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"Hey, it's alright. Did you call the police?"
I shake my head against his chest. "No. You were the first person I called. You just sounded so...capable, I guess."
Porter chuckles. "Well, thank you, sweetheart." He pulls back and wipes the tears from my face with his thumbs. When he speaks again, his voice is completely serious—there’s no room for argument. "Go pack a bag, Bailey. You're coming home with me."
I hesitate, and Porter tilts my chin up. "Did you hear what I said?"
I nod.
"Words, Bailey."
"Yes."
"Good. Go pack a bag, sweetheart. This is not up for discussion. I'm not leaving you here, and there is no way I'm letting you go to a hotel. Understand me?"
"Yes, Porter."
"Good girl."
His praise sends a thrill through my belly, and I feel an ache in my core despite everything. Porter's dark eyes are locked on mine, and he seems to realize the effect his words have on me. His lips curl into a satisfied grin, and he brushes a stray hair away from my face. "Pack a bag, Bailey, and let's get the hell out of here."
I hurry into my bedroom, throwing things into the first suitcase I can find. The wind is still blowing hard outside, and the occasional genuine scratch of branches against the window has me on edge. Is it possible I imagined everything?
It doesn't matter, though. I called Porter for help, and now I have to go home with him. It might feel like a punishment for some, but a big part of me is so freaking relieved. With Porter, nothing will happen. Surely, I'll only have to stay for a few days.
When I come back out with my bag, Porter is hanging up a phone call. "I called the police and let them know what happened. They'll increase patrols around here so when Renae comes home, she'll be safe."
I nod, and Porter takes the suitcase from my hands and leads the way out front. He packs my suitcase in the bed of his truck, and we pull out of Renae's driveway and take off down the street.
It's about a thirty-minute drive to the other side of town where Porter lives, and the roads are mostly empty. The tension between us is palpable. Every time he looks over at me and our eyes meet, my breath hitches. I send a text out to Renae telling her what happened, but she's either busy with her yoga instructor or asleep already. At least she'll know where I am when she comes home in the morning.
The lights are on in the house when we pull up, and Porter parks his truck in the driveway. "We're here. I hope you like it."
I haven't even looked at the house. All I can see is the man next to me. "I'm sure it's perfect."
It's dark as Porter comes to open my door and grab my bag, but the outside lights are bright enough that I can see his home. It's beautiful—a craftsman bungalow with a wide front porch and dormer windows.
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you inside."
Porter unlocks the door, and the entryway of his home is gorgeous. The floors are dark, rich hardwood, and there's a white shiplap wall leading into the hallway. Porter leads me down the hall to the second door on the left and gestures for me to walk in.
"Welcome home, Bailey."
I step inside and gasp. "Porter, this is gorgeous!"
"I thought you'd like it." He smiles. "This is the guest suite. You can stay here as long as you need to."
The room is furnished in cream and blue colors. There’s a king-size bed, a dresser, a desk, a mirror, and a full bathroom, with a huge bay window overlooking the backyard.
"There's a pool back there," Porter points out, "and a hot tub. And beyond that are the woods."
"This is the nicest place I've ever stayed."
"I hope you'll be happy here." Porter sets my suitcase down. "Bailey..."
I turn, and his dark eyes are searching my face.
"When you called me tonight, it felt like a sign. Like you were telling me that you needed me. That you trusted me to take care of you and keep you safe." His hand reaches out and cups my cheek. "Do you trust me, Bailey?"
