unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) by Sara Hubbard Page B
Authors: Sara Hubbard
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pull through.” I lower my voice to a whisper as I lean forward.
My hand clutches his until he settles and falls back asleep. Damien happened to have some painkillers on hand—I’m not going to judge him—and thankfully, he was able to get Mickey to swallow them. He seems to be comfortable now, aside from the occasional quiet moan, which I don’t even know for sure means he’s in pain. For all I know he could be dreaming or delirious.
I loosen his grip on my hand and sit back on my heels. Pain radiates down my back and I rise to my feet. Not the most comfortable night I’ve had, but I wouldn’t have slept anywhere else. I had to be here for Mickey in case he needed me. Reaching around, I try to rub the kinks out of my lower back. I don’t want to leave Mickey’s side, but I know if I get back in that chair right now I won’t be walking tomorrow.
It’s after four in the morning. The moon shines a ray of white light onto the carpet, reaching the tips of my toes. The apartment is quiet and I wonder if Carrie is still here. Damien must be and I will feel so much better if Carrie is, too.
Because Damien unnerves me. Not because he’s scary—he’s actually quite the opposite. The way he took charge and mended Mickey and comforted me… I’m not used to someone being soft around me like that—and meaning it. I can’t deny his sincerity. It draws me to him. But then, I’m only drawn to assholes, so that can’t be a good thing. My judgment is poor at best. That alone should be enough for me to keep my guard up and firmly in place. I can’t let myself be distracted or lose focus. My life is just too complicated.
The last time I lost focus, Evie paid the price and the aftermath resulted in my aunt’s death. The truth is, if I hadn’t let Evie leave that night at The Pipeline she wouldn’t have been attacked, Sam wouldn’t have threatened her, and Mona wouldn’t have intervened. My life would be normal right now. Declan and Evie wouldn’t be in custody, Mona would be alive, and Mickey wouldn’t be fighting for his life.
All because I have some deep-seated need to be wanted, to be cherished. How fucking pathetic is that?
And here I sit thinking about Damien? What is wrong with me? Even if I could trust myself, I have to admit I know nothing about him. I still don’t know how he and Carrie know each other, and this bothers me because it’s as if she’s been hiding things from me. And then there is Mona’s supposed familiarity with him. I mean, who is this guy?
The list of conversations I need to have with the people who surround me seems never ending, and makes me want to scream in frustration. I can’t just sit here and let my mind spin. Besides, I need to pee and I have an enormous headache that is growing by the minute. I venture to the bedroom door and listen for life on the other side. Still quiet. I hear a clock ticking and the steady hum of an old fridge, but otherwise there is silence. I pull on the door and cringe when it creaks, but as I try to go slowly, I swear the sound climaxes. Fuck . I walk through the half-open door sideways, and try to get my bearings. Last night is a blur and all I remember is that the kitchen is to the right. There’s a door across from me and it’s shut and so are the other three doors. Fantastic. All I need is to walk into Damien’s room and find him sleeping—or not. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.
I creep to the kitchen and cover my mouth to stifle a scream when I see him sitting in the living room in the dark by the open window, the moon casting him in shadows. He’s smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke out through the crack. I feel the breeze and a chill walks through my body, so I hug myself for warmth. And yet he sits there, shirtless.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.
He reaches over and flicks on the small lamp on the end table by the chair. “Did you need something?”
“A new life? Could you manage that?”
“Hmm. If I could, I don’t
My hand clutches his until he settles and falls back asleep. Damien happened to have some painkillers on hand—I’m not going to judge him—and thankfully, he was able to get Mickey to swallow them. He seems to be comfortable now, aside from the occasional quiet moan, which I don’t even know for sure means he’s in pain. For all I know he could be dreaming or delirious.
I loosen his grip on my hand and sit back on my heels. Pain radiates down my back and I rise to my feet. Not the most comfortable night I’ve had, but I wouldn’t have slept anywhere else. I had to be here for Mickey in case he needed me. Reaching around, I try to rub the kinks out of my lower back. I don’t want to leave Mickey’s side, but I know if I get back in that chair right now I won’t be walking tomorrow.
It’s after four in the morning. The moon shines a ray of white light onto the carpet, reaching the tips of my toes. The apartment is quiet and I wonder if Carrie is still here. Damien must be and I will feel so much better if Carrie is, too.
Because Damien unnerves me. Not because he’s scary—he’s actually quite the opposite. The way he took charge and mended Mickey and comforted me… I’m not used to someone being soft around me like that—and meaning it. I can’t deny his sincerity. It draws me to him. But then, I’m only drawn to assholes, so that can’t be a good thing. My judgment is poor at best. That alone should be enough for me to keep my guard up and firmly in place. I can’t let myself be distracted or lose focus. My life is just too complicated.
The last time I lost focus, Evie paid the price and the aftermath resulted in my aunt’s death. The truth is, if I hadn’t let Evie leave that night at The Pipeline she wouldn’t have been attacked, Sam wouldn’t have threatened her, and Mona wouldn’t have intervened. My life would be normal right now. Declan and Evie wouldn’t be in custody, Mona would be alive, and Mickey wouldn’t be fighting for his life.
All because I have some deep-seated need to be wanted, to be cherished. How fucking pathetic is that?
And here I sit thinking about Damien? What is wrong with me? Even if I could trust myself, I have to admit I know nothing about him. I still don’t know how he and Carrie know each other, and this bothers me because it’s as if she’s been hiding things from me. And then there is Mona’s supposed familiarity with him. I mean, who is this guy?
The list of conversations I need to have with the people who surround me seems never ending, and makes me want to scream in frustration. I can’t just sit here and let my mind spin. Besides, I need to pee and I have an enormous headache that is growing by the minute. I venture to the bedroom door and listen for life on the other side. Still quiet. I hear a clock ticking and the steady hum of an old fridge, but otherwise there is silence. I pull on the door and cringe when it creaks, but as I try to go slowly, I swear the sound climaxes. Fuck . I walk through the half-open door sideways, and try to get my bearings. Last night is a blur and all I remember is that the kitchen is to the right. There’s a door across from me and it’s shut and so are the other three doors. Fantastic. All I need is to walk into Damien’s room and find him sleeping—or not. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.
I creep to the kitchen and cover my mouth to stifle a scream when I see him sitting in the living room in the dark by the open window, the moon casting him in shadows. He’s smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke out through the crack. I feel the breeze and a chill walks through my body, so I hug myself for warmth. And yet he sits there, shirtless.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.
He reaches over and flicks on the small lamp on the end table by the chair. “Did you need something?”
“A new life? Could you manage that?”
“Hmm. If I could, I don’t
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