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Her lower lip trembles for a moment before she firms it. “Someone broke into my apartment.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
TESSA
The tightnessin my chest won’t go away, growing stronger with each passing second.
Someone broke in. I could have been home. I could have been sleeping. They could have had a gun.
“Tessa.”
I blink, Austin coming into focus, his brows drawing together in concern.
“We need to go.”
I reach for his hand, unthinking, needing some of his strength. “You’ll come with me?”
“Of course.”
Some of the constriction in my chest loosens at the assurance in his voice.
“Come on.” He keeps hold of me, leading us through the throng of dancers, people making way for him now that he’s on a mission.
Retrieving our jackets from the coat check is a blur, Austin thankfully handling it. When we get to my car in the parking lot, he pulls my keys out of his pocket. It seems so long ago that I asked if he could hold on to them since my pockets are so small.
“Do you want me to drive?”
I nod, hiding my shaking hands by crossing my arms.
He opens the passenger door and gently guides me inside, then crouches so he’s at eye level. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
I press my lips as tightly together as I can, willing myself not to cry. I’m afraid if I start, I’ll never stop.
“What did Joel say?” he asks.
I swallow, once, twice, getting myself under control. “He stopped by my place and saw my door was ajar. It was damaged, like someone had forced it open. He called to make sure I was okay.”
“Is he still there now? Did he call the police?”
“He said he’d wait for me, but didn’t say anything about the police.”
“Can I call them for you? They should check it out.”
“Yes, please.” Thank God he’s here. I can’t think straight, can’t remember what I should be doing.
He drives us home, talking to a dispatcher on the way, but I can barely focus on what he’s saying, dread rising within me as he makes the last turn toward our apartment complex.
Once he hangs up, he reaches for my hand, and I squeeze it tightly, not wanting to let go. Not wanting any of this to be real.
“Someone came into my home,” I whisper. “They violated my space.”
“I know.”
“I can’t go in there.” My head shakes, unable to stop. “What if they’re still in there? What if they get me when I’m sleeping?”
It’s not logical, but it’s all I can think of.
“The police will search your apartment. They’ll make sure it’s empty. And you can stay at my place tonight. If your front door is busted, I don’t want you there alone.”
