Page 81 of When The Mountains Held Us

“You highly overestimate my skill level,” I deadpan.

“There’s a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink.” She shoots me a wink.

I look at her in mock offense, throwing a hand over my chest for dramatic flair.

She throws her hands up in front of her defensively. “Just in case! I have full faith in you.”

“That makes one of us,” I grumble.

She reads out the total, and I pay before grabbing my bags and change. I head out the door with a wave, and a promise to text her later and let her know how it goes.

I pile the groceries in the back seat of my car, making sure they’re stable, and then close the door.

I’m rounding the front of the car when the screeching of tires on asphalt startles me. My head jerks up, and my eyes land on a red sedan. It barrels down the road, moving much faster than the thirty-mile-per-hour speed limit, but that’s not why I’m standing here, frozen in place with my hand still outstretched towards the door handle.

It’s the flash of dirty-blonde hair, the pointed nose whose silhouette I haven’t yet forgotten, and the glimpse of dark black ink adorning the man’s knuckles as he scrubs a hand over his scruffy beard.

My heart pounds, my body screaming at me to duck behind my car, to run, to move, to do anything, but my feet are rooted firmly to the ground like a doe caught in headlights on a dark backroad.

The man doesn’t turn, doesn’t spare a glance out his window, and I thank God for small mercies. I can feel the weight of his gaze anyway, can perfectly envision the sneer of disgust and look of ownership in his deep hazel eyes.

And just like that, the levity of my hope comes crashing down around me.

He’s here.

He found me.

I am not safe.

The car makes a sharp turn into Joe’s, the tires bumping over the curb before it skids to a halt. How had I been so fucking deluded to think he wouldn’t find me? Like a naive child, I ignored all the warning signs.

I became complacent when I didn’t hear from him after the break-in, and allowed myself to fall foolishly into a sense of ease and comfort. I allowed the safety Levi provided to cloak my intuition, like a wet blanket dulling a flame. I ignored the small voice, ever-present in the back of my mind, telling me that it wasn’t over and it wasn’t the end, try as I might to convince myself it was.

I should have known there was no escaping him. He told me as much over and over, and, again and again, I stubbornly refused to heed his warnings or take his threats seriously.

I need to get to Levi. He’ll know what to do. I push past the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears and fling open the car door.

I don’t wait to watch him climb out of his car. I’m in the driver’s seat and pulling out of the parking lot with my foot slammed down on the gas pedal, as I speed away from town and towards the only person I’ve ever truly felt safe with.

Forty

Oakley

Imake it back to the house in half the time it usually takes me, and when I see Levi’s truck parked in the driveway, relief floods me. I climb out of my car on shaking legs, grab the bags of groceries, and practically run into the house, kicking the door shut behind me with a crash.

“Levi!” His name comes out as a choked sob as the air gets caught in my throat, and it takes everything in me not to crumple in a heap right there on the hardwood.

Bandit rushes over to me, but I ignore him as I deposit the bags on the ground next to the door. I need a minute to calm my racing heart, to breathe and soak in the feeling of comfort and safety I’ve found within these walls. The door is hard and unyielding against my back, and I lose the fight to stay standing and slump to the floor, breathless.

Levi walks in, his forest-green eyes bright, but his smile falls when he takes me in. He’s across the hallway and sweeping me up into his arms before I can take my next shuddering breath. I tremble in his hold as he carries me into the kitchen and places me down on the counter. He cups my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him.

“What happened?” he demands, his voice lethally calm. His eyes flit over every inch of my face, as if trying to decipher a map. Like the worried lines on my forehead might tell him what happened before my words can.

When I don't answer—my shock still too raw to put it into words—his brow furrows, and his eyes soften a fraction.

“Baby, talk to me. Please,” he pleads, his voice cracking slightly, and something about seeing his stoic facade breaking in front of me is enough to shake me from my trance.

“Travis is here. In town.”