Page 13 of Chasing Lynda

She bumps into my new friend as she stumbles backward, her eyes now fixed on the ground. “Sorry, I really need to go.”

She literally dashes out of the door as the woman at the counter asks me to give my order.

***

Lynda

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SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!

He found me. I need to get out of here! I avert my gaze from the people who just entered the cafe and who obviously belong to Aaron’s cult. I lower my head, using my long hair to hide my face and trying to get out of here before they can corner me. I’m gasping for air as my breathing becomes faster and my knees feel weak. Dizziness makes me feel nauseous and I know this isn’t just my empty stomach, I recognize the beginning of a panic attack.

I move toward the door, mumbling some excuses when the kind stranger who was about to buy me breakfast asks me what’s wrong.

I run out of the door, frantically looking behind myself to check if the church people are chasing after me.

The boardwalk is busier than it was a few minutes ago and while I could try to get lost in the crowd, that is also an obstacle that could get me caught. I round the corner of the cafe, using the building as a hiding place and looking at the door I just came out from.

There’s no one coming out of the cafe, so it looks like no one is chasing me.

I stare at the door for a few more moments, all my senses on high alert as I look around, searching for a quick escape in case those people follow me.

When a few minutes pass and it becomes obvious that no one is pursuing me, I take a deep, shuddering breath.

I try to hold the air in my lungs in a bid to slow down the panicked hammering of my heart. It’s hard to calm down when there’s blood roaring into my ears, and my clawed hands are tingling as I try to relax my muscles and stretch my fingers.

“Hey! Here you are! Are you ok?”

A deep voice makes me yelp as I crawl out of my own skin, sliding off the wall and hitting the wood of the boardwalk with my butt. “Ouch!” I whine, touching the base of my spine and looking at the blond stranger from before. “God, you scared the living shit out of me!” I scold him, still breathless for the most part.

He smiles and I can’t help but notice how his dark blue eyes light up, creasing a little at the corners and how perfect and white his teeth are. “Sorry. You’re right. I think we should stop meeting this way ...” there’s mirth in his tone but his voice fades as if he suddenly became aware of something. “You know, I just realized that I never got your name. I’m Carter, by the way,” he says extending a big, tanned hand.

I look at it for a second, wary of a perfect stranger and longing for some human contact at the same time.

I end up taking his hand and letting him lift me off the floor. I’m surprised by his firm shake and by the rough, almost calloused skin of his warm, dry palm. I debate if I should give him my real name, but I decide to risk it. If he was trying to cash in the reward Aaron and my dad are offering to whoever helps find me, he would’ve stopped me from leaving the cafe; or he would be with those people who caused me to run.

I haven’t talked to many people in the last year. No one has even really said my name in my presence.

“I’m Lynda,” I say on a whim, hoping that I don’t have to regret letting my guard down. His smile is really gorgeous and I can’t help but mirror it.

“What happened in there? Are you ok? Did I say anything wrong?”

I obviously can’t tell him that I’m on the run from my psycho-ex, but this guy is the only person who’s actually showed me some kindness since I left the compound a year ago. So I decide to offer him the closest version of the truth I can put together without telling him details that could mean trouble in case I’m misjudging him.

“I—I thought I saw my ex in there. I guess I was wrong, but ...”

He nods, his gaze softening with understanding. “Bad breakup?”

Bad breakup doesn’t even begin to cover it, so I nod sheepishly, keen to avoid the probing curiosity in Carter’s dark blue eyes.

I can’t seem to look away though, caught up in that gaze, with his hand still engulfing mine. It’s surprising how I have no desire to have my hand back, soaking up his warmth and unable to look away from him.

I realize that since my wedding night, I’ve felt uncomfortable with anyone touching me. I don’t have any memory of what my husband did to me when I was in the wedding suite with him; but the wounds he inflicted were enough to make me feel protective of my private space.

Finally, he’s the one who lets go and I immediately feel like something is missing.

“I’m glad you were wrong and that it wasn’t your ex,” he says, suddenly serious. “I would’ve had to kick his ass otherwise.”

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