Page 117 of Corpse Roads
“What did he say?” I fire at her.
Giana bites her lip. “Harlow… he wasn’t a good man. In some ways, I’m glad you can’t remember what he put us through.”
“You don’t get to say that.” I hold back the tears threatening to spill. “My memories were stolen. I lost everything.”
“And I didn’t?” she counters.
Wiping her cheeks, she looks to Hunter for help. He’s too busy guzzling his hourly dose of tea to pull her out of the hole she’s dug.
“What happens now?” Giana clears her throat.
“Harlow will remain in protective custody until the threat has been dealt with.”
She looks crestfallen. I hate that I want to wipe that look off her face with my fist. Violence isn’t in my nature, but she doesn’t get to sit here and cry for a girl that died a long time ago.
I’m not going to be her happy ending. Giana wants a daughter, a second chance. Like she hasn’t been given that privilege already.
“I suppose that makes sense.” She looks over to me. “But there is a bed for you here. I know you don’t remember me, but I’d like the chance for us to be friends.”
“Friends?” I repeat incredulously.
“If you’d like.”
“But… I don’t understand. You thought I was dead.”
“Letty—”
“Stop calling me that! Letty is dead!” I shout, losing my temper. “She was killed a long time ago. You weren’t there.”
“Harlow,” Hunter warns.
“No! She needs to hear what happened to me while she sat here with her new hus—”
My mouth clicks shut as the front door slams. Heavy footsteps thud down the hallway, and Giana scrubs her tears away as a tall, dark-haired man freezes in the doorway.
He’s middle-aged, trim and smartly dressed in a quilted jacket over his dark-green sweater. Pale eyes are framed by thick, black glasses.
“Foster.” Giana smiles weakly. “Come in, meet our guests. We were just catching up.”
Hunter stands, clasping Foster’s outstretched hand. “Hunter Rodriguez. Director of Sabre Security.”
“Good to meet you,” Foster greets, appearing nervous. “My wife has told me about you. Hope I’m not interrupting.”
His gaze strays over to me. I can’t bring myself to shake his hand. I’m sure he’s comparing me to the little girl he’s seen pictures of all these years.
“Hey there.” He smiles brightly. “I’m Foster. You must be Letty.”
“Harlow,” Giana says in a panic. “It’s Harlow now.”
Foster quickly recovers. “Oh right, of course. I apologise. How are you, Harlow?”
“You know,” I answer vaguely. “Bearing up.”
He takes a seat as Giana busies herself pouring more tea. The tension is suffocating. I still want to shout and rave, throw my pain at these strangers and force them to drink it like poison.
“So,” Foster prompts. “What were you talking about?”
Giana’s eyes widen. “Well, uh. We… Harlow… I mean, Hunter was just telling us a bit more about himself.”