Please come home. I need help
I make sure the text goes through before silencing my phone.
Grabbing the paper bag with my sandwich, I pay the driver and step out.
My walk toward the porch is slow, cautious. Michael leans against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, anger carved deep into his face. His wide nose flares, thick lips pressed into a hard frown.
I swallow, forcing out a shaky breath. “Michael. What’re you doing here?”
He pushes off the wall, moving to stand right at the top of the steps, staring down at me. “No hi? No ‘it’s good to see you’?”
“Hi,” I mutter, glancing at the taxi as it pulls away, vanishing down the road. “How’d you know where to find me?”
A groan rumbles from him. “How about you invite me in, and we talk inside? It’s cold as fuck.”
The last thing I want is to be trapped in an enclosed space withhim. I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why are you here?”
The moment he steps down, I retreat one step back.
“I’m just here to talk. Don’t be so dramatic, Ayden. Come on, you’ll get cold too.”
My skin burns hot, my chest tight. Freezing out here is the last thing I’m worried about.
When I don’t move, or answer, he shakes his head and digs into his pocket. “Fine.”
He pulls out a single key. My brows lift, confusion sparking.
“You know, spare keys are dangerous,” he seethes, angling toward the rounded lamp beside the front door. “Even out here in the middle of nowhere. Hiding it in the light? Couldn’t be more obvious. But you’re not living alone?—”
My heart stops. “What?”
“—so what do you have to be afraid of? Now get inside, and let’s fucking talk.”
24
Ican’t feel my legs as I follow Michael into the cabin. The loud meow is the only sound besides our footsteps.
He doesn’t remove his shoes, and neither do I. I refuse to put myself at a disadvantage if I have to run.
The fact I have to even consider that as an option is sad.
He lifts his head and scans the room, releasing a frustrated grunt before saying, “What’re you doing out here, Ayden?”
I swallow down my fear and let out a quiet breath. “What do you mean? I’m living here.”
He scoffs. “In a piece of shit like this?”
It isn’t that at all. Could it use some renovations? Sure. But it’s not a piece of shit. And even if it were, I’d still prefer a cell in Hell over setting foot anywhere near him again. Now that I know freedom—how it feels to breathe—I’ll never willingly go back to suffocating.
When he turns, I stay planted a few feet from the front door. I’m not going any farther inside—not with him here.
“I’m happy here,” I say steadily.
Hetilts his head, his left eye twitching. “Who’re you living with?”
He already knows I’m not alone; he made that clear before stepping inside, so the question doesn’t surprise me.
“Is he here?” His head jerks as he scans the room.
