Trust (Blurred Lines #1)

PROLOGUE

It’s not my life flashing by in these final moments, it’s hers. Twelve years of her. From the first time I held her in my arms to earlier tonight, when I brushed her hair before I kissed her forehead and wished her sweet dreams. The softness of her red waves still lingers.

“You need a trim,” I’d said.

She leaned back into my touch. “I don’t want one. I like it long.”

I laughed at her small, stubborn protest and tucked a strand behind her ear. “I know, Bug. I didn’t say we were going to cut it. Just that you need one.”

Instead of talking about hair, I should have told her about the diary. But I put it off again, betting on a future we don’t have. Now, it’ll stay hidden. She won’t know where to look or who to trust.

How could we not talk about family if family’s all that we got.

The song drifts from the radio, filling the wreckage of my overturned car.

My breaths come shallow. I can’t move, the pressure across my chest and hips too intense.

I swallow and stare at the cracked windshield above me.

The crash didn’t kill me; the approaching footsteps will.

I’m not scared for me, I’m scared for her.

My beautiful little girl.