing next to the groom and looking absolutely stunning in his tux as Marcel’s best man. When our eyes interlock, a smile curls his lips. That alone gets me so distracted that I almost miss the wedding kiss.
The reception is at Stonehenge’s only hotel, and it seems that half the town has been invited. Marcel has built a good reputation and his career as a police officer is thriving. He’s often seen having a heart-to-heart with some of the local hooligans, which usually gets them to straighten up. Kids practically stand at attention when he walks by and there is not one who has ever tried to mess with him.
At first I was afraid that Tyrone would seek revenge when Marcel moved with Finn to Stonehenge, but I learned that the DEA maintains the covers of their agents in case they ever have to plant them again in that same group. For Tyrone, Marcel was being held in a different part of the jail until being shipped off to a federal prison in another state. Tyrone actually snitched on Marcel to get a better deal, and the DA cut a few years off his sentence to make it more believable. In the end, Tyrone still got twenty years, which makes the streets a hell of a lot safer.
The food is divine and the only downer is that I cannot sit next to Finn during dinner. He is huddled around Donna and Marcel with the rest of the wedding party. To my delight, he isn’t paying any attention to the maid of honor—Donna’s best friend since kindergarten—though she’s trying her hardest to flirt with him.
Right after dinner, he excuses himself and drags me onto the dance floor. When the upbeat music changes into a slow song, he pulls me closer, nuzzling his nose into my hair.
“You know, I’m gonna miss you.”
I snuggle against his broad chest, taking in a whiff of his cologne. “Me too. I wish you could come.” For a moment, I close my eyes and get lost in his embrace, wishing to hold onto this moment forever.
Marcel clinks his knife against the water glass and kills the mood and the music; with a small frown, I turn to hear yet another speech. There were already at least a dozen during dinner, and I’m getting sick of them.
When I try to hide behind a pillar to play with my phone, Marcel catches me red handed. “Kelsey, Finn, could you please come here for a second?”
I gaze at Finn, wondering what this is all about, and his big smile almost cuts his face in half. A prickling sensation spreads at the nape of my neck—I can’t help but think that this is a big conspiracy.
Marcel clears his throat melodramatically when I stand next to him. “First off, I’d like to make an announcement. My beautiful wife”—he beams at Donna—“told me a few weeks ago that she’s expecting. We are very excited about this, but we have decided that going to Hawaii for our honeymoon might be a little much, so we’re staying closer to home.”
I almost strangle him. For months, he has been whining about his fear of flying, and it is so typical that he takes Donna’s pregnancy as an excuse not to go. He will be in a boatload of trouble when I get him on my own.
“Since this frees up quite a lot of travel funds, Donna and I want to make a little present of our own today.” With a sheepish smile, he squeezes my hand. “As y’all know, we wouldn’t even be here today if it wasn’t for this young lady. She is planning a trip around the world—alone—and since she tends to get into a lot of trouble, we thought she’d be better off with a chaperone.” He nudges Finn, whose eyes are fixed on me with a rather anxious expression. “So my best man here will tag along, as long as that’s cool with Kelsey.”
My jaw drops. “You mean . . .”
Both Marcel and Finn nod in unison.
Tears pool in my eyes when I find Donna’s face, who grins just as widely as the guys. Without another word, I pull Marcel into a hug. “Thanks.” A few tears are soaked up by his tux, and I’m ready to scream when happi
ness bubbles inside me.
Finn whisks me away under the applause of the other guests. My head is spinning, the truth that I won’t have to conquer the world on my own after all still sinking in. In the shadows of the rose bushes, I finally catch my breath. My mouth opens to scold Finn that he kept this a secret, but he places a finger over my lips to shush me.
We just gaze at each other as the music starts back up. A light evening breeze warms my skin, but it is nothing in comparison to the heat that surges through me when he bends forward. When our lips connect, my racing heartbeat is the only noise in the world. I close my eyes, and this incredible pain seeps out of me, more and more as the kiss intensifies.
When we break, wetness glistens in his eyes. “I think I love you, Kelsey.”
Just this morning, those words would have scared me to death. I would have been convinced that it could never work—that I could never let go of the past enough to open my heart to a man and trust him with my soul.
Now, it all makes perfect sense. We cry together, we laugh together, and we give each other strength. It is time to cross a new bridge and kill off those remaining demons that trapped me for too long—time to give love a fair chance. That’s what I owe to the both of us.
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If you enjoyed Trapped, you’ll be able to join Kelsey and the crew when they return as neighbors of Aeree Cahill, heroine of Survive.
Survive
To survive, Aeree Cahill has to stay one step ahead of the flying bullets.
When an idyllic weekend getaway to the Green Mountains turns into a deadly trap, Aeree and her fellow campers find themselves hunted by a ruthless sniper. Now a prime target, she must race against the clock to discover the killer's identity.
As a web of lies begins to unravel, dark secrets will be exposed and some will stop at nothing to protect the evils of their past. For Aeree, evading the bullets is only the beginning. With danger and deception around every corner, there can only be one rule.
To get out alive, trust no one.
Continue for an exclusive sneak peek at Chapter 1 of Survive . . .
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Survive—Chapter 1
“Paper or plastic?” With my best fake smile, I gaze at the old lady in front of me, my fingers drumming on the small ledge next to the cash register when she doesn’t respond. My eyes wander to the line of customers behind her and I sigh—so much for the extra bathroom break I so desperately need.
“What did you say, dear?” She fiddles with the small plastic hearing aid behind her ear.
“Do you want paper or plastic?” I ask a few octaves higher, hoping my words get through this time.
“Oh, paper, dear.” Her lips split into a toothless grin. “Plastic is bad for the environment.”
