“You’re home now.”
“No!”
I suck in a breath, and gear up to break into a run again, but when I look down the ground is slick and dark and wet. And then I see them. Bodies surrounding me. Carnage. Parts and blood. I’m in the center of a massacre.
“Oh my God,” I cry out, backing away.
Then I see something that makes bile rise up in my throat.
Owen’s head, his eyes wide open, staring at me.
I’m shaking now. Hiding my eyes with my hands. But it’s no use. He’s watching me. He knows I betrayed him. I failed him. I never deserved him.
Then Ella’s there in her white dress, except now it’s covered in gore. She picks up his head and cradles it tenderly in her arms, pressing her lips to his temple.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers. “I’d never let you fall.”
“Stop! Please,” I sob, falling to the ground, splattering blood all over my bare legs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The sound that tears out of me as I wake up is somewhere between a gasp and a scream, like something dragged up fromthe bottom of my soul. I shoot upright in the dark, heart slamming, hands fisted in the sheets.
It takes a second, then another. I blink and force air in through my nose and out through my mouth.
You’re okay. You’re in your apartment. You’re okay.
But my hands are still shaking when I reach for my phone.
I find his contact, squinting against the bright light. There’s a heartbeat where I consider what I’m about to do, but it passes and I click.
It rings once. Twice.
My breath comes out ragged, and my pulse won’t calm down.Please pick up. I don’t deserve comfort. But please.
On the third ring, my hands are trembling so hard I almost drop the phone. But then his voice comes through the line, deep and rough.
“Sawyer? What happened? What’s wrong?”
Tears stream down my face. All those bodies…the blood. It was so real. And Owen.
“Knox,” I say, between sobs. “I need you.”
“I’m already on my way.”
The call ends and I sit in the dark, phone pressed against my chest like it can offer comfort somehow.
Knox is coming.
I don’t know if that’s what I wanted but the waiting keeps my mind occupied. I’m still shaking, still half trapped in that horrible nightmare. Owen’s eyes, the gore, Ella’s accusatory look.
I pull my knees to my chest and try to breathe.
Twelve minutes later—I know because I watched every one of them tick by—I hear a car pull into the lot below. Stepping out of bed, I walk to the door, waiting, pulse still pounding out of control. When I hear three quiet knocks, I suppress a sob. He’s actually here.
I open the door, anticipation coursing through me, and find him standing there against the night sky. He’s wearing his glasses, something he only does at home, a sleeveless undershirt and gray sweats, hair a mess, scruff around his jaw. He takes one look at me and I resist the urge to hide my face in my hands. His gaze is too intense, too knowing.
He doesn’t say anything, just follows me inside. I don’t think I’m ready to talk. Not yet. If I open my mouth, I can’t keep pretending I don’t know why I called him.
Because I know exactly why. That’s the problem.
