Page 87 of If Our Hearts Collide

So in order to keep functioning in the real world while Mark Tanner awaits his trial, I’m going to need to make the effort to hold up my end of the bargain and attend a session. It’s already set up. I just need to show up.

But showing up is the hardest part.

Looking at the clock, I worry I’ll be late.

Grabbing my purse, I run down the hallway toward the elevator. I hit the button and check the time on my phone. I should still be okay.

When the elevator doors open, I step inside and am shocked to find a man there. My heart stops as I glance to his scarred hands, wincing and squeezing my eyes shut. Shit.

Why does this keep happening?

“Miss?” His voice is gruff. Deep.

“I, um,” I stutter. I take a couple of steps back, only opening my eyes wide enough to see the floor, as my neck refuses to gain the strength to pick my head back up. “I’ll take the stairs.”

I pivot and rush into the stairwell, instantly feeling the pangs of claustrophobia.

And utter embarrassment…

Taking five deep breaths, I try to settle my growing unease.

This is the prime example of why I need forever therapy. It’s because I’m a freak, and deep down, I doubt I’ll ever be whole again.

It doesn’t matter where I am—Mark will find me. He’s haunting me like a ghost, looking for a host to give that nightmarish night back its life.

I don’t want to keep being his victim.

I force myself down the stairs. And when I finally get to the lobby, my blisters are crying from the abuse.

“Miss Hoffman,” the lobby attendant says. “Can I please help you?”

Adamantly, I shake my head. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed. No cause for alarm.”

The person behind the welcome desk joins his coworker, squats down beside me as I slump into the oversized chair. “Miss? Can we get you anything? Water? A snack?”

No. And the fact that these two workers already know my name is alarming enough, and they could very well be on the bodyguard squad’s payroll. Just your everyday heroes saving one panicked girl at a time.

Feeling like a loser, I peel myself off the cushions, give the men a reassuring smile, and then walk over to the water dispenser to pour myself a cup of chilled water. I don’t even think I drank anything today.

Glancing outside the main doors, I see the scarred hands man enter into an awaiting taxi. He didn’t deserve my horror,and the thought that I caused him emotional harm makes my stomach twist.

Not every man I encounter is Mark Tanner.

Not every person with scars is Mark Tanner’s minion.

Feeling the need to move, I make my way outside into the fresh summer air.

“Miss Hoffman! Please…”

I turn to see the apartment building worker shadowing me. This is just obnoxious. “Yeah?” I need some time by myself.

“I’m under strict”—he pauses where the wordordersshould have been said which only adds to my suspicions—“I would love to assist you in any way and to see that you have safe travels. If you could simply afford me the opportunity to adequately do my job, then…”

“I’m going to walk,” I say with certainty.

The worker keeps his irritation at my refusal in check, teetering most likely on the edge of dropping his professional facade and going straight to military tactics. Collins and my brothers only hire the most drill-sergeanty people.

Every ounce of his willpower is being challenged, and I’m the one delivering the test. I watch the vein in his neck as it pulses manically, momentarily distracting me from my initial fight.

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