Each hit lands with desperate fury.
"WHY?!" she screams.
I don't stop her. Don't block it. Don't even move. She pounds on me like she's trying to tear the world apart. Then her strength finally breaks. I pull her into my arms and lift her off the floor. She's still hitting me weakly, but her body is shaking violently now. Her fists slow. Then she collapses against my chest. She's still crying. Still gasping for breath. I hold her tighter and stand.
"Easy," I murmur. My voice is rough. "I've got you."
The monster inside me quiets. Because she's alive. And right now, that's the only thing that matters.
The next morning…
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the silence. Not the quiet of early morning. A different kind. Heavy. Still. My head feels fuzzy, like someone stuffed cotton between my thoughts. I blink slowly.
The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, smooth gray plaster with recessed lighting. The bed beneath me is enormous, the sheets cool and impossibly soft against my skin. I push myself up slightly. The room is immaculate. Masculine. Luxurious.
Dark wood furniture. Clean lines. Expensive-looking art on the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows with sunlight bleeding through where the curtains left small spaces. What the hell?
My lips hurt. My face hurts. A dull headache throbs behind my eyes. Why am I here? Whereishere? My mind tries to put pieces together, but everything feels sluggish. Slow. Then Iremember. The bitter taste of Xanax. I took one last night. No. Two.
After—
Pete.
The memory slams into me like a truck. Pete, tied to the chair. Blood. His hands. The gunshot. The pain hits so suddenly that it steals the air straight out of my lungs. My chest seizes. My throat locks tight. I try to take a breath in, but nothing happens. Only a strangled sound escapes me. Hot tears spill down my face as panic surges through my body.
Because he's gone. Pete is gone. And I loved him. Ididlove him. Not the way I thought I was supposed to. Not the way he deserved. But it was real. It wassomething.
And now he's just… gone. Torn out of my life before I could fix it. Before I could leave. Before I could even understand what I was feeling. The guilt crashes in right behind it, sharp and merciless. Part of me had already been walking away. And now I never will.
The door bursts open.
"Audra?"
The stranger. Again.
He crosses the room in two long strides. For a moment, I can't even remember why he's here. Why he looks so familiar. All my mind can do is repeat my dead husband's name.
Pete!
The thought explodes inside my head, and my chest tightens even more. I gasp desperately for air that won't come. The man grabs my shoulders and pulls me up and against him.
"Easy there." His voice is as low as it was at the ball. Why is he here? "Easy."
I stare at him, terrified. I'm going to die. I can't breathe. My fingers claw into his shirt.
"Hey," he coaches softly. "Look at me."
His hands cup my face, forcing my eyes up to his icy blue ones. Calm. Too calm.
"Take a deep breath in," he demonstrates. His chest rises. Then falls. "And out."
My throat is still locked tight. The knot won't release. I know I'm going to pass out. All I can do is let it happen. Accept it.
In.
Out.
His hand rubs slow circles on my back.
