I turn to leave, and the stitches pull, nausea surging as I grab the dresser. I glance at the bed—the indent of his head still marked into the pillow.
I limp over and sink down onto the mattress, press my face into the pillow where his head rested. His scent clings to the fabric. Faint but unmistakable. Something clean, a little sweet.
Just like at the clinic when those green eyes stared at me in pure terror while his hands shook.
I stare at the ceiling and drag my hand over my stomach where the wound still pulls. Everything catches up with me—blood loss, wound, exhaustion. Lying in Kelly’s bed feels too good. Part of me wants to just close my eyes and never open them again. Fall asleep and stay asleep. Let the tiredness win. It would be easier than forcing myself to keep going.
I push that thought away and force myself up anyway. Make sure everything looks the same before I leave, then head back to the living room.
The boxes have nothing, just unpacked kitchen items and books.
I flip on the bathroom light and stare at the counter. His toothbrush sits in a ceramic cup, blue with fraying bristles. I trace my finger along the bristles, then set it back down.
The shower curtain’s pulled back. Only one bottle on the edge of the tub. I grab the body wash and twist the cap off and bring it to my nose.
Coconut and lime. The same smell from the clinic that night.
The laundry basket’s shoved in the corner. I dig through it. Jeans, socks, scrubs. My hand closes around something soft. Worn thin.
Green T-shirt. Faded logo.
I pull it out and sniff it.
The scent hits harder than the bottle. Body wash, yeah, but underneath that is sweat and skin. The way he smelled leaning over me in the clinic. Not soap. Not cologne. Just him.
I shove the shirt inside my hoodie without thinking. Probably just the blood loss making me stupid.
Chapter 3
Kelly
It’s been a week since the stranger broke into the clinic, making me spiral. I keep feeling like I’m being watched, like there’s something just behind me when I ride home from work. I keep catching glimpses of the same cars in my peripheral, but I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just losing my mind …
It took me over two hours to clean up the bloody mess and make it look like someone threw a rock through the window. I actually went outside, found a rock, and tossed it on the floor like I was staging a crime scene. My boss bought it though, even mumbled something about how it’s time to get cameras installed now.
The paranoia’s gotten so bad that I had to break it to Gary that I can’t work nights anymore. I told him I’m too freaked out to be here alone right now. He didn’t take it well and said I needed to man up, so instead I spent twenty minutes pleading my case, and he finally gave me day shifts. Took bringing up work violations to get him to shut the hell up.
I walk through the hallway toward the kennels. I spot Gary in the lounge and pick up my pace, ducking past before he sees me.
I’m not in the mood for his shit right now. All I want to do is pet the brown lionhead rabbit who’s still here.
It’s her last day, and she’ll be sent off to the shelters and put up for adoption since she was abandoned at our clinic, and we can’t keep her any longer.
I feel a weird attachment to her after spending the past week petting her and basically trauma-dumping all my problems on her.
I bite my lip and glance back to make sure it’s clear before I walk into the kennels. I almost start to sob at seeing all the animals in here. If I could start an animal sanctuary, I would. In a heartbeat.
My mom was a vet too and the reason I became one. She told me I had too big of a heart and took pity on things too easily.
I’d adopt every single one of them if I could. Which is also probably why I didn’t call the police when that masked man passed out. I actually felt bad for him even though he pulled a gun on me. I’m a disaster. No denying that.
Those deep brown eyes haunt me when I close my eyes. They were so vulnerable even while threatening me. I hope he survives whoever’s after him. I searched the letters from his tattoo and think he might be Russian. The family crest on his ring turned up nothing, which makes no sense. Something that elaborate should exist somewhere online.
I keep thinking about him. More than I should.
He’s probably long gone by now, dealing with whatever mess he’s in. But I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s out there. Watching. Waiting.
I stop in front of the rabbit’s cage and smile down at her before opening it gently. I’d bought her a few extra things—little comforts—so she wouldn’t feel so alone with just the basics.
