So now that I’m resolved that nothing more is going on, I grab my duffel and leave. I close the apartment door and head out of the building. The cold air hits my face, and my body shivers with a chill. The farther I get from the apartment, the more I should allow myself to relax.
But with each step I take, a foreboding feeling works its way deeper into my body until it has buried itself all the way in my marrow.
No matter how many times I chant to myself that everything will be fine, I know it won’t.
A storm is brewing.
It’s only a matter of time until it will strike.
* * *
My mind is officially playing tricks on me. If I wondered if I was crazy before now, I’m really starting to doubt my sanity. Every time I leave the apartment, I swear someone is watching me. Around every corner, I see familiar eyes. But as fast as I see them, they disappear, so I keep my fears to myself because I don’t want to be the girl who cried wolf.
It’s starting to weigh on me.
Each night, I fall asleep in his arms but wake to him shaking me.
Like tonight.
“Shh,” he coos. “You’re having a nightmare.”
Nightmares plague me again, ever since the picture disappeared. I know I should say something, but I don’t want to worry him for no reason. Especially since there have been no incidents. And especially since he’s working so hard to figure out information.
One thing I know is that he thinks he finally caught a break. He has it narrowed down to two different boys who match my husband’s description. Both were raised in a boys’ home.
He’s waiting for someone on both staffs to see if they can find pictures to use for confirmation. While he waits, he has opened a few sealed records from the courts.
One of the boys is a year older than I am and lived in the next town over.
His mother was a prostitute and drug addict and eventually abandoned her son.
It’s heartbreaking.
I wonder if it’s Riley.
Without a picture, I won’t know. But hopefully soon.
The file on the other boy is sealed, and it’s been harder to crack. I’m not worried, though.
I trust Jax to find out.
Still hazy from sleep, Jax rocks me in his arms, pressing kisses to my forehead and promising to keep me safe.
With each day that passes, my fears grow. I try during the day to keep them at bay, but at night, I find it impossible.
I must have fallen back asleep because when my eyes flutter open again, it’s morning. Jax is gone for the day, and I’m by myself.
Unfortunately, the next night follows in the same pattern . . . my brain racing as I close my eyes to go to bed. Will tonight be the same, or will the visions of blood on my hands find me?
My body is still shaking. It’s hard for me to regulate my thoughts. I know where I am, but I still feel like I’m running.
Like he’s found me.
Like I’m moments away from dying.
The air is cold, or maybe it’s the sweat that has broken out on my skin. But it makes me shiver.
I feel his arms around me. They pull me tight. Rock me.
He coos quietly.
The words have no meaning now. I’m too far away. Lost in my fear. I thought I was strong enough. I deluded myself to think I was strong enough.
“You are.”
Did I say that out loud? I’m so lost in my mind; I don’t even realize words are slipping past my clenched jaw.
“Shh. It’s okay.”
His hands are on my skin. His fingers trail circles on my back.
“You’re okay. I have you.”
“I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“I know you’ve been having nightmares . . . but—”
I pull back and look at him. Eyes narrowed, he’s deep in thought.
“What?” I ask.
“I think you should talk to someone.”
“What, why? I’m fine.” I push back, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he wraps his hands around my biceps, his gaze searing mine. Worry is written all over his handsome features. Jaw set and a line that pinches between his brows.
“Willow.”
“Jaxson,” I respond, lifting a brow.
“Have you had a moment to let this sink in . . . ?”
“No. Just the few months.” I roll my eyes because now that I’m wide-awake, what he’s saying sounds ridiculous. It’s a nightmare. It’s nothing. I’m fine.
“I don’t think you grieved,” he says, his voice low. It’s low enough that I need to clarify what he said.
“Grieve? Grieve what? My father?” I ask.
“Your husband . . .” His voice trails off, but not before it hits me in the gut.
“Why would I grieve my husband?” I shake my head in confusion. “He’s trying to murder me.”
Jaxson lifts his hand to stop me. “I know that, but what I also know is that before a few months ago, he was your husband. A man you thought you loved. A man you thought loved you. It couldn’t be easy to find out your life is a lie. It’s almost as though the man you loved died, so you still need to grieve. He was still a part of your life. I think you have things you need to discuss. Your fears, sadness . . . I think you need to talk about it.”