"Travis looked ready to commit murder," she grins, wiggling her brows.
"Travis has no claim on me," I mutter, though something twists in my stomach. "Never has, never will. Whatever protective act he has going on, it’s only to make himself feel better.”
She nods. “Yeah, well, he was always overprotective.”
I yawn. “God, my head is going to hurt tomorrow.”
She laughs. “Mine too. I’m going to shower and sleep.”
We do just that, showering, drinking some water, and crawling into my bed before drifting off.
Hours later I wake, desperate for the bathroom, my head pounding. I tiptoe down the hall and just as I reach the bathroom, the door opens and I slam right into Travis. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I’m immediately engulfed in his thick, muscled body and warm heat. He doesn’t move, not for a few seconds, and then he steps back just enough that I am still trapped between his presence and the wall.
It’s dead silent.
Dead.
I don’t know what to say. I can’t even think.
My breath hitches and I am so aware of him that I can’t focus on anything else. He leans down, his breath against my ear as he murmurs, "If you think I didn't miss you every day I was gone, you're wrong. You were the only thing that kept me sane, Mischief.”
Then he steps back and disappears into the spare room, leaving me standing alone, my anger tangled with a longing I thought I'd buried years ago.
3
I WAKE BEFORE DAWN, my head pounding. The room is still thick with shadows, the curtains drawn against the new day, but I force myself upright and glance at Reagan curled on the mattress, the entire blanket covering her. She’s oblivious to the hangover beating through my temples, and for a moment I envy her. I slip out of bed and pad downstairs, each step a jolt of nausea.
In the kitchen, Chief stands over the stove, flipping bacon, while Travis stirs something steaming in a saucepan. The air smells of sizzling grease and burnt coffee grounds—comforting scents, normally. I scrunch my nose and press my palms into the counter. “Ugh,” I murmur.
They turn in unison, grins already forming. “Not hungry?” Chief asks, his voice rough with amusement. “Thought you were an adult capable of handling things, guess alcohol wasn’t in the mix?”
I shoot him a glare. “Don’t be smart with me, old man. I might just murder you.”
He grins, winking at me before turning back to what he was doing.
Travis looks to me, his face relaxed and easy, as if last night simply did not happen. “You look like hell.”
“I’ll live,” I mutter. “I’m going to walk on the beach, I need fresh air.”
He nods but doesn’t turn. I avoid Travis’ stare and slip into the laundry room to change. Breath by breath, I lace up my shoes, pull on leggings and a long-sleeved top, steel myselfagainst the throbbing in my head. Then I’m out the door, the brisk morning air hitting my face like a cold splash.
My legs find their rhythm as I walk down the quiet street. The sky is pale on the horizon, the world still hushed. With each stride, I feel the fog of last night’s drinking begin to lift, replaced by the steady thump of heart and muscles waking up. I taste freedom in the air—until it all goes wrong.
It’s strange how life can change so incredibly quickly.
It’s just a morning walk, after all.
I’m halfway past the old brick church, getting ready to cross the road to the beach, when an arm curls around my waist and jerks me off balance. A rough hand clamps over my mouth, another wraps cold fingers around my neck. My feet scramble against the pavement, but whoever has me is impossibly strong, pressing me into a slim alleyway between buildings. Panic surges hot and jagged.
“Ah, the infamous Mischief,” the voice rasps near my ear. “It’s about time we met.”
I thrash, trying to twist free, but he holds me like I’m weightless. He pulls his hand from my mouth and breathes in—his stubble grazing my cheek—and my stomach lurches. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet. I want you to tell your dear old daddy—”
“Who are you?” I hiss, cutting him off.
He presses closer, and I taste metal on his breath. “Just tell Chief that he couldn’t hide from me forever. This is a warning—next time won’t be so nice. Tell him I’ll be seeing him soon...”
He tightens his grip around my throat until the world blurs, and I fight for each ragged inhale. “I...won’t...”