“Almost there,” he says as we drive through the darkness. “Just a few more minutes.”
My eyes are facing forward, but I’m not really seeing anything. I have no doubt that once we get to where we’re going, I won’t even remember the trip to get there.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says, but there’s a tinge in his voice that makes me think he doubts his own words.
I don’t believe them because I know better. Things aren’t ever okay when someone loses every single worldly possession. I didn’t think to grab my purse or cell phone. When we heard the crash, all I could think was that I don’t want to face danger naked. I grabbed my clothes, and he quickly replaced them with a blanket.
I wrap it tighter around my shoulders, tears threatening once again as I realize it’s the only thing I have left.
“Do you need help?”
I look over to see Ethan standing in the open door of the SUV. Somehow, we’re parked in front of the Cerberus clubhouse when only a blink of my eyes earlier we were still in a moving vehicle.
“I don’t mind carrying you,” he continues when I blink up at him in confusion.
“I-I can walk,” I assure him, wincing when I climb out of the vehicle and my bare feet hit gravel.
“I’m going to carry you.”
I try to back away when he reaches for me. “I’m not helpless.”
It feels like a lie leaving my mouth.
Ethan cups my face in both of his huge hands, directing me to look up at him. “I don’t want sores on your feet to be one more terrible thing you have to deal with, baby. Let me at least carry you to the porch.”
A sob escapes my throat as I nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to lift me from the ground with ease and hold me like a bride.
He doesn’t put me down when we reach the porch, and he somehow manages to press the code on the door to gain entry without moving me too much.
It’s after midnight, technically Christmas Day. The stories I’ve heard about the clubhouse include wild parties and entertainment until the sun comes up, but when Ethan shoves open the door, there isn’t a soul in sight.
The overhead lights are turned off, twinkling lights from the huge Christmas tree on the far side of the room providing the only illumination.
Ethan doesn’t pause his steps as he carries me through the great room and down a hallway. He even seems reluctant to put me down once we’re closed in what I have to assume is his room, but I press my hand against his chest, a sign I want to be released.
“C-Can I use your phone to call Sylvie?”
He pulls it from his pocket and hands it over.
“Thank you.”
With my back to him, I dial her number from memory.
“H-hello?” she says, sleep clear in her tone when she answers.
“Syl, it’s Faith.”
The rustling of sheets fills the line. “What’s wrong?”
“My house burned down.”
Silence, a long, sad pause fills the line before she speaks again. “Like an electrical fire or—”
“Arson,” I interrupt. “Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the bedroom window.”
I spin around when I hear the bedroom door close, finding that Ethan has left the room. I continue my conversation with Sylvie, staring at the closed door the entire time. I give her what limited information I have, let her know where I am, and tell her not to worry about me.
I cry when I have to explain that I lost everything, my mind choosing to focus on the long list of tasks I’ll have waiting for me tomorrow.
“My passport, driver’s license, computer… it’s all just gone.”
“And all of that is replaceable,” she reminds me, but it’s a small consolation.
By the time I end the call, Ethan still isn’t back, but then I hear his voice in the hallway.
There’s a woman’s voice, but it’s too low to understand what she’s saying.
Ethan’s voice is deeper as he says things like total loss and attempted murder.
My breaths grow shallower, my head spinning as I back away from the door. When the back of my knees hit the bed, I’m unable to keep myself from sitting down.
Sylvie was right. All the things I mentioned are replaceable, and now after hearing Ethan, the least of my concerns.
Someone wants me dead. Someone tried to kill me tonight. Had we been on the bed, where most people are after midnight, there’s a real chance we wouldn’t have survived whatever was thrown through the window.
Someone is out there in the world, angry enough with me that they tried to kill me.
I know this is my reality, but I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it.
The bedroom door opens, and Ethan walks back inside.
“Cara brought you some clothes.”
I stare at the pile of fabric he’s holding out in front of him, but I don’t reach for it. Could this night get any worse?