Gena Showalter - Lifeblood

“No way.” Clay stands beside me, and Reed quickly follows suit. Kayla, too.

My sense of gratitude grows. “Sit down, you guys,” I mutter, but they remain in place.

Killian would have laughed in Elizabeth’s face, maybe flipped over a table after flipping her off and then he would have told her to go, because he would be staying.

Archer would have apologized with heartfelt regret and left without inciting an incident.

I miss my boys.

“I’ll go. This time,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster. “My actions led to Archer’s death, and I take full responsibility. I accept punishment.”

“Liar.” Elizabeth hisses, “You expect forgiveness.”

Her companion watches us with enigmatic eyes. I can’t read his thoughts.

“One day, yes. I hope for forgiveness.” Can I ever forgive myself? “Archer taught me the value Troika places on the act...and it is an act, a decision rather than a feeling.” I hold up my hand and shout, “A round of second chances, everyone. On me.”

Elizabeth glowers at me.

Having made my point, I stride past her. She balls her fists, clearly debating the merits of hitting me. In the end, she opts to stand down. Smart.

I don’t start my fights, but I always finish them.

I make it out of the building without incident, my friends on my heels.

“I wish you’d stayed,” I tell them.

“All for one, and one for all,” Clay replies.

Kayla snorts. “So we’re the Four Musketeers now?”

“Nah. I vote we call ourselves the Reed Raiders.” Reed wiggles his brows.

“No way.” Clay flexes his biceps. “We’re the Clayminators.”

“I’m on board for the Kayniacs,” Kayla says.

“If we’re called anything but a nerd herd, I’ll be surprised,” I say with a laugh. “Besides, when someone threatens us, we just have to say, Do not make us count to Ten. Bad guys will run away, crying for their mommies.”

Chuckles abound.

My amusement doesn’t last long, however. As we head to my apartment, I throw a furtive glance over my shoulder. Nothing and no one is there, but I feel as if my troubles are following me.

And why wouldn’t they? They’re chained to my ankles, bricks I’ve been dragging behind me for years.

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