Chapter 22 #2
I hadn’t written much more than the beginning yet, but the bulk of the story would be about Ruth’s journey to rescue Helen after everyone in her family had grieved and dismissed the loss as if there were no other action to be taken.
Ruth’s travels would take her five years; meanwhile, Helen would fall for her captor.
I wasn’t sure how the book would end yet.
At times, I wanted Helen to return to her family.
Others, I wanted her to stay where she’d made a home.
In today’s society, readers might think her weak for not attempting escape or letting hatred fuel her actions.
Or maybe they’d see her how I saw her—strong.
It took strength to make the best of a bad situation. It took endurance to survive the hard moments and find happiness at the end of a cruel journey.
Writing had been therapeutic and giving Helen the fears from my own kidnapping had helped me channel those emotions. That, and giving her the love of a man who was misunderstood by most.
Whatever her ending turned out to be, the real victory in this story was not for Helen or Ruth.
But for me.
“When you finish, I want to come and visit,” Olive said. “And I claim the second signed copy because I’m guessing Leo will get the first.”
“You’d be guessing right.”
“What else is new? Is that hot guy still around? Leo’s friend?”
“Emmett?”
“Emmett. That was his name. When I come to see you, I might have to see him too.”
“Um . . . sure.” Why did that bother me?
Olive was my friend, but a protective urge for Emmett came out of nowhere.
He was my friend too and I didn’t like the loneliness in his eyes.
It was the same loneliness I’d seen in Leo a year ago.
Emmett was the only one of our group not in love.
Did that bother him? If it did, I doubted he’d ever admit it.
“Well, I’d better let you go,” she said. “It was great catching up.”
“You too. Study hard.”
She groaned. “It is hard, but I love it.”
We said our goodbyes and when I set the phone down, I stared at it for a long minute.
Would I talk to her again?
The visit she’d mentioned probably wouldn’t happen. And if that had been the last phone call, I’d miss Olive but wouldn’t be heartbroken. Our lives had headed in opposite directions.
She was living her next chapter.
This was mine.
Leo had texted twice while I’d been talking to her and I’d given him a quick reply each time. My writing day had been a bust, and in an hour, Mom and Dad would be here to drop off Seraphina.
I stood from my desk and walked to the window just as a familiar rumble filled the street. A smile tugged at my lips as I walked to the front door, disengaging the alarm and flipping the deadbolt.
Leo pulled into the driveway, looking as handsome as ever and sexy as hell on that bike. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey.” I smiled, going out to meet him in the sunshine. “You’re home early.”
“It’s too nice to be inside. Emmett and I bugged out of work early. Want to go for a ride with us?”
“Yes.” We hadn’t been on a ride since our night at the bar. I stood on my toes, letting him brush his mouth to mine. “Seraphina is at Mom and Dad’s, so we’ve got about an hour before they’re bringing her back.”
“Perfect.” He ran his hands up the bare skin of my arms. “Let me get you a helmet from the garage.”
“We didn’t wear a helmet when we went to the bar.”
“We’re going to go a lot faster today.”
“Oh. You don’t wear one?” I’d gladly wear the helmet, but why didn’t he?
“Your brain is a lot more important to protect than mine.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He chuckled. “Fine. I’ll wear one. Let me go change my shirt.”
“What’s wrong with your shirt?”
He raised his arm, revealing a gaping hole in the armpit. “This one died today.”
“Okay.” I giggled. “I’ll attempt to find the helmets.”
“Right behind you.” He kissed my forehead and smacked me on the ass as I went one direction while he went inside the house.
The garage was a bit of a mystery. I’d only been inside once and that had been just last week with Leo. He’d needed the owner’s manual for his truck, which was currently at the garage, scratched and dented, awaiting new parts from the factory.
Painted the same navy blue as the house, the garage had a wide, wooden door, unlike most of the white garage doors in the neighborhood. It had been stained to match the posts and accents on the house. A bird’s nest was tucked into the elbow of the small gable ornament in the pitch of the eaves.
The inside of the garage was exactly as I’d expected, dark and full of tools. It smelled of oil and metal and paint. The helmets were probably on one of the sturdy workbenches he’d built along the windowless walls.
I strode across the lawn with electricity in my step. A ride on a hot summer afternoon, just Leo and me, sounded amazing. There was a keypad on the garage door and I realized as I was halfway there that I couldn’t remember the code.
Seven-five-three-two. Or was it seven-five-two-three?
I spun around and jogged to the house, where the remote opener was hanging from the key holder in the entryway. With it in hand, I retraced my path, stepping over my newly planted flower bed, and pressed the single button on the garage door opener.
A gust of wind slammed into my face.
A loud boom pierced my ears.
The air picked me up, my toes inches above the grass, and threw me backward so fast, I didn’t have time to blink or brace for impact with the ground. I hit hard, my lungs instantly empty. The smell of fire singed my nose. The sting of wood splinters jabbed into my skin.
My ears were ringing, my head spinning and my throat burned.
The garage. The wind had come from the garage.
I looked up, fighting the haze and fog clouding my mind.
Where the garage should have stood was nothing but a ball of fire.
“Not wind,” I murmured before blackness crept at the corners of my consciousness.
Not wind. The garage had exploded.