His flesh had swelled somewhat with dark bruising under and around the lips of the sutured wound. The cut ran from just under his eye, across his cheekbone, and almost to his nose. “How do I look?”
I grinned. “Gorgeous.”
Also ignoring my protests, Brody removed the bandage around his right forearm. He flexed his fingers, both of us looking at the raw slice from his wrist to his elbow. Like his cheek, the flesh had swelled slightly from the trauma, but it didn’t appear to have become infected.
“Go to sleep,” I told him. “I can tell the pill is making you groggy.”
Brody lay down, without the blanket, and stared up at my ceiling. “I’ve done enough sleeping.”
“You need the rest.”
“Sucks to be me, eh?”
Still, the narcotic proved too much for him to resist. Brody fell asleep a short while later, lying on his back as he snored lightly. I studied his better than handsome face, his wound not marring his good looks at all. I spent the next hours trying to decide what to do – go or stay. Run or fight. No matter what I decided, I thought, I’d make the wrong decision. I hid, but I was found, anyway. I ran away. How long must I keep running? How long do Iwantto keep running?
I’ll be found if I run again. It doesn’t matter. No matter what town, state, or country I flee to, my past will always be there, haunting my steps, threatening my life.
I looked again at Brody’s sleeping face.He promised to help me. If I accept, I’ll endanger his life. But didn’t he endanger mine when I stepped in to help him?
Okay, that one got me. I voluntarily stepped in to save him from being cut to pieces. I owned that. But did I have the right to accept his help, knowing that he might get killed? He doesn’t know what’s chasing me. I know what’s chasing him.
Big difference.
Once again, Brody slept through most of the day. I drank coffee, watched the street outside, and didn’t unpack. Nor did I pack.I should try to at least get some work done.But my thoughts – should I, shouldn’t I – refused to permit me the freedom to think about my writing projects. The powerful urge to stay in this town, to fight for my right to live on my own terms, gnawed at me like rodents’ teeth.
I help Brody, maybe Brody helps me.
Do I have that right to involve him? No. I didn’t.
Okay, then, I’ll fight my own battle. When my enemy comes, I’ll be ready. Bring it on, baby. Let’s see what you’ve got.
As darkness crept once again across the landscape, I rose from my chair to greet it with open arms. A new and fresh confidence filled my soul. No matter what, I’m done running. I found a place I want to live, and I’ll live here without fear. Without doubt.
I smiled.Bring it on. You know where I am.
Chapter Eight
Brody
Something’s changed in her. But what?
I studied Lindsey the following morning, trying to gauge the difference in her from what I remembered from yesterday to what I was seeing now. She smiled freely. A lightness in her step made me think she was about to dance. She cooked me bacon and eggs, informing me I needed the protein.
“If I didn’t know better,” I said slowly, sitting at the kitchen table with my coffee, “I’d say you got laid last night.”
Lindsey sent me an amused glance. “Typical male. Sex is all you think about.”
“Not all. Sometimes we wonder what’s gotten into our neighbors.”
“Like whose dick is into whose pussy?”
I snorted, almost spilling my coffee. “Not quite.”
“Just eat your breakfast and quit trying to psychoanalyze me.”
I ate my breakfast with a hunger I hadn’t felt for a while and watched Lindsey. No matter how she deflected, Iknewsomething had changed. I also noticed that as I watched TV, Lindsey actually worked on her computer. As in, her writing. I dared not disturb her and listened as she busily typed in her small office just off the TV room.
As my pain had lessened with all the sleep I’d slept, I refused my morning pain killer. My mind refreshingly clear, I pondered the change in her even as I watched an action flick. Then it hit me. Like a bolt of lightning from a blue sky, I knew what had changed.
