Chapter 17

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Chapter 17

Corinna’s POV

I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, just walking and when I finally realized where I’d ended up, I was standing in front of Flynn’s grandmother’s house. “Gran,” I whispered on a sob, wincing as the sound worked its way up my abused throat.

I walked up the stone walkway to the small brick house, wishing that she was still inside, still there with a cup of tea and a fresh cookie waiting for me.

When everyone else had turned against me, she’d been the only one who could see through my facade, who could look through all the walls I’d begun to build up to see the girl beneath. Her light green eyes, the same colour as Flynn’s always looked right through me.

I wound my way around the house and sank into the swinging bench that was still hanging back there, remembering all the times I’d sat there with her in silence. I never told her anything about my mother or what was bothering me. I never told her why I let people think that I was such a screw up.

But I didn’t need to.

She’d looked at me with understanding and acceptance and just being with her had given me a sense of peace that I’d clung to desperately.

“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Flynn said, taking a seat on the bench next to me, bringing me out of my thoughts with a start.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by.”

“You followed me.”

“Yeah.”

“I want to be alone.”

His eyes met mine, looking into me the same way Gran’s used to. “Do you?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

He nodded and started to stand but stopped when my hand reached out, gripping his hard. He sank back into the seat and adjusted our grip until our palms were pressed together, our fingers intertwined.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low and carefully controlled but I still heard the undercurrents of anger there.

I shook my head.

“Okay,” he rumbled, squeezing my hand and leaning back in the chair watching the rain fall from our protected spot.

My eyes drifted closed as I listened to the sounds of rain hitting leaves and grass, feeling some of the tension seep out of me. Flynn’s hand on mine anchored me, keeping the shattered pieces of myself from flying in every direction.

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