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Make. A. Decision.
Tonight, I would hunker down and make a plan—one that got me as far away as possible from Falcon Creek, as fast as humanly possible.
Justin Montgomery had no idea who he was dealing with. He was as dead as me if they came after me again.
14
Sophia
We worked together in silence, covering the windows with haste. I followed Justin’s lead, holding, then stretching the sheeting while he secured each corner with the staple gun. Then we would switch and he would hold, and I would secure.
The plastic sheeting would do nothing to keep anyone out, of course, but Justin explained that having the windows covered blocked a direct view of us—giving us a tactical advantage—while also keeping the heat in.
Every once in a while, I caught him looking at me from the corner of his eye in the same way I was observing him, cataloging facts about this new man in my life.
Like, for one, Justin did not do small talk. This didn’t bother me. After everything that had just gone down, I was having trouble forming a single coherent thought, let alone multiple sentences.
Two, the man was incredibly cool under pressure. While I was still trembling, Justin was laser-focused with steady hands, calm breath, and quick, smooth movements. He was the opposite of me.
How many times had I tried to breathe through panic attacks, pain, or trauma? And how many times did it actually work? None. Sometime after I turned thirty, I gave in to the fact that I had become an emotional train wreck and I hated that about myself—which was why I had an entire bookcase dedicated to self-help books.
Three, he smelled like snowy pines mixed with that musky scent of man.
Four, he washot.Plain and simple, the guy was straight out of a dark mafia romance novel.
All that to say, it was difficult to focus on the task at hand.
The windows took an hour to secure, and in that repetitive movement, my pulse calmed to only mild heart-attack level. I didn’t know if I could trust Justin, but I did feel safe with him. He could have easily killed me, many times over, or simply given me to whoever shot at us.
Instead, he did the opposite. He saved my life. If Justin hadn’t been there, I would be dead. Plain and simple.
After securing the last staple, I gathered the remaining slivers of plastic from the floor and began sweeping up the million teeny-tiny pieces of glass while Justin tended to the fire. The house was still cold, but much less so with the windows covered and the fire going.
Once that was done, Justin settled on the floor next to the fireplace and began unlacing his boots. He set them in front of the fire, along with his socks, which had gotten wet from chasing the shooter in the snow. Then he stripped out of his coat and tossed it on the floor in the corner. Finally, like some transformer, he began pulling multiple weapons from hidden places in his clothing and laid them out one by one.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, gawking at the number of weapons he’d had on him. “Something to eat?”
“What do you have?”
“Water, almond milk, beer, granola— Oh, I have some leftover fish and chips from the diner.”
“I’ll take a beer.”
I was hoping he’d say that because I needed a drink like I needed my next breath.
I grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, then heated up the leftover fish and chips. I met him in front of the fire, where he was counting his ammunition. Three clips lay next to two knives, two handguns, a pair of handcuffs, and a small bottle of bear spray.
Catching the scent of food, he looked up. I felt extreme satisfaction from the spark in his eyes. He was hungry.
I set the plate on the coffee table and handed him his beer. He drank half in one go. I took a few pulls off my own.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Checking my stash. I have more in the truck if I need to get it, but I think this is fine.”
“If they come back for us, you mean?”
“Yes.”
