Cassidy’s first thoughts on waking the next morning were of Mac. She wondered what he was thinking about last night—if he thought anything of it—if his hand was okay—ifhewas okay. He’d done such a decent thing, defending her, then he’d contacted Silas to make sure the old man looked out for her after her shift. She suspected that Mac was still awake and watching when she arrived home, making sure she got home safely.
She wondered what had motivated him. Was it a basic response to a woman being disrespected? He’d told her not to read into it. But until she knew why he did it, how could she not?
She wanted to go over there.
She knew he wouldn’t appreciate it; would accuse her of making something out of nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.
But she could see where he would make assumptions like he had earlier. For him, it might not have been anything; a dude stepping up and doing the right thing. He would argue he’d have done the same thing for Darlene or Jemma or Sarah—women he knew, and women he wouldn’t tolerate being harassed.
But hehadn’tdone it for anyone else.
Stretching out on the cushions, raising her arms over her head, she gazed over at Fred. “This is where Daddy would say I was getting ahead of myself.” Then she gasped.
Elijah hadn’t been her first thought.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Fred barked, drawing her attention to the here and now and food. His.
Unfolding herself, she left the sofa. “Okay, you demanding beast.”
He grinned, side-stepping toward the kitchen as he watched her, making sure she was headed his way.
As she padded after him, giving him an amused look, she tried to comfort herself that she would see Mac at the bar. She had the afternoon shift, but she was hoping he would come in early. It would be neutral territory for them both.
Wasn’t that the weirdest thing ever?
Chapter twenty-six
Cassidy
OPPOSITE OF SAFE
Cassidyreturnedhomefromher shift and poured herself a glass of wine. She contemplated the bottle, noting it was a Pinot Noir, the very type of wine Mac had pegged her for drinking all those weeks ago. She’d raised the glass in silent cheers to his powers of observation or psychic abilities… and drained the glass.
Mac hadn’t shown up, not that she cared, and Darlene had pissed her off tonight by teasing, claiming she looked at the door hopefully every time it opened. She hadn’t. Noteverytime.
The glass became the bottle.
She changed into an unremarkable red butterfly sleeve dress. Despite the fact it was still spring, the evening was unseasonably warm.
The wine and her mood culminated in a rant directed toward Elijah that Fred watched stoically; her ravings were nothing new. This time, however, she added the dramatic gesture of throwing her wedding rings across the room. She criticized her invisible, absent, and silent husband for the millionth time for leaving her. Not shortly after, she fell onto the sofa and passed out.
When she woke hours later, eyes sore from crying and head pounding, she deserved the punishment. The memory of what she’d done to her rings came back to her, and she crawled around on her hands and knees, frantically looking for them. Fred paced her, watching her face, watching her become frantic when she couldn’t find them.
Then it began: the slipping. Her skin began to itch. The pressure on her chest caused her to gasp for air. She wanted to crawl away and disappear.
Bolting to her feet, determined not to let the sensation overtake her, she rushed to the sliding door and flung it open. She’d told Jason the lake was her therapy, and she’d been telling the truth. Now, she hoped she could get to it in time.
She ran through the night, her feet silent in the grass as she raced against the devil, threatening to drag her down into the darkness. Fred kept pace; this wasn’t a new exercise for him. His job would be to keep watch from the dock.
When her feet hit the wooden planks, she grasped the skirt of the dress. It went sailing over her head to flutter down as she launched into the freezing water with a dive. She was beneath the surface before the material settled. Fred walked to the edge of the dock and sat, looking out over the quiet water. Her entry into the lake caused barely a ripple.
Cassidy used her arms and kicked, sluicing farther and deeper into the dark waters. She knew the depths, knew how far she could go, how fast. So she kicked and worked her way underwater until her lungs started to burn, until her body reminded her she needed air.
Breaking the surface, she gasped, taking in the night air, breathing heavily. The moon was bright tonight, unlike the last time she’d sought the lake. Treading in the water, she looked back toward the dock. Fred sat there, looking back at her, her sentry on duty. She turned her gaze to the deep of the lake and started swimming.