Loving Ashlynn (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 33 - Blowing Up (Angela Conrad POV)

I reach over, placing one hand on his knee.

"They're going to hate me," he whispers, voice croaking and rough. "And I understand it, I do, I – I just... I want them to tell me what to do to make it better-"

I shake my head slowly, "Brennan it doesn't work that way. You haven't told them your part in all of this, but you are already trying to rush them into forgiving you. You cannot go into this with the intention of rushing anyone to forgive you or see it your way. When I had to tell the family about me, it was scary because I knew that once the words were out, that nothing would be the same. I would have to deal with whatever reactions they had."

Brennan was in a tight spot, I knew that, but at the same time, he had to know that things would be bad before they could ever get better.

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Faith Ashlynn POV

"How do we know she will remember?" a dark skinned woman demands, frightened. "This is what she was made for... Fatima will warn the rest - that is what I saw," Wyatt snapped and with that thought I heard Imogen, everyone shouting. After the drugs had worn out, I had made sense of everything that happened after Samson left my room.

The house is filled with people, no one could leave since the bridge was down, so everyone that was leaving, hasn't. With strict orders to relax, I sit on my bed, my cell phone in my hand debating whether or not I could - or should - text Samson to come up to my room so that he and I could talk.

I wouldn't be seeing Nova until our Wednesday session, and with so much on my mind, I wanted to reach out to him. He had spent the good part of the night and morning at the hospital with me. However, he didn't seem like himself. He was tense and drifting off which said a lot if I could notice someone doing that since it really was what I did best.

I wasn't so far gone that it didn't cross my mind that his family and friends had been injured, and some nearly could have been, or worse had died and that maybe he needed to spend time with him. But when I entered my room, he stood outside my door a few hours ago and said that if I wanted something just call him. Lifting a brow, I wondered if he realized that I had a bad case of the headaches, not a broken leg.

Still here I was, wanting to be around him, near him and just hear his voice - tell him what actually happened with me. Deciding that if he is, in fact, busy, he can choose himself if he wants to come see me after, I send him a text asking him to come to my room.

In no time at all, my phone chirps in my hands: coming, do you want some tea? I smiled thinking of all the nice conversations I had with him over a simple cup of tea or chicken broth soup.

Yes, please. My reply goes, and I move to turn on the lamp on the bedside table, I fix my bed a bit and then wait near the door for him to come up so he wouldn't have to figure out a way to knock and hold our tea.

It doesn't take more than fifteen minutes before he's on my floor sitting on the bed, tense and not his usual calm and laid back self.

I want to jump right into what I had to tell him, ready to speak but again I take a good, long look at Samson, and I feel deep inside that something wasn't right.

So instead, "Are you okay?"

The question makes me roll my eyes, "Of course you're not... someone just blew up that bridge last night and your family was hurt," he shakes his head.