by Nicci Harris
Breathe in and out.
“I don’t know, Blesk,” Ben replies, looking around the room and trying to reassure us with his calm expression.
“Whoa, this is a bit intense. Konnor, you’re a mafia kid,” Jaxon says, in an almost naïve awe.
“No, I’m not! I’m a Slater,” Konnor states forcefully.
Cassidy steps forward and looks at her father, avoiding Konnor’s eyes. “Is Butcher one of them?” she asks.
“Cassidy, why?” Konnor grumbles. “Why would it matter?”
Dodging Konnor’s glare, she says, “Just wondering. Flick hangs out with them a lot now.”
Konnor moves towards her until she has to arch her neck to catch his line of sight. “You’re lying,” he states, looking her straight in the eye. “Why do you care about the Butcher Boys. Why is that name even coming up?” Konnor’s voice raises ever so slightly.
“They are our friends, Konnor. That’s all,” she moans.
His brows dart up. “Oh, so now they’re ‘our’ friends? Not just Flick’s friends anymore?”
What’s happening here?
“Konnor,” I say, moving to touch his hand and pacify him.
“Son, what is your qualm with them?” Ben asks. “Do you know something I don’t?”
His face tightens. “Don’t like them, that’s all. I don’t want Cassidy hanging out with them.”
Cassidy snorts. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not five anymore and can do what I fricking like.”
“Cassidy, calm down,” Bens states. “Your brother just worries.
“Great, now I have a restriction on friends."
“You’re acting like a brat, Cassidy,” Konnor snaps.
“I’m acting like an eighteen-year-old girl who is being interrogated by her brother because she has ‘boys’ who are friends. Can you be more clichéd? I bet you wish I were gay like Flick.”
“Not boys, Cassidy. Butcher boys,” Konnor states with disdain.
“We are digressing,” Ben states. “These aren’t conversations we shouldn't be having. Nor are they necessary. Luca Butcher’s sons are not the issue here, and you’re not in any kind of danger.”
I peer at Konnor, and his eyes bounce quickly to me when we share a thought.
Who tried to kill me in that hospital?
“This should go without saying,” Ben continues, “but this is Konnor’s business. None of this can leave this room.” Ben darts his eyes between us, finally singling out Konnor. “Konnor, if you want to make arrangements to discuss this further with other parties, then you can, but it should be discussed here, with me first. I can’t stress this enough. Everything I’ve done, all the truths I’ve withheld, have been for you. Promise me you won’t go ruffling feathers. Okay?”
Konnor slowly nods. “Does Nerrock know? Does he know where I am?”
“Yes, of course,” Ben says. “He knows who you are, Konnor, and where you are. But you’re not in any danger. It’s over. You’re mine. Trust me.”
My stomach twists up. “How can you be so sure?”
“Trust me,” he repeats.
Please, God, let him be telling the truth.
Ben rises to his feet and walks over to his son. “Do you? Do you trust me?” He places his hand on Konnor’s shoulder and squeezes tenderly.
Konnor stares at his dad’s hand, squinting and tight-lipped. The wheels are churning in his head, and the seconds that pass are long and torturous for everyone, especially Ben.
Creases line his forehead as his brow lift and he exhales a strengthening breath. “I trust you, Dad.”
My shoulders loosen and a smile plays on my face. If Konnor trusts him, then I do, too.
We spend the rest of the day in the car, the streets of The District passing us by and the darkness of what happened there left behind. The clean air that hits us when we leave the city is not only physically relieving, but emotionally too. Campus seems to have changed since we left two days ago. Somehow it looks smaller. Truth be told, it is us who have changed. Jaxon and Elise are fully integrated into our secrets, into our past. We know why Konnor was taken. I know what my father looks like, what he sounds like.
I feel lighter. Free. Because Konnor and I share this story, and this life together. We may never trust anyone enough to uncover the truth about who tried to kill me in the hospital, but we have a support system around us now, and I’m okay with leaving the darkness… in the dark. It is not like we are forgetting the past. We are just moving forward right now, not back, and definitely not into a world we don’t understand or even want to.
Accepting blissful ignorance...
Is it naive to decide that after everything we have been through what we really deserve right now is to find peace and comfort in our togetherness? Then that is what we are.
For we are two kids without mothers and with absent biological fathers. We have no blood sibling, and for the first time in my life, I’m okay with that. Maybe one day we will have our own family. They will have our blood and we will give them everything we missed out on, and they will give us everything we missed out on.
