“I promise.”
45
Carter
The dense undergrowth scratches the sides as I navigate the Pontiac through uneven terrain for the third time in less than two weeks. We’re already deeper into the woods than I took Jensen, and heading in a different direction. The paintwork is paying the price for the ten miles we’ve covered.
Gunshots carry further than screams. Much further in an open space than the depth of the dark forest, but I’d rather not take the risk that someone on campus might hear my Glock. Ten miles is a stretch. Half the distance would’ve been fine, but I’m stalling.
I’m fucking worried what Hailey might see.
She’s in the passenger seat, her dainty fingers toying with the strings of my hoodie, her back rigid with anticipation, or fear—I can’t tell which. And the uncertainty is eating at me. The uncertainty of what she’s feeling.
I’m torn, split right down the fucking middle. Part of me, the part that’s spent the past few weeks wrapped around Hailey’s little finger, dreads another panic attack.
I can’t breathe when she’s scared. When she’s trembling and fighting the past. When that haunted look clouds her blue eyes. The look that says she’s far away, somewhere dark, somewhere I can’t protect her.
That part of me wants to turn back, take her to bed and spend the evening making her fall apart beneath me.
But there’s another, much stronger part. A separate being inside me, clawing for the answers locked in the impenetrable vault of her memories.
She’s right. The flashback she had about the gun is the most crucial memory she’s yet had.
Even if it doesn’t fit anywhere in the narrative I’ve been fed. It can’t be Babyface’s finger on the trigger. It can’t. Hailey was out of it when the fucker took my privilege and shot Alex.
She couldn’t have seen that.
Sowhatdid she see? Who was shooting? Who was shot?
Rhett never mentioned anything. The police reports are a blank slate. Whatever happened, only Hailey knows, and that tells me it’s important. New information always is.
Dusk paints the sky far above, shades of fading light peeking through the canopy as I stop the car, killing the engine. The low growl dies away, replaced by a heavy silence, the kind that rings in your ears. I reach for the glovebox to retrieve the gun, flexing my fingers around the handle.
Over the years, my gun’s become an extension of my hand. One I was robbed of the day I arrived at Lakeside.
“Ready?” I ask, waiting for confirmation.
She pinches her lips, still as a statue for a moment, before she grabs the handle and exits the car. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Stand there.” I point at a tree directly in front of the hood.
Taking a few cautious steps, she obeys, watching my every move while I open the trunk and retrieve a length of rope from my backpack.
“What are you doing?” she mutters, her complexion blanching when I come closer. She pulls back, hitting the tree with her back. “What’s that for?”
I curl my fingers under her chin, angling her head up. “You trust me, and you’re going to follow my orders. You promised. You’re safe, pretty girl. I’m not taking any chances.”
I whip one end of the rope around the tree, then tie both ends over her stomach. It’s a simple knot that’ll hold her in place in case this works and she dives back into the past.
“You’re not running blindly across the forest tonight.”
She swallows hard, her fingers clasping the rope. “You’re overreacting.”
“Am I?” I double-check the rope’s tight. Not enough to hurt but enough to hold. It’s for her safety as much as my sanity. “You still have a bruise larger than my hand on your hip from hitting the asphalt last time.”
She rolls those annoyed blues at me then quickly bites her lip, realizing what she’s done.
This girl has way too much power over my dick.
