Hansel 4 by Ella James Read Free Book Online

neck feel hot.
    “You can…go,” I say between my labored breaths.
    Silence swells up. “You know I don’t want to go.”
    “Should.”
    Her gentle hand on my bicep contrasts sickly to the pain in my left hand. “I love taking care of you,” she says. “I want to be here.”
    Lana lifts my left arm at the elbow, and I feel the coolness of a pillow being pushed under it. “All done. Leah, keep me posted.”
    I breathe deeply, with my eyes shut. I can sense her leaving: Lana.
    When I open my eyes again, it’s just Leah beside me. The moment is such a freakish parallel with another one from my past. I feel almost dizzy thinking of it.
                  “Lucas, you’ve got no one. Is there anyone who cares for you?”
    “I’m not leaving. Please don’t try to make me.” Her soft hand leaves my skin, and then I feel the mattress indent with her weight. Moving carefully around my right hand, still propped on pillows, she settles in beside me. We are hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder. I feel the fabric of her clothes against my fevered skin. Then her gentle arm around my chest. She rests her cheek on my shoulder and breathes my name.
    Her body is soft and warm. Mine’s so cold I’m shivering. 
     
    *
     
    Leah
 
    Almost two years. That’s how long we shared the wall. I thought I knew so much about him. I was wrong. I see now, what he did. He collected facts about me, but he was greedy with the exchange of them. Because I knew his habits—because I knew his footfall and the feel of his hand, the softness of his hair and the rumble of his voice—I was fooled.
    For Luke to have told Mother about me, he’d have had to’ve known me. Before her house.
    It’s been two days since we left Mother’s house, and I’m still puzzling it out.
    I’ve got quite the backdrop for my research. I haven’t told him yet, because Raymond suggested that I not until he was on the mend, but we’re at Luke’s own house. Not the club—his house. He’s got a house.
    I’m standing in his kitchen now. A real kitchen with a corkboard countertop, black cabinets, and shiny stainless steel fixtures. In the refrigerator, there is key lime Greek yogurt and heart-healthy butter. Also, cherry Coke.
    But the biggest surprise by far is a boy named Echo: Luke’s son.
    Yeah. Luke has a son.
    Echo is eight, and I’m pretty sure he’s not Luke’s biological child because his skin is dark. But Raymond hasn’t been here much, and Echo’s nanny, an elderly woman named Hally, doesn’t seem like the right person to ask—especially since Echo is usually with her.
    I turn to Lana, who’s working on a New York Times crossword puzzle at the kitchen table.
    “So that’s all they said? The manuscript?”
    She nods, not looking up. “Yep.”
    When I called Lana from the car the night before last, she came running, but I think she thinks I’m seriously insane.
    “And you told them Ray would call them back?”
    She nods. “Her. She said her name was Rebecca.”
    I chew my lip, and turn back around to the oven cleaning kit I’ve been looking at. The oven’s pretty clean, but it could always be cleaner.
    Lana looks up and gives me a smirk. “You, and oven cleaner? Do you want to talk?”
    I shake my head.
    “Well for God’s sake, don’t clean the oven. Didn’t Hally say the housekeepers were coming in just a few hours?”
    “Yeah.”
    Lana swats her hand at me. “Go walk around. Do some snooping. Rake leaves. Something.”
    I check Echo’s baby monitor, wondering for the millionth time if Luke adopted him as a baby, and nod. “Okay. I’ll go.” I turn around in the opening between the kitchen and the den. “Lana?”
    She looks up. “Yeah?”
    “Thanks again. This means the world to me.”
    She arches her brows, and like usual, I can’t read her expression. “I’m glad that I could be here for you, Leah.”
    The house is big. Like big. A good six or seven thousand feet, I think. And everywhere, he’s in these