This time, my smile is genuine—someone her age who is concerned about the pollution future generations will have to endure totally rocks. My attention turns to Ricky, our bagging clerk, and I give him the thumbs-up, our sign for paper bags. He nods, but I’m not sure if he understands or just bounces to the music blasting through his earplugs.
He grabs a paper bag and I start to scan the first item. One by one, the groceries move forward on the belt, a low metallic beep indicating I’m doing it correctly. The lady is a health nut, buying mostly salads, fruits and vegetables, and lean chicken breast. The only sin is a small box of chocolates.
“That will be forty-two sixty-five,” I say when I’m done.
“Can I get a lottery ticket, please?”
I point to the customer service desk. “Sorry, we don’t sell them at the register anymore. You have to go over there.”
It takes her forever to count out the money, the line growing with every penny she places on the small space in front of me. I peek into her wallet and see an extra ten dollars, but she insists on giving me the exact change. After that, she is on her way.
I turn to the next customer with my fake smile, but the voice of Mr. Hill, the store manager, stops me before I can get started.
“Aeree, a word, please.”
Usually, he is friendly enough, but this time, he looks like he just choked down a glass of lemon juice. His lips are pressed together in a thin line as he regards me with a sullen expression.
My eyes dart from his face to the long line of customers and back to him. “Now?”
“Yes.” He signals for Tammy from the customer service desk to come over.
“Finish here,” he hisses before shooting me a nasty glare.
Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling I’m in trouble, though I can’t figure out what I could have possibly done wrong. I’m always polite, on time, and never have any cash shortage in the register. This is an entry-level job at the supermarket and hard to screw up.
He ushers me into his office and, to my surprise, closes the door behind us. The hairs on my neck rise in alarm—I’m not comfortable being around men on my own, especially those I don’t know well. My body tenses when he gives me a curt smile that doesn’t hit his eyes and points at the chair in front of his desk.
“Sit down.”
I oblige with hesitation, lowering myself on the front edge of the chair with my feet firmly planted on the ground. I measure the distance to the door—five, maybe six steps—too far to make a safe escape. If he tries anything, he will taste blood.
“Well, Aeree, it has been brought to the shop’s attention that you lied on your employment application.”
This earns him a frown. “Excuse me, what are you implying, sir?” I know exactly what he is getting at, but decide to play ignorant to try to salvage my job. Not that it is a great job, but with my rocky past, my options are severely limited.
“We received information that you have a criminal record you did not disclose.”
Busted. I force a sweet smile. “Well, don’t they always say people deserve a second chance? I’m an outstanding employee—that should count for something.”
“You still lied. Store policy is clear that, in an instance like this, I have to let you go.”
“Don’t you at least want to hear my side of the story?” The desperation in my voice makes me cringe. I swear to myself that I will not resort to begging like the last time—screw him and his job.
“It’s a little late for that. If you raised this in the interview, I would’ve been more than willing to listen, but not now.” His face is stern; he reminds me of the judge who sentenced me four years ago when all that shit happened.
“Okay.” I hate how timid I sound.
“You have fifteen minutes to clean out your locker. Your last paycheck will be available on Friday.” He makes a sour face and scribbles something on a piece of paper before waving his arms, apparently his way of dismissal. “I’m sorry it has come to this. You can go now.”
“Fine, your loss.” I jump to my feet and storm out, my heart screaming about another injustice. There’s no way the prick would have hired me if I had been truthful. People with felony convictions don’t make good employees, no matter what they say. It’s a fact of life I have learned the hard way. My chances of ever finding a decent job are nil.
I purposely bang the door of the locker against the wall a few times to get rid of my anger, but it doesn’t help, even when I kick against it and leave a good dent. The result is only a sore toe. Cussing under my breath, I stuff my phone and lunch box into my backpack, glancing around the staff room one more time. The job sucked anyway. I don’t need this. My husband earns enough money and will take care of me for the rest of my pitiful existence. Screw these people and their judgmental attitudes.
Chin held high, I march out of the shop without bothering to say goodbye to anyone. Mitch can pick up my paycheck or
they can mail it—I don’t intend to ever set foot into this hellhole again. I swallow down the lump in my throat as the automatic doors slide open, only the cold harsh world awaiting me on the other side.
As I walk to my car, a tingling sensation spreads along my scalp. I gaze around. It almost feels as if someone is watching me. The parking lot is empty except for a woman and her kid who mind their own business. I squint at the windows of the supermarket; no set of eyes gawks back. An empty soda can rattles and holds my attention as the wind carries it over the smooth asphalt, which glimmers from the heat of the midday sun.
I tear my gaze off the can and continue my way to the car. The feeling of eyes burning into my skull persists. By the time I slide into the small convertible that Mitch got me for Christmas, my body screams from the tension, and I’m covered in cold sweat.
I try to ignore the prickling feeling in my scalp when I start the car and pull out of the parking lot. The heat is probably driving me crazy—nothing a cold drink can’t fix. On my way home, I stop at another supermarket and pick up a few cans of zero cola and a six-pack of beer for Mitch. Slurping the ice-cold drink, the liquid runs down my throat with a tingle, taking off the edge. The prickling is still in my scalp, but I’m probably just getting paranoid. There is no one watching me—my life is way too boring for that.
A Special Thanks
So I guess now it’s the time to thank all those who have supported me on my writer’s journey. There were many, and if I forgot anyone, feel free to yell. I’ll make sure to add you in the next edition.
Before I start, I have to apologize to my kids for all the burned pizzas, piles of laundry, and the millions of “just a sec” they got to hear while this story was a work in progress. Thanks, guys, for being patient with me.
