The Boy I Grew Up With

I pulled out my phone to call for help, but when I did, they saw the screen flash.

“Hey! There!” one shouted, and they came crashing through the woods toward me.

I clicked it off.

It was still on silent so it wouldn’t even buzz. I hated, hated, hated doing it, but I turned it over so if any light flashed it would be toward my leg, and I shoved it into my pocket. I was plunged back into darkness.

They stopped about ten feet from where I was, but I could hear them.

Too close. Way too close.

I must’ve dozed off because when they walked right underneath me, it woke me up.

I jerked in place, then thanked the gods that my anchor had stayed in place. Some bark scraped free, and it fell to the ground. It sounded deafening to me, but I couldn’t hear it when it landed. The ground was soft, no rocks down there.

I still held my breath, praying for a solid five minutes that they hadn’t heard.

When they didn’t backtrack, I felt tears of relief on my face.

How was I in this situation once again?

Channing.

This was why we should break up.

This was why we should go our separate ways.

I had a life. I had loved ones to worry about and keep safe. But a whole new slew of curse words flashed in my head, because no matter how many times I told myself to go, I knew I wouldn’t. I physically wouldn’t be able to walk away from him.

I had a magnetic attraction to him; it always led me back to him, and while I knew I should be fucking furious, I wasn’t.

Face it, Heather.

I was talking to myself. I’d resorted to that, but I sank even lower because I answered.

Yes, yes. I know. It’s not Channing. It’s me. I’m attracted to the crazy dysfunctional. That’s my family, my friends, and my other half. It’s me.

I was the problem.

And I didn’t think I could change. I didn’t think I even wanted to change.

I tried to imagine it.

Normal would’ve meant moving to a house away from Manny’s. I’d need more quiet. Living so close just meant I basically lived at Manny’s. The chaos from it, the adrenaline, the excitement was intoxicating. It always bled over to the house, so I’d have to move. Even at that thought, I winced.

I would need a plain home, in a plain neighborhood where people cared about the length of their grass. Where they cared if a fence was chain-link or painted brown versus white, if it was decorative or for privacy, if it was six feet high or four feet high. The neighbors would want to meet me. They’d care about the HOA fees. There’d be an enforced quiet rule in the neighborhood. No revving motorcycle engines after midnight, or even ten. Certainly no gunshots—what losers.

I shuddered. Was it from the cold or the head wound? Who knew? Me. It was the thought of living a normal, plain life.

I couldn’t do it.

There’d been no guy I wanted as much as I wanted Channing. I thirsted for him. I didn’t want to wake up next to anyone else every morning. No guy could live up to Channing.

I was in. I was all in.

I mean, I already knew I was. I’d had the realization earlier, but being in a gunfight and then being kidnapped called for some second thoughts. So I’d just run back over it all, while tied up in a tree and bleeding from the head.

That was it. I was in an altered state. I didn’t know what I was thinking because I should not be okay with this.

“Heather?”

I almost growled. That was Richter. They’d called in reinforcements. He wasn’t far off, maybe thirty yards or so. I heard a dog barking too.

For the love of God. They’d gotten dogs.

“Heather! Listen to me. I know you’re still here.”

No, he doesn’t. He has no idea where I am.

“Listen.” Crunch. He was walking toward me. “My men didn’t hurt you. They tried to restrain you, but they didn’t hurt you. I know that because that was my order. You weren’t to be harmed, and I still want to follow that. I don’t want you hurt, but Heather…” His voice rose. “If you stay out here, I can’t guarantee that won’t happen. It’s a long way from here to town.”

He was almost to my tree. It looked like the early morning light was starting to stretch over the horizon. There were a few breaks from the trees, enough to let some light in eventually, but it was still dark.

How much time had passed?

My head spun.

I wasn’t sure.

I could make him out, the shape of his head.

He was almost beneath me.

He cupped a hand by his mouth and yelled, “My men showed me the bloody rock. You hit your head, Heather. There was a lot of blood. Wherever you are, I know you’re hurting.”

Goddamn, shut up, you fucking Peter.

I was talking to him in my head, and I knew I was probably forming the words with my mouth. I should’ve stopped myself, in case I accidentally let the words slip out, but I couldn’t. I was barely holding on.

I eyed the tree underneath me and added, Literally.

He was right beneath me now. He paused at the base of the trunk and scanned the area.

They thought I was still on the ground.

Fuck.

The head wound. That’s why.

They didn’t think I was stupid enough to climb a tree.

I almost snorted. Little did they know.

I started laughing, silently, jostling myself.

Shit. Maybe they were right.

I began sliding to the right, but the tied jacket kept me in place. I didn’t dare move, not an inch. Bark would fall down and land on his head.

Why does the bad guy always have to be right on top of the heroine? Why? Or in this case, right below?

Ooooh! OH! Oh fuck.

I started to slip farther to the right.

If I fell, I was done—cracked neck and everything.

Richter needed to move, and on a seismic level.

Move, dumbass!

I began inching again. More. More. Another inch.

Holy shit.

I was too close to the edge. If I kept going, I’d fall.

I was nearing a precipice, pardon the pun. Either fall and die or move and risk being found?

I had to move.

If I waited any longer, I wouldn’t be able to make a choice.

I did it. I jerked back to the left, made sure my body was resting heavily on the branch, and held my breath.

Bark fell, scraping down, and I froze. I could see a little bit better, and as I watched, the bark moved right toward his head. This is the time in the movies where the bad guy moves and the bark falls within inches of his head.

This wasn’t the movies.

The bark landed smack on his head, and he looked up, a hand raised to brush whatever had fallen off him. As he did, his eyes moved up…and up…and up—until they landed right on me.

They almost bulged out of his head.

“Get down from there!” he yelled, the veins on his neck sticking out. “Holy shit.”

I was pretty sure the blood drained from his face, but I wasn’t completely certain. He jerked back a few steps to get a better view.

“How did you get up there? You have a death wish?!”

When he put it like that…

The game was up. I could officially move again, so I grabbed my phone from my pocket.

“SHE’S OVER HERE!”

He was yelling as I checked for a cell signal, and bam! I had one. I clicked through to my GPS and hit Find My Location.

The guys were yelling, scrambling toward us. A dog barked wildly. As they got to the base of my tree, I saw it was an Italian greyhound.

“Way to bring out the bloodhounds, huh?” I kept talking as I screen-shot my location and sent it to Channing. I waited a second, rethought, and sent it to Rebecca too. Who knew when having a personal stalker would come in handy? ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">