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I don’t want them to come here.
I don’t want to admit that I may have led them here.
I just don’t.
“I can’t do this,” I tell him. I look up at Jace and everything hurts. My entire heart hurts. Like, really and truly, It just aches.
“What do you mean? Of course, you can,” he looks at me like he believes in me, and I wonder what I’ve done to deserve that. I’ve fought for everything my entire life. I fought to get good grades, and I fought to get into school, and I fought to become a doctor.
Everything I’ve ever done has been a fight, but right now?
Right now, I don’t want this to be a fight.
Right now, I just want some peace.
But I look out the window and as I see the snow starting to swirl around with the makings of a small blizzard, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that for some reason, Jace is right, and they’re coming.
Chapter Eight
Jace
We’ll worry about the bad guys when they get here.
Right now, I have something more pressing to deal with: Polly.
She’s scared shitless. I may not know her very well, but oh, I can see how much she’s worrying right now. She’s afraid. She’s scared for many reasons, and I find myself wanting to help her through each and every one of them.
“Hey,” I tell her.
“Hey,” she says, looking at me.
“It’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.” She sits on the floor, collapsing next to Brandon. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a little toy. My son coos and makes happy noises as she plays with him, and for a couple of minutes, the world seems like it’s okay, after all.
For a few minutes, it seems like everything’s okay.
“Tell me what you’re worried about,” I say. I sit next to her and reach for her free hand. She seems a little surprised at my affection, but I don’t think you can really underestimate the value of holding hands. My mom used to do this when I was a kid, and somehow, it always made everything better. Holding hands always helped me to feel safe and comforted. Right now, that’s how I want Polly to feel.
I want her to know that no matter what happens, no matter who comes to my cabin, that I will protect both her and my child.
I will fight to the death.
I will keep them safe.
But something tells me there’s more to her feelings tonight than straightforward fear.
There’s something deeper, darker, that’s hurting her.
What is it?
“I don’t want to,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t really know each other that well.”
“So?”
