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I settle back into the pillows. But then I hear it.
Tap tap tap.
Someone is knocking on the window in my room. I'm frozen in terror. My blood runs cold and my limbs are stiff. Then, the worst realization of all hits me—my bedroom windows are open.
I can't scream. I can't breathe. My ears are ringing. The knock comes again, and now it's on the back door. Someone is trying to get in.
Fight or flight kicks in, and suddenly my body is flooded with adrenaline. I leap off the couch and race to the bathroom in the center of the house where there are no windows, making sure to snatch my phone off the couch. I slam and lock the door and sink to the ground, gasping for breath.
I need to call 911. But when I pick up my phone with my shaking hands, that's not the number I dial.
Instead, I call Porter.
"Bailey?" he answers, and his gruff voice is immediately comforting. "Baby, what's the matter?"
I gulp a lungful of air. "Porter," I sob, and tears are starting to flow. "Porter, please help me."
"Bailey." His voice is hard, and I can tell his protective instincts are kicking in. "Where are you?"
"Someone is outside the house."
"Outside the house?"
"Yes!"
"Is Renae home?"
"No, she went out for the night."
"Fuck. Okay, baby, listen to me. Do not unlock that door. Is there somewhere else safe that you can go?"
"I'm in the bathroom with the door locked. There aren't any windows and it's an old-style deadbolt?—"
"Listen, I'm on my way, Bailey. Stay on the line with me. I'm going to drive as fast as I can, but don't hang up. Keep the doors locked and just try to stay calm. Okay?"
"Yeah," I breathe. Tears are streaming down my face, but the sound of Porter's voice is steadying me. He's going to protect me. "Thank you, Porter. I didn't know who else to call."
"I'm glad you called. Bailey. Are you breathing? Can you take a deep breath for me?"
I inhale slowly.
"Good, sweetheart. Again."
I take another shaky breath. Porter keeps coaching me, his voice soothing in my ear, until finally I feel calmer. Time doesn't seem to flow normally with all the terror that I'm feeling, so before I know it, I hear the tires of Porter's truck screeching into the driveway.
"I'm going to hang up now and check outside. But you don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here baby."
"Okay," I whisper.
The phone clicks and Porter is gone. A few minutes pass, and then there's a pounding on the bathroom door.
"Bailey it's me," he calls. "Let me in."
I scramble to my feet and throw open the door. Porter catches me as I hurl myself into his arms. He pulls me tight against his chest, and one of his large hands strokes my back.
"Shh," he murmurs. "It's okay. I've got you now."
"Oh, Porter—" I sniffle.
