I gape at him. “It’s only my favorite Batman movie. I was so sure it was fate. I wanted to change, but it was so hard to be…good.” The air gets caught in my throat at the thought, and I look away.
“What is it?” Bastian asks as he stacks our dirty dishes at the end of the table.
My vision blurs. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For coming to the pub. For causing you so much trouble.” The lump in my throat is so big, I can hardly breathe.
“Hey.” Seb rounds the table and slides in next to me. I refuse to meet his eyes. “You were in a bad place, Stitch. You don’t have to be ashamed of that.” He eases an arm around me, and I lean into his warmth. “I’m glad we met.”
“Oh yeah?” I can’t keep the hopeful lilt out of my tone.
“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You may be a pain in my ass most of the time, but you’re not so bad.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, shoving him playfully, and he laughs. It’s a deep, rich sound, and I savor it the way I savor Fiona’s because neither of them laughs like that for anyone else.
Just me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FIONA
Iclose my book and set my half-empty tea cup aside. The wind is howling, and it’s making the walls creak and groan. Every once in a while, a gust will whistle down the chimney and the fire will stutter. Now, the flames are pretty low, and I look outside with a frown.
It’s getting dark, and the guys still aren’t back. The sense of unease in the pit of my stomach grows with each passing minute. I look down at my phone for the hundredth time. I texted Seb and B, but neither of them has answered, and my signal isn’t great. It took me three tries to send an iMessage, and eventually it went through with a green bubble, so who knows if they got it.
A log on the fire cracks, and I flinch, my hand flying to my chest. “Jesus, get a grip, Fiona.”
I consider what to do next because sitting here worrying seems unproductive, so I go to the kitchen and open the fridge. I grab the milk, set it on the counter, and pull out a bowl and a box of Lucky Charms. I’m just about to pour the cereal when I hear an odd scraping noise.
A branch against the house maybe?
I walk to the living room window and squint out into the yard. It’s nearly twilight, and as I look around, my eyes stop on the footprints. They crisscross the yard. I swallow and continue to stare, not sure if what I’m seeing is real.
There are more footprints now.
Right? Yes, it’s been snowing, so those are definitely fresh.
Feeling uneasy, I check the locks on both doors, turn off the living room lamp, and scamper back to my blanket by the fire. I pull it around my head and shoulders like a little kid afraid of the dark.
I hear the scraping noise again, like claws raking the side of the house, and my mind spins. I’ve seen too many scary movies because I start picturing Freddy Krueger lurking outside, Ghostface in the dark corners of the house, and the thump of my own pounding heart coming from beneath the floorboards.
A loud crash against the front door startles me, and I swallow a scream. The door handle jiggles aggressively, and I realize this is not in my head.
Someone is out there.
I run to the kitchen, grab a knife from the butcher block, and duck behind the counter. Thankfully, the only available light is the dying fire, so it’s easy to hide in the shadows.
The sound of glass shattering pierces the air, and I peek at the front door. A gloved hand snakes inside the small broken panel and flips the lock.
It’s Dennis. He found me.
I curse under my breath because what the fuck? How does he keep finding me? He’s obviously been watching us—probably waiting for the guys to leave so that I’m home alone. There’s a loud bang against the door, and this time I scream, hot tears filling my eyes.
I’m so stupid.
I pull out my phone and try to dial 911, but the SOS signal is back, and the line just clicks instead of ringing.
