A Protector's Second Chance (Unit Matched #2) by Mary Smith, Rebecca Cartee Page A

allowed to wear pants and modern clothing, as long as they didn’t show too much skin, Gia had opted, more times than not, to wear skirts.
    Gia’s twentieth birthday party had been stunning. I was so jealous. It was like a huge ball, the type that you saw in the movies and read about in books. She deserved it though, and she and Graham made a great Matched pair.
    I rubbed my temples; everything was spinning in my head like a tornado, my friends, Unit, Oliver, ceremonies, my future; they were all bouncing from one end to the other.
    When I opened my eyes, my journals were the only thing staring back at me. They still remained at the end of the table. I hadn’t moved them or touched them since Oliver and I had talked.
    I slowly walked over to them. Usually, when I finished writing in one and put it away, I never read them again. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to relive those memories?
    My hands shook as I picked up one of the journals. I thumbed through the pages, seeing my handwriting on the pages. I realized I was about thirteen when I wrote this journal.
     
    My hand writing will be atrocious for the next six to eight weeks. Mom and Dad explained to my teachers that I broke my arm falling out of a tree.
    A tree? Really? How unbelievable is that?
    The true story was I was three minutes late for training. I had been at Xaviera’s and the Queen had made us lunch. Obviously, I couldn’t be rude and leave, and I was very hungry. However, that made me late.
    Mom pushed me up against the wall of the gym. There were no other students there because this was my special training time. Mom jabbed me in the ribs first and then my kidneys. When I screamed out in pain and fell to the floor, she stomped on my arm, breaking it.
    Of course, Dad started in on me about crying. His motto: Protectors don’t show emotions. I wonder if they understand that I still have feelings. I may be worthless but I still have feelings..
    How many more years until I’m eighteen and I can leave?
     
    I instinctively rubbed my lower arm remembering the pain from that break. I continued my training even in a cast. My parents didn’t believe in stopping for any reason. That was one thing my parents were like with all the Protectors. They punished us all.
    I flipped through the pages. I read about school, celebrity crushes, and Xaviera and Gia. There were a few pages that brought a smile to my face.
     
    Xaviera, Gia, and I went to the store and pooled our money together to buy a large makeup kit. We rushed back to Xaviera’s house, and we quickly started to figure out what it would look good on us.
    Of course, I made Gia look like a 1980’s rock star. I thought she looked great, but she quickly washed it off. Xaviera looked amazing it whatever she put on. I swear she could wear a paper bag and look like she walked off a runway.
    Sometimes that makes me jealous. I shouldn’t be jealous of her, but I can’t help it. Xaviera has the perfect life. She’s going to have the perfect Matched, a perfect family, and the perfect future.
    What about me? When will I have a happily-ever-after?
    How much longer until I will be eighteen?

Chapter 24
    Day 56 of 90
     
    I was curled up in a fleece blanket watching some reality TV show, hoping that Oliver would be coming home soon. I missed him.
    I had a nightmare last night and didn’t sleep well. My eyes were growing heavier as I stared at the TV. I finally gave in and succumbed to sleep.
    I dreamed of Oliver’s strong arms around me. I inhaled deeply. I could smell the cold outside and the snow in the air. Coolness was on my cheeks.
    My eyes fluttered open. My focus was blurry, but a pair of green stared back at me.
    “Hi.” Oliver’s soft voice makes me smile.
    “Hi,” I moaned. It took me a second to realize what was happening. I sat straight up. “Oh my God, hi.” I threw my arms around his neck. His cheek was cold against mine, and he still had his jacket on.
    “Did you miss