Switched Bride True Luna novel Chapter 145

ter 145

I snort, remembering the way Derek held his mom’s hand as she walked him to the side, helping him through his fear of heights.

“Yeah,” I fondly say, our eyes meeting, “he was so scared, but wanted to understand why we loved it so much!”

Jack and I share a laugh. It’s bitter and short and it’s filled with reverence for the past. I cover my mouth with my hands and look towards the front of the store.

In the front, a mother stands their small child. He is about the same age as Derek, small and mighty, and determined to get a chocolate chip muffin. I smile at the sight, unable to look away as lack continues to talk.

“There was somebody else that day, Emily.”

His words make my body freeze. The warmth once felt from remembering our childhood friend disappears, leaving me feeling so hollow, so empty, now that he is gone from our lives. In the back of my mind, I can hear the crack of Derek’s neck, his death painless, and instant.

Jack and I’d gazes meet. We sit in an ugly silence, one filled with the unanswered questions as to who took the life of our sweet friend. My eyes filled with tears, my hands reaching out to wipe them away before they could fall, capturing them on the dry skin of my hands.

Jack reaches out and takes my hand in his. He squeezes it, looking at her connected limbs as a depressed expression shadows over his face. We sit in the quietness of the booth, listening to the clinks of ceramic coffee cups, and the laughter from a group of teenagers nearby.

“We’ll figure out who did it soon enough,” he says, “I will go home and ask my mom to see if she knows anything about it. She was there that day. She will know way more than I do.”

“Thank you,” I stammer.

“Of course,” Jack replies.

After we finish our drinks, we push away from the booth and walk our cups back to the counter. The barista thinks us and we step outside of the coffee shop, entering the public eye once again.

Turning to face Jack, I feel a rejuvenated sense of hope. With this information that he has brought me, I know that I am bound to vindicate my name, to clear my hands of the blood that does not belong to me.

Jack pulls me into a hug. It’s not rush snore is it forced. We stand there together, taking in each other’s presence, allowing ourselves to mourn the loss of our friends 20 years later. I pull away after a minute, placing distance between us.

“When can I see you again?” my friend asks. I offer him a simple shrug in response, unsure of how to answer.

“Soon,” I nod my head, finally able to verbalize it. “I don’t know when, life has been really busy for me lately.”

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