What I should’ve heard minutes ago.
What I should’ve never heard because I should’ve been smarter never to stay in a place so well loved by owners that only lived a few steps away.
Footsteps on the cobbles.
A voice murmuring to horses.
Daylight trickled weakly into the space from skylights above.
No!
I shot upright, planting both hands tight over my mouth, willing the wheeze and urge to cough again to vanish.
Someone was below us.
Someone was about to find us.
Della shook harder as I froze in place. My jeans were across the loft where Della must’ve hung them over the ladder rail to dry. My boots were neatly placed out of reaching distance. My socks spread out and smelly on a sack of molasses-infused animal meal.
My bottom half was practically naked, and my top half could barely breathe.
A cough exploded through my fingers, uncaring that it had just condemned both of us to discovery.
“Who’s there?” a female voice snapped.
A horse whinnied, followed by the sound of running footsteps then the creak of the ladder as weight shimmied up it.
“Ren.” Della squirmed closer, seeking comfort and safety that in my stupidity and sickness I couldn’t provide. I’d chosen this place. I’d been the one unable to wake at dawn. I’d been the one who didn’t leave before we were noticed.
I was the one to blame for all of this.
Another cough spilled from my lips as my fever crested, and I blinked back teeth-aching chills.
All I could do was hold Della close and hope to hell I could talk my way out of whatever was about to happen.
A head appeared.
A head with long brown hair the colour of the bay horse below, green eyes, red lips—wariness and anger the perfect makeup on a very pretty face. About my age or slightly older, the girl’s petite hands gripped the ladder as she locked eyes on me.
Three things happened.
One, my flu-riddled body threatened to pass out from added stress.
Two, my boxers tightened as my body reacted to stimuli it’d been denied for months.
And three, the strangest sensation of guilt and unease filled me, because even though she was my enemy, I wanted to know her.
The moment ended as suddenly as it’d begun.
She raised her chin, cocked her head, and snarled, “And just who the hell are you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DELLA
* * * * * *
Present Day
SO…THIS IS where my story might turn a little odd, Professor.
I’ve told you pretty much everything you need to know up to this point.
I’ve introduced you to sweet little Della—the innocent child who looked up to her big brother, Ren. I’ve revealed the rapidly growing, ever inquisitive Della—the mischief maker and stubborn mule who idolized and sometimes despised her best friend, Ren. And now, I suppose the time has come to introduce you to complicated Della—the child who somehow became a girl with intricate complexities that even she didn’t understand. The girl who suddenly knew Ren meant so much more but didn’t know what.
And it all happened in a moment.
One second, I was secure in my world, protected and guarded by my love for Ren and his love for me. The next, I was full of things I didn’t understand. Things that made sense for a woman to feel but not a child. Things I didn’t fully accept or even have names for until many years later.
You see, that moment—that instant—when I heard the barn doors opening and Ren stayed catatonic beside me, I’d known our lives were about to change.
Horrors of being torn from his side like I’d been at school drowned me. Terrors at being clutched by teachers who spoke too close and asked prying questions about what Ren meant to me and if he ever touched me inappropriately made me want to leap from the hay loft and run.
I know our second separation wasn’t a long time, but it affected me, it aged me, it changed me more, in a few short minutes, than a month living our normal happy life in the forest.
I’d already been kicked from childhood into the next part of growing up, so I suppose, it was only natural to be protective and guarded of Ren in return.
He was mine.
I didn’t have much, but I had him, and I had no intention of ever losing him.
I know I’m rambling, but I’m trying to make you see that I felt different. Back then, I had no name or maturity to grasp how I felt differently.Now, of course I do, and as I sit typing this, I wonder if a child could feel those things or if I’m just placing such well-worn and long-lived emotions onto her.
That’s possible.
Because what I’m about to tell you probably won’t make sense.
It’s time for my first confession. And I say confession because, well, there is no other name for it. It’s twisted and wrong and one I’ve never told anyone…not even him.