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I would prefer not to fire the gun inside the hotel, but an intruder won’t know that.
The gun is small for a sniper rifle, but it’s still as long as my forearm. The sight of it alone might be enough to scare him off and if not, the weapon could be used to inflict blunt force trauma as long as I get to my attacker before he gets to me.
After the gun is assembled, I turn on the television and watch the end of a Costa Rican variety show involving a surreal mix of human heads superimposed on cartoon character bodies, dancing girls in bikinis, and bad man-on-the-street interviews. A little after midnight I turn off the set and prop myself up against the headboard with the gun resting lightly across my thighs.
For the better part of an hour, I stare at the doors leading onto the balcony, watching muted orange light sweep across the glass as a car passes by on the street outside, waiting for something to happen. I figure if the person following me has been watching my window, they will wait a decent amount of time after seeing my television set turn off before making a move.
Another half hour passes and the night grows quiet.
The only sounds are the faint droning of the air conditioner far below on the first floor and the breeze tinkling the wind chimes outside the closed shop across the street. The last time I look at the clock, it reads two fifteen. I expect to stay awake to welcome three o’clock, but at some point I must have nodded off.
When I wake up, it’s nearly four in the morning.
The first thing I register is the time. The second is the way the hair on my arms is standing on end.
Even in sleep, my body has sensed that something is wrong. The watched feeling has returned with a vengeance, so strong I swear I can hear another heartbeat thudding not far from my bed.
Chapter Three
Sam
Trying not to panic, I mentally check in with my immediate surroundings.
There is no one by the door to the room, so if I need to run, that way is clear. My gun is still on the mattress beside me, just a few inches from my curled legs, so that option is available, too.
Now I just need to find out what I’m up against.
Keeping my lids slitted just enough to see, I roll over to face the balcony doors. I do my best to look like I’m still asleep, keeping my arms and legs heavy, not wanting the intruder to know I’m conscious until I make my move. Once I complete my shift in position, I intend to stay completely still. I am anticipating that the person who has broken into my room will be a man, dangerous and possibly armed, but nothing more.
I have no other expectations or suspicions.
I am entirely unprepared to see him standing on the other side of the patio doors, watching me through the smeared glass.
It’s Danny.
Here.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to throw my arms around him and hug him breathless.
All I have to do is open the door.
My eyes fly open and my throat locks, strangling the sound of surprise rising inside of me, transforming it into a soft whimper. But Danny hears it, and his gaze shifts, settling on my shadowed face.
“Let me in, Sam,” he says softly. He looks so beautiful, so familiar. Safe, but alien at the same time, like something from another world than the one I’ve been living in for the past year. “I think we should talk.”
Talk.
After a year apart.
After I ran from him and shut him out and severed the connection between us without even a goodbye or a note telling him I’m sorry but that I couldn’t love anyone when I was filled with so much hate. After a year of knowing that he’s looking for me, longing for me, and ignoring it. A year of hiding from him and the memories of the girl I was when I was with him.
I was a girl. Just a stupid little girl, playing at being a woman, thinking I understood what it meant to promise someone forever.
But I understood nothing.
Forever is impossible. Forever in a vacuum, maybe, but not forever in the real world.
The real world has too many ugly variables. It chews you up and spits you out and then goes back for seconds, gnashing you between its teeth until you barely recognize your own face in the mirror, let alone the face of the person you love. The person you loved when you were someone else, someone with a functioning heart, who hadn’t been forced to choose between two masters.
I could never have hated the men who hurt me the way I needed to hate them if I was trying to love Danny at the same time.
