Blurring the Lines (Nothing Left to Lose, part 2) by Kirsty Moseley

Author:Kirsty Moseley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A couple of hours later, our hire car rolled into the cemetery parking lot. Ashton’s hand was tight in mine as we walked through the graveyard. As per my usual routine, I stooped and picked up any dandelions that I came across on the way. About ten feet away from his grave, I stopped and looked at Ashton. “Do you think maybe I could be on my own for a bit? I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

He sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Anna, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I stepped up and put my arms around his waist, setting my head on his shoulder. “Please?”

“Anna, I can’t,” he whined.

“Please, Ashton?” I begged, trying not to cry. I needed to talk to Jack about everything that had happened and beg for his forgiveness. I couldn’t do that with Ashton watching over me and listening.

His arms tightened around me as he groaned in defeat. “I can move a bit further away, I guess,” he conceded, pulling back and looking down at me with a suddenly stern expression. “You do not move from this spot. I’ll still be able to see you, if anyone approaches you, anyone, you get up and you run as fast as you can to my side, understand?” A muscle in his jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed in warning. From his expression, I could see it was hurting him to do this.

I nodded and smiled gratefully, watching as he closed his eyes for a second or two and then let his arms drop from my side before he stalked off to a tree that was about fifty yards from Jack’s grave. He pulled his gun from the leg of his pants and stood perfectly still, scanning the area over and over. A little chuckle escaped my lips because he took his job so seriously. It was terribly cute.

Getting back to the matter in hand, I turned back to Jack’s marble headstone and sprinkled my dandelions over the top before setting my lilies down next to the fresh flowers and the unopened birthday card that had his mother’s handwriting on the front. I sat on the grass and pushed my hand into my sweater pocket, pulling out the card that I had made for Jack. I’d drawn it myself. It was him playing football and it was from the last game that he played. He’d just scored the winning touchdown and had kissed his hand and thrown it to me. It was sweet, a typical Jack moment, and one of the many happy memories I had of him. It had taken me a long time to draw the card. It was harder than I thought, but I’d gotten through it. In almost four years, this was the first picture I had ever drawn of him that wasn’t of that night or him covered in blood.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Hi. Happy birthday,” I whispered. “You would have been twenty today. No longer a teenager. I don’t know what we would have done for your birthday, maybe a party or something.

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