Page 16 of Catching His Runaway

The memory weighs heavy on my stomach, and my throat feels tighter as I get closer and closer to the door. When I reach it, I pause long enough to listen.

On the other side, I hear the soft murmur of voices. My mother is not alone. I recognize the child-like voice as belonging to my recently met niece.

I guess old habits die hard.

Something about the familiarity of it makes my eyes water, and I don’t have control to make it stop. However, I’ve learned over the years how to stop myself from being overwhelmed by my emotions. So I do what I always do. Count to ten and reset.

Breathing in slowly, I push away from the door and catch Tommy’s curious gaze. His brows come together when I swipe at my cheeks.

“Now isn’t the right time. Next time, for sure.” Turning away from him before he can enjoy my pain, I keep moving to avoid having him call me a coward again.

Little does he know that hearing her voice did more than he can imagine.

* * *

When I wake up in the middle of the night, it’s not to a sore body from sleeping on the floor. Rather, it’s the heavy rush of my heart thumping hard against my ribs. So loud, I’m surprised I didn’t wake up the entire estate. Not just my heart is going at it, but my lungs feel like they’re on fire as I fight to keep my breath steady.

When I touch my throat, my pulse is racing, and a slickness grows on my skin. Not from blood like in my dream, but from sweat. My thumb grazes an old wound that has scarred over, but the pain feels recent.

Another nightmare. Even in a place I should consider safer than back at my apartment, Elijah Sutton’s voice still plagues my thoughts. His brutal promises still make my ears tingle from hearing them whispered softly as the same scene plays out before me.

Some nights are easier than others, but I can’t get away from the man, even in my sleep.

It’s hard to breathe in here. The room, coated in darkness and cast with shadows from the moonlight seeping in, I don’t want to risk looking around and letting my eyes play tricks on me.

Moving to sit up, I tell myself that I’m fine in a soft whisper. When I’m on my feet, I do the very same.

I try to count to ten, but it doesn’t work. With fear, it never does.

Looking toward the door, the light beneath reassures me that I’ll find what I need if I get out of this suffocating room.

Making it all but a few steps, I hear the creak of the mattress behind me.

Hearing the rustle of the blankets, I know it’s Tommy waking up to stop what he probably assumes is my poor attempt at escaping. He doesn’t bother trying to be stealthy. However, it’s the thumps of his steps and the low growl coming from him that makes me question if I’m still dreaming.

Something screams at me to run, to get away. That if I’m caught, I’m done for. I’ll be meeting one hell of a painful death.

Just as I expect him to, he reaches out, and for a moment, I don’t see the guy who’s been a headache for me since I’ve returned. Still coming off the rush of my nightmare, I see a scarred hand reaching for what the man said himself. Retribution.

“Don’t touch me!” The words are ripped from my throat without any thought, and I think we catch both of us off guard.

The scowl on Tommy’s face sobers up into a flat line as he takes me in. First, there’s confusion on his face, then his brows furrow together as he retracts his hand.

“I need air,” I tell him as goosebumps prickle at my skin, and a shiver wracks through me. “Please.”

He doesn’t order me to lay back down, or to stop being a pain in the ass. Instead, he moves to the door and pulls it open, allowing the light on the other side to flood the room. It only offers a slight relief, but it doesn’t put any extra strength back into my legs to move forward. Thankfully, this guy is happy to help.

“Let’s go.” Through his sleep-laced voice, he keeps a few feet between us but motions me to move forward. I’m thankful, but my throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, so I can’t even mutter my thanks. He doesn’t seem to mind, leading me wherever he pleases.

Turns out, it’s straight to the place he caught me. The gardens.

As soon as I step outside, my feet bare to the concrete, I move toward the bench and collapse on it. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, my eyes water. As much as I know letting tears fall will help ease this weight on my chest, I don’t let a single drop leave my eyes.

Tommy doesn’t sit, but I feel his eyes on my back. He doesn’t ask me about what happened, or demand I tell him every detail of what’s wrong with me.

He lets me breathe and calm down until my limbs stop shaking and my heart has calmed down. It doesn’t take seconds, but minutes. Long enough to take in the constellations sparkling up above.

Once I’ve sobered up, I avoid meeting his eye and return inside. Instead of guiding me back to my old room to risk the same thing happening, he guides me to the kitchen to introduce me to the coffee pots.

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