Page 100 of Jump

Instantly, my heart thumps in my chest and leaves me almost winded.

“I-I’m gonna go,” I whisper to Hannah.

Hanging up before she can respond, I swipe screens, and whimper when a warning snarl tears along Rocky’s throat.

Someone is here.

Someone is breaching my safe space and looking to make my day worse.

I navigate to my keypad and type 9-1-1, but I don’t hit dial, even when Rocky pushes to his feet and jostles the bed.

“Shhh…” I stroke his back leg and desperately stare into my hall, but I don’t hear anything.

Which makes this all the more frightening. Because if not for Rocky’s reaction, I wouldn’t have any clue something was wrong.

“What is it, buddy?” I sit up straight in my bed and set my feet on the floor. Then glancing around for a weapon, I spot a hardback copy of Matt’s newest spy thriller.

It’s ironic, really, that he would leave one behind for me to find, and on my birthday that he’s obviously forgotten, when our communication about everything else lately has been… non-existent.

I groan, pathetic and terrified, when Rocky bounds off the bed, and the frame bounces back against the wall with a thud. He lands on four paws, despite his injuries, and stalks toward the door.

Anxious, I look down at my phone again, but I delete the 9-1-1 from my screen and instead find Matt’s name.

He’s working. He’s busy. And he sure as hell can’t leave his job to come to me. But fear makes a woman do odd things, so before I’ve truly made the conscious decision to do so, I jam my thumb to the call icon and bring the phone to my ear.

It rings once.

Twice.

My heart hurts, and my lungs stretch in search of oxygen. It’s my freakin’ birthday! I’m in my own home. I’ve locked every single door and window. I’m being safe! So why the hell am I—

“Ana?”

Rocky’s fury snaps out on a snarl that makes me jump where I sit. But Matt’s voice—coming from the living room, rather than the phone I still hold to my ear—is like aloe to a burn. Like a Band-Aid to a skinned knee.

Tears flood from my eyes and settle on my cheeks.

“Ana!”

“Rocky.” I stumble off my bed and set my fingers in his fur. Part restraint, part comfort. “It’s okay, buddy.” I brush his neck and step to the doorway, though I don’t miss how his powerful body moves forward too. How he corners me and blocks my exit. “Matt?”

He comes into the hall, his skin black with soot, his chest wrapped in a tight, sweat-soaked t-shirt, and his turnout pants settled loosely on his hips.

He’s walked straight off the site of a fire and come here. He’s come home to me, just like I wished he could.

But now his perfect eyes ignore me, going instead to my protector.

“When did we get a fuckin’ dog?”

A frantic laugh rolls free of my throat and ends on a whimper as I hug the hardcover book and lean against the doorframe.

I want to walk the six feet that separates me and Matt. I want to lean against him. But that’s not who we are this week. That’s not a comfort I’m allowed to take.

“Matt, this is Rocky,” I rasp. “He saved my life.”

“I know who the fuck he is.” He lowers to a crouch and meets the snarling dog with a curl of his lips in return. “Stop growling at me, pup. This is my home, too.”

“He was protecting me. Rocky.” I pat the dog’s neck and move closer until I can take Matt’s hand. Not to hold it, but to bring it up and show he’s safe. To express to the dog that Matt’s scent is one that lies all across this apartment. “It’s okay, Rocky. Everything’s okay.”

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