Page 260 of Heart So Hollow

I press my temple to her cheek in silence, my eyes welling as I rock with her on my floor, “I don’t know, Brett, I don’t know…”

I can still see Bowen standing in my kitchen, transforming from my best friend’s fiancé into a sinister goon in less than a second, and I want to go find him and tear his throat out. But I can’t, so for now my only solace is that he’s grossly underestimated how deep the friendship between women runs. There’s enough to salvage our friendship even in our darkest moment. And one thing’s for sure—I was here before Bowen, and I’ll be here after.

Brett’s white Tahoe sits in the driveway in front of the garage door, and the longer I stare out the window at it, a sickening dread begins to take hold in my chest.

You’ve seen this before. You know what will happen.

It’s easy to trick yourself into believing that disaster isn’t minutes away, that evil isn’t sitting right on your doorstep, because it’s always something that happens to someone else. But aren’t we all someone else? I’ve seen this scenario play out in retrospect too many times.

How often do we wish we could go back and correct a single mistake? Haven’t I learned from those who didn’t see the signs and didn’t have the chance to go back? If I’m wrong, then so be it. But if I’m right, I can’t make that kind of mistake.

“Brett,” I pull myself together and start picking us both up off the floor, “I think you should move your car into my garage.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

Brett

Present

I never would’ve imagined I’d be able to run through these woods. Not until I spent every day out here memorizing each step from my back door to the clearing a quarter of a mile through the forest. It doesn’t seem like a long distance, but even where the terrain looks flat, it’s not. Hazards like elevation changes, dirt, roots, and rocks hide in plain sight, waiting to snap an unsuspecting knee or ankle.

“You’re slowing down, baby,” he calls over his shoulder as the space between us continues to widen.

“Your legs are longer,” I gasp between breaths, lunging through the line of ponderosas leading up the next hill.

“You’re lighter,” he counters, ignoring my excuses, no matter how justifiable.

With a growl, I pivot as he continues down the dusty slope. As soon as I reach the drop-off where the earth slid away long ago, I grab a pine branch jutting out from the side of the earth and swing off the edge. I land at the bottom, relaxing my knees so I collapse smoothly onto the pine needles in a barrel roll. As soon as I feel my feet under me again, I shoot up and keep running before he even reaches the bottom of the hollow.

He barks out a curse and his deep voice spurs me on like a whip at my back. Superficial fear propels me up the next hill and down the path we’ve worn through the wilderness day after day. I can hear his footfalls close behind me, but I don’t dare look back. Every time you look back, you slow down.

Soon enough, I see the clearing, or what’s left of it. Trees encroach on the barn now, but it used to be as open as the pasture 100 yards beyond it. I push harder, my legs burning and my heart pounding as I focus on keeping my ankles tense and balanced. If I snap one, it doesn’t matter how close I get, I’ll be dead.

With one last push, I slam into the planks of the barn, making them shudder. I don’t even try to catch my breath before spinning around and letting out a long whoop into the treetops.

I did it. I finally beat him. And I did so while growing a human inside me. I’m not showing yet, but it still counts. As time goes on, I’ll trade the morning sickness for a bigger belly, but I won’t quit training. I can still do this.

“You keep howling like that, the wolves’ll come running,” he smirks as he saunters toward me.

I lean back against the side of the barn, inhaling through my nose and out my mouth.

He stops, inches from me, and reaches up to cup my face so I’m looking up at him, “Breathe.”

I grip his wrists, focusing on his eyes as my muscles relax and my lungs calm.

Once my labored breaths turn steady and controlled, his voice turns harsh, “Are you done running?”

I give a curt shake of my head, “I never run.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Drawing out my prey.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what predators do.”

“Say it,” he bites out.

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