CHERISH Read Online Free Page A

there is a God, in whatever form that may be, I’ve got some serious questions to ask when the time comes.
    Beckett jumps out and whips around to my side. I know better than to even attempt to open my own door. The click of the latch and he extends his hand like I’m Cinderella stepping down out of her pumpkin coach. Only, we’re not going to a ball.
    A gust of wind whips some garbage around our feet and catches in his canvas jacket, spreading it open. He makes a simple white t-shirt look extraordinary. Pulled across his chest tight enough you can see the peaks and valleys of each hard chiseled square of pectoral and abdominal muscles. He is a warrior. And I am more thankful today than ever before that he is on my side of the battle line.
    “Listen.” He squares my shoulders with both hands and turns me to him. “You just give me one look. One word and I’ll take over. Take you out of there. Okay? Do not take more than you can. This is deep, babe. Your mom. Jordan. All of it. You want to bail, there’s no shame. Say the word and we're out of there. Okay?” His eyes are latched onto mine, eyebrows high, the textured scars on his left cheek pulling a bit with the movement of his brow.
    I'm so lucky to have him in my corner. I nod. “Okay. Can you go first in front of me? I just . . .” I blow out a defeated breath and look up at the sky for a second before bringing my eyes back to his. He tips his head, listening. “Can you go in first? I don’t want to just bump into her. Or be surprised. If I want to see her, I want it to be when I’m ready. I know that sounds weak, but I need a barrier.” The tips of his fingers tighten on the backs of my shoulders. My stomach can’t decide which of the thousand ways it’s wants to grind and twist to make me the most uncomfortable.
    “I’ll go in first, second, third, whatever you need.”
    I tuck my head into that perfect spot against his chest as we take the first step toward the back of the police station. It’s cold. I curl myself even closer to Beck. His body radiates like a furnace. He shows no sign of acknowledging the drizzle that is misting around us.
    “It’s strange,” I say. “Strange that we are going inside to see her again. The last time we both saw her we were together. We weren’t really together —” I correct myself as Beckett interrupts.
    “Yes we were. You just didn’t know it yet.” Another reassuring squeeze and he keeps us moving forward.
    The American flag flaps and whips itself around a pole atop the building, booming and rumbling in the wind. One moment the fabric stands out in flat rectangles, the next it bends and snaps in a sudden gust, rattling its chains and clanking them against the flagpole.
    “God, it’s freezing. What is with this weather in the middle of summer?”
    The fact that I’m at all interested in the weather right now startles me.
    We wind through the parking lot, squeezing past a giant, gas-guzzling 1970s Vista Cruiser when we hear a woman scream.
    Our heads snap behind us toward the sound and I cower. Beckett immediately pulls me tighter as his eyes dart around the back of the building. Whoever it is, she’s mad as a skinned cat. Before we have time to figure out if the woman needs help, a male voice joins in, yelling over her.
    “You fucking drag me down here for your bullshit! It’s always your bullshit. I’m sick ! Fucking sick. And I’m sitting in a goddamn police station?” The man’s ragged voice has a cut to it that makes my heart stop and my breath catch.
    Whoever they are, they're on the move because their voices are becoming louder and more clear as Beckett moves us carefully forward. I want to go in the opposite direction, even with the comfort of Beckett’s hand, warm on my shoulder. I can feel his energy change. The soldier is on alert.
    I catch the first glimpse of the man as we come closer to the back corner of the building. The screaming is louder and more vicious than before, but their