TWENTY-SIX: Liz
She can hear people speaking, and even though she can’t see their faces, she can tell they are concerned. The quiver in their voices, deep tones, and intermittent words reach her through her slumber. She is exhausted. The girl could sleep for a year and still feel the need for more. This is the first time she has allowed herself to become vulnerable, and just… finally… relax. She feels safe. Safer than she may have ever felt before, and she knows he is here with her, in this same hospital. She knows he is fine. The girl listens to footsteps approach and feels movement at her side. The mattress sinks. A warm hand touches hers. A gentle, feminine voice speaks.
“Oh, you’ve been through something haven’t you, little girl?” she sighs softly. “I want you to know that you’re safe now and that you can wake up. I know you’re tired hurting, but we need to know you’re okay. Please, little one, it’s time to wake up.”
The hand moves to her forehead, and the girl shivers beneath its tender caress. She wants to sleep for longer, despite the pleading tone coming from the lady on her bed.
The girl wonders why she must wake up. She hasn’t any chores left to do, or the boy to look after any more. Can’t she just sleep now?
She vaguely recalls the past five hours. She knows they escaped, and the police found him first. She knows because she watched from behind a tree as he panicked in their grasps. Then, there is a space in time between the moment when Kon finally gave into the officer and stopped fighting, and when the policeman scooped her up off the floor in her father’s cupboard. She remembers the officer cradling her in his arms, and she remembers how he held her with protective confidence. She remembers him laying her down and covering her up. She remembers the noise of the hospital, and the bed moving under lights. That is all she remembers.
Now she just wants to sleep and feel the unfamiliar gentleness of this stranger who seems to care for her.
“Okay, little one, you sleep. I will be here when you wake up. You’re such a brave girl, do you know that? You are safe now. We promise you’re safe now. I have hidden your unicorn under your pillow for when you wake up.”
My unicorn.
The mattress lifts as she moves, and then the footsteps disappear into the distance. The girl swallows and feels the empty room as if it were an entity apart. She doesn’t mind being alone usually. She just really liked the warmth of that stranger.
She doesn’t open her eyes yet and lies in the silence until she hears footsteps again, faster, deeper, heavier steps.
“Get it over with,” she hears a gruff voice say.
It all happens so quickly. The body is beside her. A pillow is pressed against her face. It is soft. Then it isn’t. It is hard and unforgiving, and she can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
She tries to moan. Her eyes open and widen, but she sees only white cotton. Her hands fly up to scr
atch at the pressure, and then she considers giving up, giving into the escape, letting them take her. It is easier. Something stops her from doing that: fear, adrenaline, anger . . .
Kon.
She reaches her hand behind her head and pulls out her unicorn, slashing the air with it. She uses all her strength to fend off the pressure, but she is too little, too weak.
The same voice snaps. “Hurry up!”
Relentlessly she swings, gasps, and groans, and blinks puddles into the fabric over her eyes. She hits something, and a grunt precedes further pressure behind the pillow. She loses energy, her arms are weightless, and then there is no air.
TWENTY- SEVEN: Blesk
“So, it says five to seven days, baby,” I say, sitting on Konnor’s bed with my legs crossed in front of me. He paces the room, a hand on either hip, his head shaking slowing with unease.
His brows weave. “What if I get aggressive and upset you?”
“I’ll call Jaxon or Adolf,” I confirm with an adamant nod. He’s worried he may act out and ruin what we have, potentially changing my perspective of him. I’m not worried. My faith in his strength of character is completely irrevocable and infinite. I know it will be hard. I also know he can do it.
Konnor releases some anxiety by rubbing his palms down his face. “Yeah, but will you think different of me?”
“Konnor, nothing in this world would make me prouder of you,” I confess, watching his internal debate with sympathy.
He moves over to sit beside me and places his hand attentively on my naked thigh. “What if—”
“Stop what if-ing! You can do this,” I state emphatically. “You can do anything.”
He searches my expression, exhaling long and loudly. “Fine,” he nods. “Read it to me again.”
I read from my iPhone. “‘Stage one is anxiety, nausea, and abdominal pains.’”
He groans. “Can’t wait for that magic.”
“‘Stage two is high blood pressure, increased body temperature, and unusual heart rate.”
“Yay!” he mocks.
