Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I sigh, all the remaining strength draining out of me.
My worst fear was just realized. I almost drowned.
My entire body starts to shake. Even my teeth are chattering.
He keeps me cradled to his chest as he gets to his feet. “I’ve got you,” he promises. “I’m taking you home.”
I consider protesting that I can walk, but that would be a lie. I’m completely shattered, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from spiraling into childlike sobs.
The memory of Shirley’s fingernails in my skull is so close to the surface.
And the nauseating image of my parents’ bloated bodies. I never actually saw them in death, but I spent too many morbid hours online poring over what happens to drowning victims in the summer after I lost them.
I’m dimly aware that Rand and I get some odd looks as he carries me through town, but his expression is fierce enough that no one stops to question us.
It seems there weren’t any witnesses on the riverside path when I was pushed in; no one called the police.
If Rand hadn’t been there to rescue me, I’d be dead.
I shudder.
I can’t reconcile the stalker who sent me the possessive messages with the one who wrote that disturbing letter. I never thought he’d actually try to kill me.
But I’ve been in more danger than I realized.
I cling to Rand, past caring about appearing weak.
We stop at a Georgian townhouse, and he unlocks the door.
“I thought you were taking me home?” I ask.
“This is my place,” he explains.
We enter the house, both of us dripping dirty river water onto the colorful tiles in the entry hall.
“We need to get cleaned up,” he says. “I have two bathrooms, so we can both shower.”
I hold him tighter on instinct. I don’t want to be parted from him, not even for a second.
I force myself to breathe. My throat burns slightly, but I manage the familiar calming pattern.
By the time we reach the top of the stairs and enter a large bedroom, my pulse has slowed to a semblance of a normal rhythm.
Rand carries me into the ensuite bathroom and sets me down on my sodden sneakers, keeping his hands braced at my waist to steady me.
“I have clothes you can wear while I wash yours,” he says. “I’ll put them on the bed. Call for me when you’re ready.”
My fingers flex into his arms. “Rand…”
He presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be just down the hall. You need to get warmed up.”
I nod reluctantly. I’m cold down to my bones, and I stink. My mouth feels foul.
“There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink,” he says, reading my disgust at my current state.
“I’ll be alright,” I promise weakly. “You need to get warmed up too.”
He ghosts another kiss over my forehead and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
I lock my knees to prevent them from folding.
I won’t allow myself to fall to pieces.
Instead, I trudge to the sink and find the toothbrush. I’ll feel more human once I wash the river off me.
Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and dressed in Rand’s massive t-shirt. I decided against the sweatpants he left out for me—trying to make them fit would be comical.
I don’t feel like laughing.
The shirt is big enough to cover me almost down to my knees.
He promised to wash my clothes, so at least I’ll have my sports top and running shorts back once the cycle ends.
“Rand?” I call out. “I’m decent.”
Well, that’s not exactly true. I’m not wearing a bra or underwear, but I’m not willing to hide away until my clothes are fully dry.
I need to be with the man who saved my life.
I need him to hold me.
It goes against all of my independent sensibilities, but the walls I’ve built to keep everyone else out have crumbled when it comes to him.
He appears at the threshold to the bedroom. His hair is darker when it’s wet, curling softly around his shoulders.
He’s imposing as ever in his black athletic gear—similar to the long-sleeved shirt and sweats he wore on our run.
His eyes flick over me, as though assessing me for injuries.
Judging by the way his nostrils flare, he’s noted that I haven’t put on the sweatpants, and I’m not wearing a bra.
I don’t exactly have a choice in my attire right now, and he’s not the kind of guy to make a skeevy comment about it.
“I’m sorry I failed you,” he says, voice raw from the exertion of fighting the current to get to me.
I cross the distance between us and trail my fingers over his tight jaw. “You didn’t fail me. You saved my life.”
He shudders, but he turns his face into my hand so he can kiss my palm.
His gaze is sharp enough to cut into me. “I didn’t stop him this time, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”