“Would you have wanted him to?”
She pauses only a beat. “No, but you don’t mind if I stay with you?”
“No.” I feel her eyes boring into the side of my face while I keep my gaze fixed on the winding road ahead. “Workwise, it’s better to have you at the house, but it’s not just that. We like having you there.”
“Sex on tap?” she jokes, but it falls flat, and she groans. “Sorry. I think I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen other people in over a month. It’s weird how fast being a hermit starts feeling normal.”
I chuckle. “You’re telling me. When we first decide to build on that property, I thought the silence was going to drive us mad, but once the house was built and we stocked up on supplies, before we knew it, it’d been three weeks since we’d gone into town.”
She smiles at me, but I can see the tension winding through her. Her spine straightens, her eyes glued to the window.
By the time we pull into the general store lot, her knuckles are white, her hands twisted tight in her lap. The place is busy, locals stocking up before the next cold snap, just like we are. We’ve already had some big temperature swings, and soon we’ll have a few inches of snow on the ground instead of just a dusting.
The surge of activity is nothing out of the ordinary this time of year, but I see her posture change the second we step inside. Her shoulders tense, her breathing goes shallow, and her eyes scan the aisles like she’s cataloging exits.
Fear-born reflexes. I know them well. I’d worn them myself once.
A man in a leather jacket brushes past her near the canned goods aisle, and she startles hard enough to drop the basket she’s carrying. The sound of cans hitting tile is louder than it should be, and she freezes like a deer waiting for the shot.
I crouch down, picking the cans up one by one as I look up at her. “Hey. It’s just a guy, Rox. He’s nobody.”
She nods, but her hands are shaking. Close up, I can see the fine tremor in her fingers and her pulse hammering in her throat.
I hand her the last can, brushing my thumb over her knuckles before I can stop myself. “You’re safe. You’re with me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She forces a small smile, but it doesn’t light her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
But she doesn’t. Not really.
Whatever she’s running from has sunk its claws in deep, and it’s still there, coiled behind her ribs. I can see it in every careful breath she takes, every glance over her shoulder.
Back in the truck after we stock up on groceries, I turn to face her, not even starting the engine yet. I wait for her to look at me before I speak. “I don’t know what happened before you came here, but whatever it is that’s got you so scared, we can help. You’re not alone anymore.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes wide and glassy on mine. For a moment, I think she’s going to shut down again, but then her shoulders start to shake. She covers her mouth with her hand like she’s trying to keep it in, but it breaks anyway.
The dam. The silence. All of it.
It comes out in pieces at first, how she’d been at work on an ordinary night. How she recognized the man at one of her tables. What she overheard. Her voice cracks when she says the wordmob.
By the time she gets to the part about the gunshot going off behind her and hearing glass shatter, she’s sobbing so hard she can barely breathe. I don’t think, I just reach over and pull her into my arms. She clings to me like she’s drowning, and I hold on tighter, running my hand up and down her back until her breathing slows.
When she finally pulls away, her eyes are red, but she holds my gaze anyway, her next words coming out in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have told you. If he finds out where I am?—”
“He won’t,” I interrupt, my voice coming out rougher than I mean it to. “He’s not getting anywhere near you, Roxie. Not while I’m breathing.”
She blinks, like she doesn’t quite believe it, but I mean every word. “Boone, Dillon, and I will figure this out. All we need to do is tell them. No more shutting us out, okay? If we’re going to keep you safe, we need to know everything.”
She wipes her face with the sleeve of her sweater, her eyes still shimmering. “I’m sorry for bringing this to your door. I dragged you into something that has nothing to do with you.”
I reach for her hand. “Don’t ever apologize for doing what you had to do to survive. You hear me?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, uncertain but searching. I lean in and kiss her with slowness and certainty. A promise more than anything else.
“We’ll protect you,” I murmur against her lips. “That’s not up for debate.”
For the first time since I asked if she wanted to come to town with me, a small smile tugs at her mouth. “Thank you.”
17
