Slamming the door to my truck, I gripped my duffle I always carried and started toward the house. The sound of heavy footsteps had me twisting to glance over my shoulder. A flash of auburn hair sailed past my driveway. I squinted to see Trinity stride up her sidewalk, slowing as she bent at the waist. I could hear her labored breathing from here, and when her knees buckled and she hit the pavement, I dropped my bag, bolting across the street.
I couldn’t tell if she was hyperventilating or crying, but her hands splayed across the concrete as she hung her head down toward the ground.
As soon as I made it to her, I crouched down in front of her.
“Trinity.” I reached out to tilt her chin up. “Look at me.”
Her watery eyes met mine, her chest heaving.
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes widened as she gasped for air. What the hell was happening?
“Breathe, Angel,” I instructed as I reached for her wrists, holding them up above her head to open her lungs.
She sucked in a breath before trying to regain control of the rhythm.
“Good. Just like that,” I coached as she took another deep breath.
A lone tear trailed down her cheek as she inhaled again and again, her breathing mellowing out.
My thumbs ran along her wrist, caressing the skin as she breathed through the panic.
My eyes caught on her arm, the watch blinking a number that had me jerking my gaze to hers.Nine miles.She ran nine fucking miles in this heat?
“What happened?” I asked as she lowered her arms.
More tears formed in her eyes before a sob ripped from her chest. Her arms were around my neck before I could react. My body crashed against hers as I pulled her close.
“Hey,” I soothed. It’s okay,” I murmured into her hair.
Glancing around, I shifted, pulling her up from the ground with me. I maneuvered my arm beneath her knees, turning her sideways as I carried her to her front door.
I didn’t give a shit about rules tonight. She needed me, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was leaving her.
22
Trinity
My socked feet slid across the wood planks, my hands tugging against the sweatshirt I tossed on after my shower. It wasn’t cold outside, but the AC was blasting in here and all I wanted to do was crawl under the covers and cry.
My eyes caught on Preston’s profile. He was in my kitchen, in the middle of pouring a pitcher of lemonade into a glass. I watched from my position at the entry to the living room. I admired the way his muscles flexed. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he focused on filling the glass to the exact amount he deemed acceptable. Then he just stared at it, like making me this drink was crossing a very distinct line. Maybe it was. Maybe me sobbing into his chest was already crossing a line, but now he stood here in my space, and the only thing I could think was,he looked like he belonged there.
Life really does have shit timing.
My foot inched forward just as he glanced up. His expression changed from concentration to concern. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said, my eyes darting away from his.
This was even more embarrassing than the moment in the field house. “I…” I stammered. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Sit.” The word was firm as he nodded toward my couch.
There was no room for refusal.
He picked up the glass before he headed in my direction. I followed the order, curling up on the end of the couch before he sat down in the middle.Not the opposite end.We didn’t touch, but I was on fire at the proximity.
“You should drink.” He handed me the glass. “I grabbed some of my rehydration powder from the house while you were in the shower and mixed it in. It will help.”
