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“I’m far too pregnant to go hiking at night too!” Pulling away, I push past him.
Sometimes it’s easier to calm all the shit inside by taking it out on him. I know it makes me a horrible per
son, but there’s no one else except for him, and I feel terrible bitching to our unborn child about her father.
I’m stomping down the path when bright lights shine up at us and my welly gets stuck. I’m about to go tits over arse when he catches me by my coat.
“Stay close.” He pulls me back and holds me as flush as possible to him while he manoeuvres us towards the house. “What do you do if anything happens to me?”
“I hide in the bunker.”
“And?”
“And I stay put until Ryan comes for me.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs calmly as we get close to the house.
The stillness in his eyes frightens me while he stands looking at me from head to toe, brushing my messy hair back into the half-up, half-down bun. There’s something in him, a calm resolution that makes my throat swell. My chest is so tight that I can barely drag in a breath.
Without warning or trepidation, he kisses me. He kisses me like that night when we were nothing. This was nothing. He kisses me with bite and growl. Hands moulded to my belly and endless, desperate breaths that tear at me.
When he pulls away, his jaw clenches as though he’s one word from falling apart or running the world through with everything in him.
This is it.
I know it. I feel it.
“Casper—”
“Your only duty is to her,” he tells me gruffly, helping me to the ground where I crouch like he’s shown me. “Only her, Trouble.” The words linger as he heads for the house.
It feels like forever as I wait for him. I pray for him to return. My heart is racing in my chest, and my throat is so tight that I can barely breathe.
The entire time I’m telling myself it’s going to be okay. The baby is kicking relentlessly, and my nerves are making me feel sick.
It’s so eerily quiet until the gunshot echoes, and I’m petrified frozen. I can’t move. I can’t think.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Please don’t be dead. Please don’t leave me. Please…please…this can’t be goodbye.
The back door crashes open, and I start crawling towards the hole in the ground, just as Casper showed me. Quiet, even though my sobs and tears are suffocating me. Quickly, even with my protesting muscles and nausea.
Keep moving. Keep moving.
I make it to the moss-covered door, opening it enough to get myself in without ruckus.
Once inside, all my controlled fear bursts from me in waves upon waves of uncontrollable sobs.
I clamber around for the light, and when I find it, I take stock of my surroundings. I try to catch my breath and swallow down my panic because Casper is a killer.
Killers don’t get killed.
Of course, I know that’s a lie I’m telling myself, but it’s a dredge of hope.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell the baby, hugging my bump as tightly as I can. “It’s okay.”
Except it’s not because we’re on our own. Without Casper, we’re completely and utterly alone.
