I hear Amelia squeal again about seeing the bike. She’s completely smitten with Christian.
Smitten.
I think about what my sister said earlier, and I smile. I smile because the gorgeous, mysterious, stubborn woman who has pretty much turned my life upside down in mere hours will be literally living under my feet for a week or more.
I’ve never before hoped so damn hard for car parts to be on back order.
Chapter Eight
Kenna
“So, you want to see my bike?” Christian asks Amelia.
Amelia hops off her chair, and I’m surprised at how patiently she follows Christian as he navigates his way down the hallway on his forearm crutches. She’s usually in such a hurry. I can tell she really likes him. And I can’t very well blame her. He does seem pretty fantastic.
As does his dad.
I don’t know if it’s my subconscious, but I’m suddenly hit with Carter’s scent. It’s fresh and clean, like inhaling a deep breath of morning ocean air. My eyes close and I bask in it, my mind flashing between the few touches we shared along with the hours of easy conversation. To say I’ve felt comfortable and safe with him is an understatement. Especially since over the past year, I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone has ulterior motives.
But Carter seems different. Then again, he doesn’t know everything about me. He’d likely change his tune just like everyone else if he knew the truth.
Once again, I wonder if I’m crazy to consider his proposition. But what choice do I have? Using my credit cards comes with a risk I’m not willing to take. Am I naïve to think we’d have made it all the way to Florida without needing to use them? That anything other than fleabag motels would have accepted cash up front, no questions? That I could have found a place for us to live that was safe? Where nobody knew who I was and Amelia could grow up like any normal kid?
“That’s my dad’s room,” Christian says.
I try not to look embarrassed by how I was lingering in the hallway, a prisoner of my thoughts and pheromones.
I shake them off and reply, “Your house is a lot neater than I anticipated considering two guys live here.”
He holds up a crutch. “Dad said he learned early on that I’d trip over just about everything on the floor. That’s also why we don’t have carpeting or throw rugs.”
I’m struck with a terrible vision of Amelia leaving a mess of things and Christian falling and hurting himself. Then I remember we’ll be downstairs. And more... I remember this is only temporary.
It’s not lost on me that earlier today I was upset about my monumental setback, but now I’m already dreading when the car is fixed and Amelia and I will be driving away, leaving Carter and Christian in the rearview mirror. Oh how a few hours can change a person’s entire perspective.
How is that even possible? How have I gone from wanting to leave New York like it’s on fire, to trying to figure out if there’s any way I can stay?
My head shakes over and over as I watch Amelia fawn over his state-of-the-art stationary bike.She’sthe reason we need to get as far away from here as we can. Keeping her safe is my number one priority. Living under the radar and keeping my anonymity intact are a close second. Protecting my father from scandal falls somewhere in there.
As if the universe is putting an exclamation point on my thoughts, my phone alerts me to a new text. I don’t recognize the number, but open it anyway. I stiffen, anxiety climbing my backbone like rungs of a ladder when my eyes skim the words ‘you can’t hide from me.’
It’s from Cyrus. I blocked his number on my phone. I figured if he couldn’t reach out to me he’d be less likely tofollow through with his threats. That maybe if I disappeared he’d eventually get tired of it and move on.
But I’m an easy target. Always have been. It’s why I’m in this situation. I’m gullible. I’d already given in before, and he’s sure I’ll do it again.
I thought moving three times would show him I’m strong. I guess all it did was show him how scared I am.
Did he get a new number just to be able to reach me again? I contemplate not reading the entire message, but my eyes fail to cooperate.
929-555-0133: You can’t hide from me forever, Kenna. Living in a secure building with a doorman can only get you so far. I know your routine. I know Amelia’s. I know where you shop and who babysits your mess of a kid. You know what I want and you know what I’ll do if I don’t get it. Tick tock.
I close the text and block the number, all while my insides twist into knots. I don’t delete the message, however. It could one day be used as evidence, right?
But I’m only kidding myself. If I went to the police again, he’d make good on his threats for sure.
How did my life become such a shitstorm when it should be the complete opposite?
We end up back in the kitchen, and Christian says, “So, that’s it. I’d better get to my homework now.”
