CARTER
I thanked the doctor as he left the small countryside cottage, and Damon Kingsley pulled up the long manicured driveway and parked his Porsche.
“Change of clothes, his and hers.” Damon handed me an overnight bag and then a thermal lunch bag. “And something hot to eat, compliments of the wife.”
“Thanks, man.” I said, already heading back to the cottage. “I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. You guys are welcome to stay as long as you need.” He jingled his car keys in his hand, looking concerned. “She gonna be okay?”
I walked backwards, desperate to check on her even though it’d only been a few minutes. “Too soon to tell.” I said, wondering the same. “We’ll get some food in her, get a good night’s sleep and then we’ll see what the real damage is.”
“They’re not going to let this go.” He said quietly.
“Neither am I.” I shrugged.
“Let me know if you guys need anything at all. I’m just a text away.”
I watched as his headlights pulled off into the darkness, and a dull ache settled into my chest. Theo had sent us up into the hillsto stay at Damon’s summer cottage until they could secure Brad’s safety. If I could just get my hands on the data Seven was looking for, that’d hopefully give me the leverage I needed to put this all to rest for good.
I’d lived through my worst nightmare, and yet, everything was still all wrong— part of me wondered if the worst was actually ahead of me.
Swallowing hard, I pushed through the front door and into the single-room cottage before dropping into the flower-upholstered chair in the corner of the room. Head hung in my hands, I waited for Sara to finish bathing.
I was so dehydrated my gums were dry, my shoulder hurt like hell, my head was pounding—I felt like total shit, but I didn’t care. Not when the same fists that had left me battered and bruised had turned around and broken the thing that was most sacred to me in all the world.
I was slumped back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, deliriously fighting sleep when I suddenly realized the shower had been off for some time.
My hand curled and uncurled as I stood in front of the bathroom door, hesitating to knock—it was only the fear of that still silence that lived on the other side that propelled me to action. “You alive in there?” I asked, wishing that weren’t a literal question, but it was.
A gust of hot steam poured into the room as Sara opened the door, bringing us face to face—she stood there quietly wrapped in a small pink towel, hair wet, clinging to her bare shoulders, while we just stared at each other for a beat too long.
I opened my mouth, but Sara beat me to it, looking away as she spoke softly, “I’m done—if you want to shower.”
A tense silence hung between us, and I finally stepped out of the way, realizing she was waiting for me to move. “Do you need help with your bandages?” I asked, pivoting in the doorway as I gripped my neck.
“Nope, I’m good.”
Fuck.“There’s some fresh clothes in the bags, dinner too.” I offered, but she kept her back to me and didn’t say anything more as I stared at her, as I suddenly became uncomfortable staring, realizing that it might be unwelcome now. I blew out a shaky breath. “Uh, okay, I’m gonna shower—I won’t be long, but I’ll check to see if you’re done changing… before I come out.” I offered awkwardly.
“It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked.” Sara murmured, hands unmoving as they gripped the overnight bag.
I swallowed hard, any response becoming lodged in my throat. Where the hell did we go from here?
Maybe it was because I was too exhausted to take a long shower, or that I was terrified something would happen to her in the minutes the bathroom door was closed, or simply because I couldn’t stand to be in a different room than her—I showered quickly. But when I cracked the door to ask if I could come back into the room, I didn’t get a response.
Nearly ripping the door off the hinges, I rushed out of the bathroom, wrapped in a too-small towel, and found her already in bed, the lamp on her side turned off. My eyes shuttered as I sank against the doorway for a long moment, not sure exactly what I was feeling.
“Are you asleep?” I asked softly, but my shoulders sagged at the edgy silence that responded, because I could tell from her tight breathing—that she was still wide awake. My heart caved in, but I didn’t push. Not tonight.
I sat at the small table just a few feet away, watching her chest rise and fall with more gratitude than words could ever describe, and by the time I looked down, soup gone, I realized how much bread and butter I’d eaten,nearly all of it.Reprimanding myself, I set the few pieces that were left to the side, and put Sara’s half-eaten container of soup away in case she got hungry in the middle of the night.
When I finally slipped into the flower-printed sheets next to Sara, I discovered the pillow barrier she had shoved down themiddle of the small bed, and my chest tightened.I was in big, big trouble.
But after the last few days, I would have gladly slept hanging from the ceiling if it meant being anywhere near her.
I’d almost drifted off when I felt Sara reach for me in her sleep, and a tear slipped down my cheek as I laid there, totally uncertain if I should pull her closer—I didn’t know how she’d feel about that in the morning. So I just put my hand over the top of hers, grateful for the warmth of her skin under my palm, grateful she was alive and grateful for this moment even if I was desperately terrified that this might be the last time we ever shared the same bed.
When I finally woke, it was in sheer panic—I rolled over, finding the bedempty, my head whipped towards the bathroom, realizing it too, wasempty.I realized she wasn’t inside the cottage at all, as I simultaneously ripped the covers off—nearly falling to the ground as I flung myself out the front door screaming for her.
