Read Online Love Lies Bleeding by Jess Mcconkey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jess Mcconkey
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grin. Maybe now they’ll see I’m not ordinary.
I make my selections quickly, then settle back to enjoy the view of the city. I belong here . . . I really do. If only there were some way to escape . . . to have this sense of freedom every day instead of satisfying myself with these stolen moments. Suddenly bands of tension tighten around my chest. If I tried to leave my old life behind, it would hurt financially.
At what price freedom, eh? I think bitterly, and take a big gulp of my Merlot, not tasting it as I swallow.
My steak arrives and I try to shove my dark thoughts away and enjoy these last moments. I cut into the tender meat with the precision of a surgeon, and as I do, a thin, watery line of red oozes across the pure white china plate. Stabbing the meat with my fork, I place the morsel in my mouth and chew, but it seems to have no flavor. I wash it down with wine and try again. Dry as dust.
Snapping my fingers at the waiter, I point to my now-empty glass of wine. He scurries over and refills my glass.
“Is your steak to your liking?”
“It’s fine,” I answer, waving him away and grabbing my wineglass. Another long drink while I stare at the red liquid seeping over the plate.
One stupid moment of violence . . . and a life is ruined. And through no fault of mine. It was her . . . she was responsible for what happened, not me. Why should I continue to pay the price? I stare out the window at the lights. Somehow they don’t seem as bright as they once were. Disgusted, I throw my napkin on the table and down the last of my wine. I signal for my check, and after settling the bill, leave my half-eaten meal sitting on the table, the bloody juice now congealed on the plate.
I stride past the waiter, past the maître d’, and out the dining-room doors. As I stab the elevator button, my anger sizzles. Another evening ruined by her. It can’t continue. I’ve earned a better life than this . . . I deserve a better life than this. There must be a way out.
All I have to do is find the key.
Chapter Seven
A nne sat in her car and stared at the cabin. Yesterday did not go well. Sam had shut herself in the bedroom for most of the day, claiming weariness. At first Anne had wondered if it was avoidance on Sam’s part. It had been obvious Sam didn’t want her there and resented her parents’ and fiancé’s interference.
They’d left that part out during her interview, she thought wryly. Neither the father nor the fiancé had mentioned that Sam was less than thrilled with the idea of in-home therapy. Anne’s lips curled downward in a frown. What kind of reception would Sam give her today? Would she spend the entire summer struggling to win Sam’s cooperation? Didn’t Sam realize how lucky she was? She had people in her life who cared, who would do anything to help her.
Disgusted, Anne shook her head. She’d never had that kind of support in her life. No one had ever stepped up to the plate to help her. It had always been up to her, and her alone, to shoulder the burdens, to make the decisions, to solve the problems. It was a miracle that she hadn’t been crushed by the weight of it all.
She laid her head against the seat and shut her eyes for a moment. Instead of acting like a spoiled brat, Samantha Moore should be overcome with gratitude.
Straightening, she opened her eyes and blew out a long breath as she stared at the cabin door. What she thought of Samantha Moore wasn’t important. She had a job to do. During the interview, Lawrence Moore had made his expectations clear, and in not so many words, he’d let her know that failure was not an option.
Her thoughts shot to the pile of bills lying on the kitchen table. A pang of anxiety squeezed her chest. What if she did fail and he fired her? Laid off from the hospital and no money coming in—it wouldn’t take long for her savings to dwindle. Her carefully laid plans for Caleb’s college would be shot to hell. All those years of scrimping,
I make my selections quickly, then settle back to enjoy the view of the city. I belong here . . . I really do. If only there were some way to escape . . . to have this sense of freedom every day instead of satisfying myself with these stolen moments. Suddenly bands of tension tighten around my chest. If I tried to leave my old life behind, it would hurt financially.
At what price freedom, eh? I think bitterly, and take a big gulp of my Merlot, not tasting it as I swallow.
My steak arrives and I try to shove my dark thoughts away and enjoy these last moments. I cut into the tender meat with the precision of a surgeon, and as I do, a thin, watery line of red oozes across the pure white china plate. Stabbing the meat with my fork, I place the morsel in my mouth and chew, but it seems to have no flavor. I wash it down with wine and try again. Dry as dust.
Snapping my fingers at the waiter, I point to my now-empty glass of wine. He scurries over and refills my glass.
“Is your steak to your liking?”
“It’s fine,” I answer, waving him away and grabbing my wineglass. Another long drink while I stare at the red liquid seeping over the plate.
One stupid moment of violence . . . and a life is ruined. And through no fault of mine. It was her . . . she was responsible for what happened, not me. Why should I continue to pay the price? I stare out the window at the lights. Somehow they don’t seem as bright as they once were. Disgusted, I throw my napkin on the table and down the last of my wine. I signal for my check, and after settling the bill, leave my half-eaten meal sitting on the table, the bloody juice now congealed on the plate.
I stride past the waiter, past the maître d’, and out the dining-room doors. As I stab the elevator button, my anger sizzles. Another evening ruined by her. It can’t continue. I’ve earned a better life than this . . . I deserve a better life than this. There must be a way out.
All I have to do is find the key.
Chapter Seven
A nne sat in her car and stared at the cabin. Yesterday did not go well. Sam had shut herself in the bedroom for most of the day, claiming weariness. At first Anne had wondered if it was avoidance on Sam’s part. It had been obvious Sam didn’t want her there and resented her parents’ and fiancé’s interference.
They’d left that part out during her interview, she thought wryly. Neither the father nor the fiancé had mentioned that Sam was less than thrilled with the idea of in-home therapy. Anne’s lips curled downward in a frown. What kind of reception would Sam give her today? Would she spend the entire summer struggling to win Sam’s cooperation? Didn’t Sam realize how lucky she was? She had people in her life who cared, who would do anything to help her.
Disgusted, Anne shook her head. She’d never had that kind of support in her life. No one had ever stepped up to the plate to help her. It had always been up to her, and her alone, to shoulder the burdens, to make the decisions, to solve the problems. It was a miracle that she hadn’t been crushed by the weight of it all.
She laid her head against the seat and shut her eyes for a moment. Instead of acting like a spoiled brat, Samantha Moore should be overcome with gratitude.
Straightening, she opened her eyes and blew out a long breath as she stared at the cabin door. What she thought of Samantha Moore wasn’t important. She had a job to do. During the interview, Lawrence Moore had made his expectations clear, and in not so many words, he’d let her know that failure was not an option.
Her thoughts shot to the pile of bills lying on the kitchen table. A pang of anxiety squeezed her chest. What if she did fail and he fired her? Laid off from the hospital and no money coming in—it wouldn’t take long for her savings to dwindle. Her carefully laid plans for Caleb’s college would be shot to hell. All those years of scrimping,
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