I’m on a dirt road that leads into the city. I used to come here with Eve. We would study together, then meet our friends for drinks at a little nearby pub, when I could get away from my overprotective cousins. On more than one occasion, Nolan lost his mind when he knew I was going here.
But still, I came. I was raised in the Clan. Eve was in love with a Clan brother. No one understood what it was like, and I needed to commiserate with her. I needed someone who would understand.
My phone buzzes with a text, but I don’t look because I’m driving.
It buzzes again.
And again.
And again.
Concerned, I pull over. I’m on the side of the road, right by a nearby creek. It’s midday, but the sky begins to darken, thick clouds obscuring the sun. I look up at the sky and realize it’s going to rain.
I lift my phone to read the texts.
One from Fiona.
Lachlan noticed you left, he told Keenan.
Great. Well, what are they going to do, ground me? I’m a grown woman already.
But there are three more. I go to my home screen.
Sir.
I can’t believe I’m playing this game.
You wearing any knickers at work?
Aye, I tell him teasingly. It’s against hospital policy if I don’t.
Really?
I giggle.
No.
Sir: Looking for another punishment already, are you? But I can almost hear the teasing tone of his voice.
Meet me for dinner tonight?
I nod, then realize he can’t see my nod and shake my head at myself.
When I’m out of work, yes. What time?
Sir: what time are you out?I cringe. I hate lying to him. I go to type a response, to make up some kind of fabricated answer.7:00.I shove my phone into my bag beside the journal and open the car door. I want to go for a little walk. I want to remember our little haunts. The pub with the salty pretzels, the cobblestone streets. Rundown, but quaint, and reminiscent of so many happy evenings here.
Thunder rolls overhead and I look up, as if I’m just noticing now it’s going to rain.
I should maybe go back to the car.
Maybe it’s because I want to feel the rain.
Maybe it’s because I want so badly to remember.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want to do what I should.
But I don’t go back. I plow on knowing full well, the heavens are going to open at any minute, and when I return home, I’m going to have to explain not only why I’m not at work, but why I didn’t take the guard with me, and why I’m absolutely drenched to the bone.
A brisk wind kicks up as I turn the corner and nearly slam straight into a man.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” I say. But it doesn’t take long to realize this was the wrong man to slam into. He’s about my height but scrawnier. Looks like he hasn’t showered in days. The arsehole actually has the nerve to push me. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”
“I said I’m sorry,” I say. I shove his hand off me and do a mental tally of what’s in my bag that I could use as a weapon. A pen to jab his eyes? The diary, that I could whack over his head? Lame.
Maybe the guard wasn’t such a bad idea.
The heavens open as he stumbles, fat, cold droplets falling hard and fast, blinding me. It doesn’t deter him, though. After stumbling from my shove, he launches himself at me. I barely have time to scream let alone stop him. I fall to the ground, my knees scraping on the wet, hard concrete.
He’s cursing and growling like a rabid dog, lifts his hand back to strike me, and I lift my hands to deflect the blow. But it doesn’t come.
There’s a howl of rage, and I look up to see a large, hooded figure pulling the man off of me. They kick, punch, and fight each other like angry dogs, snarling and vicious. I scramble backward out of the fray, when the hood falls off the man who came to rescue me. I recognize his glasses.
Carson.
I can’t think of why he came here, how he got here, what he’s going to do next. I don’t know how he’s here or how he found me, or more to the question, how he managed to find me at the precise time I needed him.
All I can think about is whether or not he’ll be killed because of me.
Cold torrents of rain fall hard as they fight. I’ve seen the men of the Clan fight, but in staged practice — not for real. I reckon I’ve been watching them since they were teens at St. Albert’s just learning how to fight. And every damn time, it’s a thing of beauty. The effortless way they duck blows. The seamless way they bob and weave. The powerful punches and kicks they throw, pure testosterone-infused energy. And Carson’s the most beautiful of all. He’s light on his feet but tenacious.