Page 30 of Open Arms

No no no.

Not again.

Not again.

Not again.

Panic ripped through me, stealing my breath. I was back there, locked in that closet, the air thick with the coppery tang of blood. Scratching, clawing at the door until my nails bled. Screaming until my voice gave out. Remembering his heavy steps. The snick of the lock. Knowing what came next . . .

I stumbled back, bumping into shelves and sending supplies crashing down around me. My heart was pounding out of my chest as the walls seemed to close in on me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the blind panic that had taken hold.

Some distant part of my mind knew this wasn’t real, that I was having a flashback, but the terror felt as visceral as ever. I could smell the blood, hear the screams echoing in my ears. Feel the cold metal of the knife against my skin as I begged and pleaded for my life.

I don’t know how long I crouched there amid the spilled yoga supplies, paralyzed by the memory of that night. It could have been minutes or hours. Slowly the panic began to ebb, my frantic gasps evening out into shaky breaths. As the adrenalinefaded, tears slid down my cheeks and I wrapped my arms around myself.

A broken sob tore from my throat. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Just a closet. I was safe. He couldn’t hurt me anymore.

Breathe in, one two three four. Out, one two three four.

Slowly, the memory released its suffocating grip. I stood on shaky legs and tried the knob again.

It turned easily in my hand. I stumbled out into the bright hallway, one hand pressed to my racing heart.

Just a broken light. A stuck door. Nothing sinister. Right?

I leaned my forehead against the cool wall and tried to believe it.

14

Chloe

Sittingat the small table in the cottage’s kitchenette, I clutched the worn photograph, my vision blurred by a fresh wave of tears. The smiling faces of my mom and siblings stared back at me, forever frozen in a moment of joy that now felt like a lifetime ago.

A sharp knock at the door jolted me from my memories. I hastily wiped at my damp cheeks and took a shaky breath, trying to compose myself.

“Come in,” I called, my voice betraying the emotions I was desperately trying to hide.

The door creaked open and Mason stepped inside, his handsome face bright and cheerful, until he saw my own. Immediately, his features became etched with concern. His gray eyes met mine and I looked away, not wanting him to see the pain I knew was written all over my face.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “What’s wrong, Chlo?”

I forced a smile, but even I could tell it was unconvincing. “I’m fine. Just . . . thinkingabout some things.”

Mason’s gaze drifted to the photograph still clutched in my hands. Understanding dawned in his eyes.

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, let alone speak. Mason seemed to sense my inner turmoil. He crossed the room in two long strides and gently took the photo from my trembling fingers.

“This your family?” he asked, studying the image.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Mason looked up at me, his expression soft with empathy.

“They look like good people.” He handed the photo back to me. “I can see where you get your smile from.”

Despite myself, I felt the corners of my mouth lift ever so slightly. Mason always seemed to know just what to say.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving mine. “Listen, Chloe, I know we haven’t known each other that long. But I want you to know that . . . if you ever need someone to talk to, about anything . . . I’m here.”

His words were like a balm to my aching heart. I blinked back fresh tears, overwhelmed by his kindness.

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