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Luke’s gaze snapped to him. “We got her,” he said.
Heath almost fucking throttled him for the fact that was not what he led with. Yes, concern about his pregnant wife was pressing. But she was right in fucking front of him. Heath had no idea where Polly was.
And the last time he had no idea where she was, he’d found her broken, battered and half fucking dead in the back of a truck.
“We’ve got a tracker on her phone,” Luke continued. “Lance was closest. He’s got eyes on her.” He paused. “She’s okay. Physically.”
Rosie stopped pacing. “It’s happened?” she whispered. “It’s finally hit her.”
Luke nodded once, face tight, bracing for his woman’s pain.
“It’s hit her,” he agreed.
Heath was halfway out the door.
Because shit wasn’t hitting Polly. Not without hitting him too.
Polly
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how I got here.
I had left the meeting, feeling empty and full at the same time. Like I’d released something but also like I was stretched so tight I was going to snap.
I must’ve left early, because Heath wasn’t waiting.
And Heath was always right on time.
I also must’ve texted him, because I didn’t want him to worry. That was the last thing I needed. On autopilot, I’d told him Rosie had picked me up for an impromptu taco run.
He’d responded immediately.
And he hadn’t been surprised.
Because Rosie was kind of wildly obsessed with tacos at this stage in her pregnancy.
I was impressed my fractured mind was able to conjure such a watertight excuse. I must’ve spent all my excess brain power since I couldn’t think of anything else to do. So I started walking.
I was only wearing sandals so it wasn’t exactly comfortable after the first two miles. But that was good. I liked the discomfort. After another two miles, some of the skin was opening up on my feet and blisters were forming. That was better than good. Tearing on the outside was great, so I didn’t feel like I was going insane just tearing on the inside.
I wasn’t counting the miles, or the hours, or even the pain.
I was just walking.
The only reason I knew that I’d walked almost nine miles was because I got to the park. I’d mapped the distance from Atwater to Wildwood Canyon when one of my friends was training for a marathon. So I knew how far it was. I’d unwittingly followed the trail I used to run with her. Not because I was training for the marathon, or because I particularly liked running. She needed the company. The motivation.
And I’d always liked the destination.
This park.
It was pretty late by now, the sun kissing the horizon, bathing the city in a warm glow that made it look like it was magical. That down there, it wasn’t full of pain and lost dreams.
I liked that.
“Ma’am, you okay?” a kind and scratchy voice asked from above me.
I realized I’d sat down at some point, on the slightly damp grass.
The man who’d spoken had tangled hair and an unkempt beard. His clothes were dirty, and his shoes had holes. He was holding a paper bag with a bottle top peeking out.
He had kind eyes.
I smiled. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He frowned. “You don’t look it.”
“I know,” I agreed.
He paused for a beat longer. “You shouldn’t be out here too late, pretty and troubled lady like you,” he said. Then he pointed to a copse of trees. “I’ll be over there, watching out, make sure no more trouble comes to you.”
And then he wandered off.
It was nice to think someone was watching out for me.
Even if all the trouble had already come and gone.
* * *
“Sunshine?” an urgent voice called into the ever-creeping darkness.
“Heath?” I replied immediately.
“Fuck,” he hissed as he emerged from a curve in the hill. He was on me in two strides. I was in his arms, the warmth surrounding me, showing me just how cold I’d gotten.
Not from the ever-retreating sunlight.
No, from the memories I’d finally let in.
Heath’s arms squeezed me tight enough to make my bones protest. I didn’t say anything, because the pain in my feet had retreated, so I needed the pain of his embrace to make myself feel real. He kissed my head, rocking me slowly in his arms before he released me enough to look at me, to take stock.
I knew he was looking for injuries.
I hated myself a little bit for making him have to do that. For putting the worry and fear on his face.
“I’m not hurt,” I said.
He paused for a moment, then he pressed his lips to mine. “Yeah, baby, you are. And it’s okay to hurt. To show you’re hurt. I can handle it,” he promised.
“I just felt like walking,” I whispered against his mouth. “And then, maybe I thought why don’t I just keep walking for a little while. Maybe get a little lost. Because maybe I might find myself again.”
