She blinks, like she’s trying to orient herself. “He-he just—”
That’s as far as she gets before I pull her into me without thinking. My arms wrap around her shoulders, holding her tight against my chest. She stiffens for a split second before she melts into me.
Her fingers curl tight, gripping my shirt. I feel it, how hard she’s shaking with fear and how close she is to falling apart.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, pressing my lips against her temple. One hand cradles the back of her head, the other firmly gripping her waist. “You’re safe. He’s gone.”
Her breath hitches, and she presses her forehead into my chest, exhaling a shaky breath.
We stand there in the dark, our hearts hammering and every muscle wound tight.
I don’t know who that was.
I don’t know how he knew she was here.
And I don’t know how long he’s been following her before tonight.
All I know, standing here with her shaking in my arms, is that this stopped being a coincidence.
And I am absolutely not letting her face whatever this is alone.
Chapter Eight
Brinley
I don’t stop shaking once we’re inside.
The stairs feel steeper than they ever have, my legs unsteady as I fumble with my keys to unlock the door. Every sound outside makes my pulse spike. My brain won’t let go of who might be out there, and every detail of what happened keeps replaying on a brutal loop in my mind.
His dark clothes. The way his face stayed hidden out of sight from the glow of the streetlights. The pressure of his grip on my shoulder as he pinned me against the brick building.
I can’t remember his voice, and that scares me most of all.
Not recognizing it should’ve made me feel better. Instead, it makes everything worse. I don’t know anyone in Rixton well enough to place a voice, which means it could’ve been anyone.
Someone who’s watched me. Someone who’s waited for the right time to strike.
The loft feels almost foreign the second I step inside.
I lock the door immediately, my fingers clumsy on the deadbolt, before I press my back against it. My eyes scan the space, searching for any sign that someone may have been here.
“You’re okay,” Cooper says gently.
I jerk around, my heart jumping. He’s still here, standing near the kitchen with his hands open at his side. He doesn’t crowd me, but he’s not backing away either. More like he’s trying to make himself look as nonthreatening as possible.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be. Fear has a way of stripping away softness. “How’d you get here so fast?”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I was following you.”
The words cause my head to snap up to meet his gaze.
“You what?”
“I wanted to make sure you got home safely,” he says simply.
I stare at him, my mind scrambling to make sense out of his admission. “That’s a little… strange, don’t you think?”
