Last Breath by Brandilyn Collins, Amberly Collins Read Free Book Online

criminal?
    â€œShaley. You will call Detective Myner tomorrow.”
    So much for an answer. My eyes blinked hard, trying to chase the tears away, but they spilled onto my cheeks. I nodded. “Okay.”
    Mom swallowed. “Can you get me a drink?”
    â€œSure.” I poured some water from her pitcher into a glass. “Here’s a straw.” I picked it off the tray and inserted it into the glass. Held it to her lips.
    Mom took three long drinks, then closed her eyes. I put the glass back on the tray and gazed at her.
    Just yesterday we’d fought about my father. The age-old resentment in me could so easily erupt. I deserved to hear some answers. Who was my dad? Where did he go? Why had I never seen him? But Mom would never tell me. I only knew one detail. While they were dating he’d often give her a single white rose wrapped in green cellophane and tied with a red ribbon. To this day that symbol seemed sacred to her, although she’d never told me the full story behind it.
    Mom’s eyes opened. We gazed at each other, silent communication flowing between us. If she wasn’t in a hospital bed, all banged up, we’d probably be fighting over this right now. I’d be accusing her of almost getting us killed through hanging on to her secrets. She’d be stubbornly refusing to talk …
    For the first time it occurred to me that maybe some good could come out of this terrible accident.
    â€œMom.” I rubbed her shoulder. “Answer me.”
    Her mouth turned downward. “The person I loved would never want to hurt us. But that person went away long ago. If he sent Jerry to us, he only meant us harm.”
    I pulled my arms across my chest, bitterness edging my voice. “You need to tell me about him. No excuses anymore. You and I are stuck here anyway, so we might as well talk.”
    Mom made a sound in her throat. The glaze of pain in her eyes changed to grief. “I just … some things are hard to … But you’re right. You deserve to know.”
    All I could do was stare. Had I really heard that? After all my years of wanting to know, she was finally going to tell me?
    Mom looked past me, into the distance. “Where to start? There’s so much …”
    I hurried to the corner of the room and dragged over one of the wooden chairs. Sat down by her bed. My heart picked up speed. This was really happening. I couldn’t believe it.
    â€œStart at the beginning.”

10
    H e was the quiet guy who sat in front of me in French class, and was one year ahead of me in school. He didn’t talk much and kept to himself.
    Everything about him fascinated me.
    It was October, the second month of my sophomore year. Our French teacher was horrible. Mrs. Wright would give us stupid little conversations to memorize and recite to each other. Whenever we had to do that, Gary Donovon would turn around to be my partner.
    He had sandy-colored hair and large, almost translucent gray eyes. Long eyelashes. And a way of moving his mouth that was so expressive. He’d firm his lips, pulling them in at the corners whenever he forgot one of his French lines. If he thought something was funny, one corner of his mouth would turn up in this quirky smile. Gary had long fingers, like a pianist’s. He was tall and muscled, but graceful, almost loping in his walk. In the crowded hallways, while everyone else jabbered and called out to friends, he’d walk by himself, head slightly tilted to one side, focused straight ahead. Like a rock in the middle of a stream, water flowing around it.
    The guy was totally intriguing. And he didn’t even know it.
    â€œHi, Veronique,” Gary said to me that Thursday as he turned around in his seat.
    â€œHi, Simon.”
    Each of us had a French name we had to use in class. In the French pronunciation, Gary’s name—Simon—sounded like SeeMOH.
    Gary/Simon met my eyes for a split second, then looked away.