Read Online Rebel Roused (Untamed #5) by Jinsey Reese, Victoria Green - Free Book Online
Authors: Jinsey Reese, Victoria Green
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finished packing up Rex’s stuff, donating what we could, saving what we couldn’t part with, and storing everything Dare wasn’t sure what to do with. There were many of Rex’s personal belongings that he refused to sell, but he also couldn’t bear to bring them to our place. At least not yet.
And I totally understood that.
Everything was infused with Rex, and every time we went to his house or touched his things it hit us again. I kept expecting to find him behind his easel, at the stove in the kitchen, or just around the corner. I swore I could still hear his voice resonating in the now-empty rooms.
We could feel the echo of his life—of him —and with it came the fresh pain of his loss.
I knew what I felt was a fraction of what Dare was going through—I could see the darkness creep up in his eyes every so often, and I wished there was some way for me to take away his pain.
But there wasn’t. There never would be.
So I did everything I could to fill our lives with happiness.
Not long after my parents’ visit, I went back to the women’s shelter on 132nd Street where I’d volunteered before. In previous years, Sabine had sponsored an art show right before the holidays for the kids to be able to show their work, maybe even make a sale or two. Since Sabine was in Europe, I’d called up the volunteer coordinator and offered to help get the students get ready and run the entire show.
For the past two weeks, I’d spent three afternoons a week supervising the art class, bringing in whatever supplies the kids needed, and helping guide the young artists.
It felt so good to be useful again.
It also felt great to not be jumping back into the world with both feet yet. Baby steps, they’d called them in rehab. One thing at a time, one day at a time. I simply wasn’t ready for full-time again. And forcing myself to get out of the apartment a few times a week was hard enough. But I did it.
Those kids needed me.
Almost as much as I needed them.
Most of the time I stayed in, though, seeking shelter in my safe, little world with Dare. He tried to get me to go out more often—to dinner, an opening, a new gallery—but I felt too exposed. Too unanchored.
It didn’t make sense. I knew that. I didn’t need a therapist to point out that I’d been in the safety of Rex’s house when hell had unleashed its mangiest hound. And even though I kept reminding myself that Daren was dead—that he couldn’t ever come after Dare or me again—it still took everything I had to walk out the door.
My heart gave a little jump every time the door opened.
Like right now.
“Hey,” I said, pressing my hand to my chest, wondering when my heart would stop doing that. If ever. I wasn’t sure I could take a lifetime of these moments of fear and uncertainty.
Dare took one look at me, closed the door, crossed the room, and wrapped me in his arms.
“You’re safe, baby,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
“I know.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing my face into his chest, breathing in his calmness. “And yet I don’t.”
He ran his hands up and down my arms. “Give it time.” His chin rested on the top of my head and I could feel my heart return to its regular rhythm.
“So, how’d it go?”
“The insurance?” He shrugged. “It’s not much.”
“What? You lost twenty-three paintings in the explosion. How can it not be much?”
His head was shaking before I even finished. “Because I’m a nobody,” he said. “They don’t agree with the value I placed on my art. They’re giving me less than half.” His hands came down on my shoulders as I opened my mouth in indignation. “It doesn’t matter, Ree. They’re gone—there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“But it’s not fair! You’re an amazing artist and those paintings are worth—”
“Nothing.” He slid his hands down my arms, grasped my hands in his and raised them to his lips. “It’s okay. At least I’m getting some money out of
And I totally understood that.
Everything was infused with Rex, and every time we went to his house or touched his things it hit us again. I kept expecting to find him behind his easel, at the stove in the kitchen, or just around the corner. I swore I could still hear his voice resonating in the now-empty rooms.
We could feel the echo of his life—of him —and with it came the fresh pain of his loss.
I knew what I felt was a fraction of what Dare was going through—I could see the darkness creep up in his eyes every so often, and I wished there was some way for me to take away his pain.
But there wasn’t. There never would be.
So I did everything I could to fill our lives with happiness.
Not long after my parents’ visit, I went back to the women’s shelter on 132nd Street where I’d volunteered before. In previous years, Sabine had sponsored an art show right before the holidays for the kids to be able to show their work, maybe even make a sale or two. Since Sabine was in Europe, I’d called up the volunteer coordinator and offered to help get the students get ready and run the entire show.
For the past two weeks, I’d spent three afternoons a week supervising the art class, bringing in whatever supplies the kids needed, and helping guide the young artists.
It felt so good to be useful again.
It also felt great to not be jumping back into the world with both feet yet. Baby steps, they’d called them in rehab. One thing at a time, one day at a time. I simply wasn’t ready for full-time again. And forcing myself to get out of the apartment a few times a week was hard enough. But I did it.
Those kids needed me.
Almost as much as I needed them.
Most of the time I stayed in, though, seeking shelter in my safe, little world with Dare. He tried to get me to go out more often—to dinner, an opening, a new gallery—but I felt too exposed. Too unanchored.
It didn’t make sense. I knew that. I didn’t need a therapist to point out that I’d been in the safety of Rex’s house when hell had unleashed its mangiest hound. And even though I kept reminding myself that Daren was dead—that he couldn’t ever come after Dare or me again—it still took everything I had to walk out the door.
My heart gave a little jump every time the door opened.
Like right now.
“Hey,” I said, pressing my hand to my chest, wondering when my heart would stop doing that. If ever. I wasn’t sure I could take a lifetime of these moments of fear and uncertainty.
Dare took one look at me, closed the door, crossed the room, and wrapped me in his arms.
“You’re safe, baby,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
“I know.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing my face into his chest, breathing in his calmness. “And yet I don’t.”
He ran his hands up and down my arms. “Give it time.” His chin rested on the top of my head and I could feel my heart return to its regular rhythm.
“So, how’d it go?”
“The insurance?” He shrugged. “It’s not much.”
“What? You lost twenty-three paintings in the explosion. How can it not be much?”
His head was shaking before I even finished. “Because I’m a nobody,” he said. “They don’t agree with the value I placed on my art. They’re giving me less than half.” His hands came down on my shoulders as I opened my mouth in indignation. “It doesn’t matter, Ree. They’re gone—there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“But it’s not fair! You’re an amazing artist and those paintings are worth—”
“Nothing.” He slid his hands down my arms, grasped my hands in his and raised them to his lips. “It’s okay. At least I’m getting some money out of
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