“Emily Beckett.”
I stop and look back.
“Rourke?” I shout.
Instead of running away, I run toward him. The moment I see his face, I collide with his chest and wrap my arms around him. My body shakes, breath coming apart in my throat.
He gently pushes me back. Rain pours down on both of us now. His brows knit together as he struggles to catch his breath, water slowly sliding down his face.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” he asks.
He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Daisy ran away,” I say, pulling the jacket tighter around myself.
“How?” he asks, holding the front closed as he looks down at me.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I…” The words stall in my throat. I stop myself and look at him. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?”
“No,” he answers immediately. “Mara said they found another body. I wanted to see the scene myself before the rain washes it away.”
“When?” I ask.
“Two hours ago,” he says. “They just took the body to the morgue.”
I swallow hard. “Do they think it’s Mercer?”
His jaw tightens as he nods. “They are starting to think we have the wrong person.”
He places his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s take you home.”
“But Daisy,” I say. My teeth chatter now, the cold sinking deeper into my bones.
“When the rain stops,” he says.
He nudges me forward, guiding me away from the trees. His eyes drop to my bare feet, streaked with mud. Without another word, he scoops me up, lifting me easily and carrying me toward the path.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my face into his chest. His heartbeat is solid beneath my ear.
They say we meet certain people to learn something before a blessing arrives. I don’t know if I believe in that. But something in me knows Rourke didn’t enter my life by accident. Some people don’t need permission or a reason. They show up anyway, always at the wrong time or the exact right one. Even when you want someone else in their place, no matter how hard you push them away, they return, lifting you when you can’t lift yourself, forcing you to become someoneyouneed.
“I think there is something wrong with me,” I say into his chest. “I am seeing things.”
He stops in the middle of the path, but he says nothing.
“I have dreams,” I continue, swallowing thickly. “About Mercer.”
Still nothing.
“I think he did something to me.” I lift my face to look at him.
“I know,” he says. His jaw clenches so tightly it trembles. “My wife had the same look you do when you talk about him.” He starts walking again. “She was his music teacher.”
My stomach twists.
“She had dreams too,” he says. “She got pregnant from those dreams.”
He sets me down gently, then turns me to face him. His hands stay on my arms, firm now.
