Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
It was one thing to learn that he accessed my music app remotely, but these flowers tell me that he knows exactly where I am.
My hands shake uncontrollably, my breathing jagged and nearly impossible to pull in enough to fill my lungs. Dizziness threatens to take me to the ground, but a shadow fills my vision, blocking my view of the woman holding the flowers.
"Nyx?" I manage, looking into his dark eyes.
How strange is it to say his name for the very first time when I just learned it moments ago?
It feels weird on my tongue, the letters as unfamiliar as my new name, but I cling to it in a way that should scare me. But nothing scares me more than the knowledge that after all these years of running, Graham has actually caught up with me.
"You have to tell me what's wrong," he says, his tone softer than the rageful look in his eyes.
He doesn't touch me, doesn't grab my shoulders to steady me, but his standing right in front of me goes a long way in calming me down.
I open my mouth in an attempt to explain, but my vision throbs in and out with the threat of another panic attack. I know this one will be just as bad, if not worse, than the one the other day.
"Deep breath in," he says. "Slow breath out."
His own breathing is purposeful, rhythmic, but I shake my head, unable to follow his lead as I did before.
The song was one thing, the explanation coming hours later enough to calm me down, but this goes so much further beyond a song.
Why now?
Why here?
I've always lived with the threat of him coming after me, but there were always parts of me in the back of my mind that convinced me that he had never actually tried to make contact. Years and years of playing it safe, of taking off and moving just to keep him away, had always worked.
Why now, in the one place where I could honestly let myself consider putting down roots, possibly having some sort of life other than always looking over my shoulder?
Has he always had someone watching me?
Is Nyx the trigger?
Have there been clues before that I missed?
I shake my head.
No. I wouldn't have missed anything. I'm too aware of my surroundings, too vigilant not to notice something out of place.
My hands tremble as I reach for him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
"I knew," I manage. "I always knew he would find me."
My vision continues to swim, but then I feel it. The slightest touch, warm fingers against my wrist.
I look down, seeing a hand more than twice the size of mine, yet his fingers are gentle against my skin.
It feels so unfamiliar, but also somehow exactly what I need for my breaths to even out enough that I don't feel like I'm going to topple over with the slightest breeze.
"That's it," he whispers. "Just breathe. I've got you."
My wrist is his only contact on my person, but it also somehow feels like an embrace, a shelter from all the storms in my life, and protection from anything that would wish to harm me.
I pull my eyes from where he's touching me and lift my gaze up to his.
Concern, something I could easily let myself believe has more to do with me and less with the job he has been given, fills his eyes as they move back and forth between mine.
"Feeling a little better?" he asks.
I shake my head, the answer as honest as it gets.
"Understandable, but can you explain, so we can find a solution?"
"The flowers," I whisper. "They're my flowers."
"They don't have a recipient or a sender," he says. "We're working to find out who they were meant for and who they were from."
"They're a replica of my wedding flowers," I clarify. "I have to go. I can't stay here."
"I'll get you home," he says.
I shake my head. He doesn't understand. I have no home. Home is a place where you feel safe. Somewhere you can go and take a breath, free from worry and pain.
I haven't had a home for a long time.
I know he's talking about my apartment, but that place isn't safe either.
Nowhere is safe.
It never has been.
Leaving doesn't mean taking time away from Juniper House. Leaving means getting in my car and heading as far away from New Mexico as I can before I have to stop for gas.
He shifts, releasing my wrist and standing beside me, the warmth of his hand in the middle of my back as he guides me away from the front door.
I don't know why I let him lead me to one of the black SUVs rather than insisting I get in my car, but if I'm being honest with myself, I know driving right now wouldn't be a good idea.