I giggle and talk through my smile. “‘And stage three is hallucinations, fever, and agitation.’”
“Okay. . . well, we know I would do just about anything for you.” His eyes roll over my face lovingly. “Scrap that. I would do anything for you.”
I lean in and press my lips to his mouth, humming through our quick chaste kiss. “All you have to do is show up and I’ll be impressed. What we are doing now, this is for you.”
He beams at me, displaying those undeniable dimples. “I’m in.”
I grin up at him, filled to the brim with pride. “I have all sorts of beverages in the fridge, lollies, chocolate, and lots of greasy food for Justin.”
His face tightens. “Who the fuck is Justin?”
I giggle. “Just-in case.”
“Your puns are adorable. I thought I was about to have to kill some guy named Justin,” he teases, walking over to the sink. His shoulders sag on a sigh as he unscrews the cap of the first bottle of bourbon and empties it down the drain. “Detox, here I come.”
Blesk and Konnor’s story is not over, but to tell it, we must digress.
The District Series Book
2
Girls dream about boys like him. He is perfect: tall, strong, sculptured like a statue of a Greek God, and he has these eyes. . . they are. . . hypnotising, soul sucking. They are deep blue, basically grey, and when they give you their attention you are useless against their charm. Every glance they offer you is like your own personal accolade. They are like a whirlwind, or a tornado, or a vacuum, manipulating everything in their line-of-sight.
He is just so. . . Max Butcher.
YOU have the power
There is nothing more important to a new author than reviews.
And I will beg.
I'm not above it.
Please, please, please, leave me a review, and you will make me a very happy little vegemite.
Hate it? Cool; tell me why in a review!
Like it? No, you're prettier.
Here I've made it easy:
www.amazon.com/gp/product-review/B07TMRB9RQ
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/47136923-facing-us
Acknowledgments
This has been a work in progress for five years. I saved enough money to take nearly a year off and work on this book (and others) because I want more than anything to write for a living. And to write romance novels and make a crust, well, that would be the dream.
I talked about The District constantly. I dreamed about it. I love this story. But I wasn't sure I could do 'their' story justice as this is my first novel. I have learnt a lot and hope that I continue to improve with each book in the series.
I sent this book to an editor after that year. I paid a pretty penny. A month later I received my Manuscript in the mail. I was so excited. That big white envelope was all I'd thought about since I posted it to him, my editor - my professional, Literary Agent, editor.
Well, he crushed me. He hated it. There was very little editing and just a whole heap of criticism. He hated the characters. He hated the story. He was belittling and it still hurts to think about. This was the most important thing I had ever done, and I love these characters. So, I locked myself away for days, and cried. I stopped writing for a while. Finally, I wrote a review about his review, in which I commented on every little thing he said. I never sent it. But it was cathartic.
My first acknowledgement goes out to this editor. Thank you for your criticism. Thank you for making me cry, and for every negative word. I am sure, as an author, I will continue to experience this and so thank you for this lesson in reality. It has only made me stronger.
Thank you.
My next acknowledgement is for my aunty, Penny, who helped pull me out of my depression after this incident. She sat with me, and we went over the novel. We critiqued it together. She taught me a few very important lessons.
1: When you read a review, or edit suggestion, consider who the authority on the subject is before accepting it.
2: Your book is not going to be liked by everyone. Consider your demographic before you hire an editor or beta reader.
3: Someone will like your book!
Thank you, Penny Cookson.
I used these pieces of gold to utilise this editors' suggestions in a methodical and unemotional way. I improved my story. I improved my writing. And it dawned on me that sending a new adult love story to a conservative middle-aged man might not give me the best insight into its worth.
So with this in mind, I sent it to two beta readers, and two new editors. They liked it. Yay! There was a mixture of praise and criticism and that was perfectly fine with me.
I fine-tuned further, and although I didn’t take all their advice, I took a lot of it.
So to my editors Swati Hedge and Jessica Swift, you are amazing.
Thank you, Swati Hedge.
www.swatihedge.com
Thank you, Jessica Swift.
www.facebook.com/SwiftInkEditor/
My final acknowledgment is to Gabby D'annunzio, my best friend, who loves The District Series and all its characters as much as me. It was your eagerness to hear every new idea and your excitement over each character development, that kept me going. I miss our many nights swapping ideas over our home-made margaritas.
Thank you, Gabby D'annunzio.