She nodded against his chest, but didn't speak.
"Hey, I've got an idea. We're already here at Venice Beach, and you've been wanting to take a tour of the place, so why don't we walk around? I'll buy you an ice cream and introduce you to the freakishness that is Venice. What do you say?"
Finally, a smile. He held her hand and led her into the crowd, praying that no other surprises awaited them.
Chapter 31 – Sam
An ocean breeze tempered the warm sun as we walked by the many displays and shops in Venice. The crashing waves in the distance and smell of seawater relaxed me in a way I hadn't anticipated. Looking around at the diversity that was Venice Beach, I could understand its appeal to Drake. Here, people from every walk of life came to hang out. Here, we could easily get lost in the crowd.
We walked over to an ice cream stand, and Drake bought me a mint-chip cone. Even this close to winter, Southern California still had warm days.
His phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and responded to a text as he explained, "Brad. He'll be here in a minute. Sounds like his day sucked."
We sat on a bench and enjoyed our ice cream in silence.
Brad approached and slouched onto the bench next to us, his long legs extended out in front of him. "They practically laughed me out of the office when I tried to pitch them the story of paranormal kids being rented out by an evil organization. Oh, hey, Sam. You're looking a lot better. How do you feel?"
"Good, thanks. I think I'm over the worst of it." I licked a bit of melting ice cream from my cone.
Drake's arm tightened around me, avoiding the not-quite-healed bullet wound on my arm, a souvenir from our escape. I scooted closer to him. Even without our mental link, he felt the shift in my energy at this news.
"We'll just have to go to plan B," he said.
We didn't have a plan B, and everyone knew it.
Brad rolled his eyes but remained silent.
This level of hopelessness wouldn't get us far.
"There's got to be another way to bring our story to the world," I said. "Look at how much we've already done. Drake and I escaped Rent-A-Kid. That, in itself, is a miracle. Granted, we had some major setbacks in the process."
My hand rested on my bulging belly. My baby. Our baby, Ana.
Our baby's namesake consumed my thoughts. My best friends never even knew they had a mom until moments before her death, let alone one who loved them so much. Now they'd never know her. She died helping us escape the clinic....
***
Ana lay against me, pinning me to the floor.
I screamed. A crimson gash covered her abdomen. I tried to move my arm and flinched. Blood covered my right shoulder. Two bullets—one in her, and one that just grazed me. She must have moved at the last minute, threw herself in front of me.
She'd saved my life.
This plan was supposed to be simple. How could this happen?
My hearing returned as I choked on my sobs. I held Ana and rocked her, stared at her, willing her to wake up. I waited for that movie moment when she would open her eyes and tell me it was okay, that it was best this way. When she would make me vow to help her children and all the other kids in this hellhole.
That moment never came.
I was robbed of those last words, that final connection.
***
...I pushed those thoughts away, before I spiraled back into the pit of depression I had been living in for the last two weeks. No time to dwell on the dead. I had to stay focused on the living, and on how to keep them that way.
Drake squeezed my hand. 'We'll keep our baby safe. I promise.'
"I hope so. It's just hard to believe it when I don't see a way out of this. We don't even exist to the rest of the world. At least I don't. How are we going to protect our daughter if we can't even take care of ourselves?"
'First, you need to fully recover. Then we'll make a plan.'
Brad cleared his throat and ran a tanned hand through his hair. "Hey, guys, it's great that you two lovebirds have the whole telepathic connection going on, but maybe you could talk out loud for those of us who don't have para-powers?"
I smiled. "Sorry. Bad habit."
"I know. I just feel like the third wheel around you guys sometimes." He stood up and paced on the grass in front of us. Both Brad and Drake were tall, but where Drake had bulk and major muscle, Brad was a lanky beanpole topped with unruly brown hair.
He continued. "What do we do now? I still think the best way to stay safe is to get the story out—to let the world know what's going on and get some support and protection on our side. I thought, after working at the paper for a year, they would've at least heard me out. But they said if I want to write fiction I should dump journalism and become a novelist."
I reached out to pat his hand. "Ouch. I'm so sorry, Brad. That sucks."
"Yeah, Bro," Drake said, "I know how important your job is to you."