Page 42 of Meant to Be
“You can’t run.”
Did he mean from the demons inside or from the man who was stalking her?
“But I could lead him away from here.”
He shrugged, his languid body language in contrast with the dark, fierce expression on his face. “And bring him to other people? You need to stand your ground and let the police find this guy. Running will make it harder.”
She understood what he was saying, but she hated the idea she was putting people in this idyllic town at risk.
“Tell me again what happened in New York. Any impressions you have of the person. Was he muscular or lean? Tall or short? Did you hear anything?”
She shook her head. How many times had she wracked her brain for clues to her attacker? “I have no impression. I heard nothing.”
“Not even a grunt? Stabbing someone takes effort.”
Sydney squeezed her eyes shut to the violent, painful memory his question evoked. Tears ran again, but she forced herself to go back. “Not that I remember or can describe.”
“Maybe Jenny will be able to give us something to work with.” He handed her another handkerchief.
Guilt flared again. She dabbed her eyes, turning away slightly, embarrassed he was seeing her so emotional. “Mitch, I’m so sorry. I think the world of Jenny and know she and Kevin are your friends—”
“You need to stop that.” He sat forward, pointing his beer bottle at her.
“What?”
“Blaming yourself. Beating yourself up. Whoever attacked you and Jenny is to blame. Feeling sorry for yourself—”
“I don’t feel sorry for myself!”
“Guilt then. You didn’t do this, Syd. But I’m going to find out who did.” He finished off his beer and set the bottle on the coffee table.
Sydney didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she scooped up a handful of cookies. “Do you have a glass or something for the moonshine?”
He smirked. “Usually you drink moonshine right from the bottle.”
She studied him, trying to decide if was teasing or telling her the truth. Although she’d had moonshine with Julia and Patrick, the potency had urged them to mix it with juice. Who’d drink it straight, much less out of the bottle?
He held up his hands in surrender. “God’s truth.”
She shrugged, picked up the moonshine, and pulled out the corked top. Taking a deep breath, she put the bottle to her lips and drank. The strong alcohol smelled like her dentist’s office and tasted like it too. She winced as the clear liquid burned her throat. Why did people endure this? But then the burn turned to warmth. The crystal clear images of violence dominating her brain a moment before dimmed and turned fuzzy. The fear and uncertainty in her life melted away into calmness. Suddenly, moonshine made sense. It dulled the senses and clouded the mind. Quickly. If anyone needed a remedy like that, it was Sydney. She took another swig.
“Go easy on that.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a move her mother would be mortified by. “Do you want some?” She extended the bottle toward him.
He shook his head, amusement tugging at his sublime lips. “Nah. Someone needs to stay sober.”
There was that grin again. The sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
She shrugged, sank into the couch, and drank. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d be sorry. If not for the hangover, then for the things she might say or do once her filter was completely off. But she was tired of worry, guilt, and fear. Of walking on eggshells around Mitch. For one night, she’d let all that go. Mitch would tease her about it later, but he’d keep her safe now. So she lifted the bottle in salute to him and swallowed another gulp.
Mitch wasboth amused at and worried about Sydney’s abandon. In college, she’d been rigid. She’d focused on her plan and done what was expected. She’d lightened up over the nearly four years they’d dated but never really let go, except once. That had involved alcohol as well. With her inhibitions gone, she’d spilled her guts about how much she loved him and the life she’d planned for them, which was something since they hadn’t been talking marriage yet. She told him how much she hated her organic chemistry teacher, mostly because he hit on her, which made Mitch want to hit him. Then she’d told him the things she wanted to do to him, with her hands and mouth. Even thinking about it now, Mitch’s jeans grew uncomfortable. They’d been having sex by that time but, like with everything else about Sydney, there’d been an order and reserve to it.
Not that he minded. Many of Mitch’s sexual escapades since their breakup were more adventurous, but with Sydney, sex had been more satisfying. He was no dummy and knew it was because it involved love. But even without love, sex could be good. And sex without love also meant no heartbreak.
The one night she’d gotten drunk in college, Sydney made all sorts of suggestions that, even today, Mitch had never experienced. As game as she was at that time, it was the booze talking, and it wouldn’t have been right to take advantage. When he suggested some of the things she’d talked about later when she was sober, she’d blushed and declined.
“Do the ladies like real hankies?” She dangled the handkerchief with her thumb and forefinger, bringing him out of his thoughts.
