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I went to every corner of my mind, desperate for an answer.
I was close to giving up when there he was.
Emerald green eyes meeting mine, a warm smile under a dark beard. My fingers itched to feel it. His hand on my lower back as he moved me to safety and out of the way of the passing cars. His chuckle as he laughed at one my jokes I couldn’t remember, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t funny. The tingle I felt when he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. The burn on my lips when I was desperate to feel him, to know what he tasted like.
I saw him.
I saw a stranger from all those years ago.
My safe place was the last time I felt truly safe.
He was my safety.
I wondered what he was doing. Was he married too? Did he have children? I bet he tucked them in every night and pressed kisses to his wife’s forehead just because he could. I bet she didn’t go to bed curled up in a ball to ease the pain of bruises or to hide the cascade of tears.
I bet she didn’t choke on her sobs or flinch in fear when she heard her husband return from work.
I bet her skin wasn’t marred with scars.
I bet she wasn’t fearful of her every word.
I bet she was safe.
I bet she was loved.
I wished I was her.
Thinking of him worked.
The pain was there, but I was able to dull it.
Every time my husband hurt me from then on, I was going to think of my safety.
I was going to think of Logan King.
∞∞∞
“Beth.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He’s coming again.
“Hey, pretty girl. Wake up, won’t you?”
With the sound of his voice, my eyes shoot open. When I wipe the trickle from my forehead, it’s only sweat, and the pounding is the racing of my heart.
Even through the concern in those eyes, it doesn’t take long to find what I was looking for.
My safety.
“Logan?”
He sits at the edge of the bed and rests a hand on my cheek. His touch is cold.
He’s never cold which means I’m burning up.
“It was just a nightmare,” he says.
