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But by doing nothing, he was worse.
So much worse.
I picked my running playlist based on the pace of the songs, choosing beats meant to drown out the world. I’m flying now, the strenuous clip making me huff as I nearly sprint on the carefully-groomed walking path that Mom designed about ten years ago. It’s exactly two and a half miles and today, I plan to run it four times in a row.
If I exhaust myself and turn into a noodle, it’ll be the best possible outcome for this impossible transition home.
Something touches my shoulder. I shrug, then scream behind closed lips. I feel heat behind me. Animal heat. Next to me. Vibrations from someone make me rip my earbuds out and sprint—hard. Someone’s following me, and at this point in the path, there’s no safety. I’m completely encased by some giant, thick-vined plant that feels like a spiny cage and can’t be seen by anyone at the main house.
Something touches my shoulder again.
I throw myself to the ground, remembering my self-defense training classes at the island. Women have more power in their leg muscles, so when you’re being attacked, drop. Use that power. Scream. Fight.
Fight.
I coil my leg back, ready to strike, and look up.
To find a very amused, panting, sweating Drew looking down at me. He’s wearing cargo shorts that look out of place, running shoes, and a tight, light-blue t-shirt that is soaked with perspiration. No sunglasses. A headpiece for a cell phone.
Cargo shorts?
And then I see the gun strapped into a belt around his waist.
“What the hell?” I scream, keeping my legs ready. Maybe Daddy made a huge mistake. Maybe Drew really was part of the attack and what if he’s here to get his turn, now.
As I make eye contact, all the amusement in Drew’s expression drains out.
“Are you out of your mind?” I scream again. “Get the hell away from me!”
He steps back, then says something into his mouthpiece.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, Lindsay. I just didn’t want to come up on you from behind and—”
“And what? Scare me more?” My heart feels like it took off into outer space, beating so hard I feel my pulse pound in my neck. The artery is like a bass drum.
“There was no perfect way to let you know I was here.”
“Then don’t be here.”
“That’s not an option.”
“What?”
“You can’t be allowed to roam an estate of this size alone. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s too—what?” I’m dumbstruck. Truly dumbstruck. “I’ve never needed a babysitter at my own home before, Drew!”
“That was then.”
“You asshole.”
He offers me his hand to help me up. I ignore it, shove my earbuds in, and continue my run. I’m fleeing, no pace, no steady gait. I’m running like a spooked fawn in the woods, fleeing a potential predator, and damn it, Drew can tell.
He follows, but at a respectful ten paces behind me.
I can’t stop thinking about him. No song on my playlist is disruptive enough to stop my thoughts. No rhythm is strong enough to override my awareness of him. His bronzed skin glistens back there, the sun peeking out and kissing his legs. His tight t-shirt conforms to broad pecs that have thickened in the four years since I touched him. That chest used to have a place where my cheek could fit perfectly. Those corded, muscular arms used to wrap around me in passion, in pleasure, in comfort and in joy.
My tortured heart nearly cries out as I think about it. Willing myself to stop isn’t working. How do you stop thinking about someone who is so close? How do you stop feeling so much for a person who betrayed you so deeply?
