Chapter 2
Tessa
Present Day. South Carolina.
Pain radiates through my right leg, spreading fire through my veins, but I keep moving. Each step is agony, but if I stop, I’m not sure I’ll be able to start moving again. With dawn coming soon, I have to make sure I’m out of sight.
My foot catches on something and I cry out as I fall forward, my hands scraping against the pavement. Tears burn in my eyes and I crawl into the nearest alley and out of view. With a building at my back, and one a couple yards to my front, I’m completely shielded in the darkness.
I whimper, hands trembling as I check the bandage on my thigh. It’s saturated with blood. Given what I know about injuries, which is all self-taught, I don’t have long before the blood loss becomes a major issue. Truthfully, I’m not even sure how I’m still alive as it is.
Keep moving.
The two words are deafening in my mind, so I use the building at my back to push myself up to standing. Doing what I can to keep weight off of my injured leg, I take one deep breath before pushing forward.
Sweat beads on my skin despite the chill in the air.
The small-town street is silent tonight, aside from the chirping of bugs in the air, but every single noise has my already-racing heart rate spiking.
Did he follow me?
Can he hear my hammering heart?
Can he sense my fear?
No. This is a man. Not a monster from a horror film. The sobering reminder does little to ease my terror given the worst monsters I’ve ever known have been little more than men.
As I draw in ragged breaths, I study every shadow, waiting for a hooded figure to emerge and finish me off. Wouldn’t that be ironic? I fled this place to save my life, only to lose it here eighteen years later.
Different man. Same outcome.
With that sobering thought, I continue forward, crossing the street in the shadow between the streetlamps.
To my left, ocean waves crash against the shoreline. The scent of saltwater clings to the air around me. It should be welcoming. Familiar. But all it does is send shards of pain through my still broken heart.
Focus. I need supplies. Not that I’ll know what to do with them. Breaks, bruises, and cuts? Those, I can handle.
But a stab wound? This is a first—even for me.
I guess it’s a good thing I know how to sew. Because that may be my only hope here. So long as I can remain conscious through the pain.
I continue limping forward, looking left and right for any sign that someone is out and about. In this small town, someone is bound to recognize me. It’s only a matter of time. My only chance is getting out of sight before the sun comes up. Then I can hide until dark.
If I make it that long.
Tomorrow night, I’ll make my way to that broken down trailer on the other side of town. That place is practically condemned and sitting vacant since my dad died two years ago. Unless the state’s taken control of it in my absence.
Breathe, Tessa. One problem at a time.
With any luck, my old first-aid supplies will still be hidden beneath the loose baseboard in my room. The very idea of stepping foot back in that place makes my skin crawl and my stomach churn, but there really isn’t much of a choice.
Going to a doctor is out of the question. They’ll have to report the injury and the last thing I need is anyone in this town knowing I’m back. Especially since I have no idea who attacked me or if they’re still looking to finish the job.
What if they’re monitoring police scanners?
Time to heal.
Time to think.
That’s what I need.
Since it’s nearly two in the morning, I have about three hours before the bakery opens and people start moving around.
Three hours to make my escape or find a place to hide.
Sweat continues to slick my skin, matting my hair, as the pain becomes nearly unbearable. My vision wavers and I reach out to steady myself against a light pole.
I’m not going to make it far. I may not know much about stab wounds, but I know the amount of blood saturating my leg is hitting dangerous levels. And if I pass out here—I shudder. I can’t think about what will happen if I pass out on the street.
Get it together, Tessa. I can do this. I was in worse shape when I left this place nearly two decades ago.
Most places in this tiny town never had a need for security cameras, but there’s no telling what’s changed in the last eighteen years. Because that’s exactly how long it’s been since I walked the streets of Stormwatch Landing, South Carolina.
When I’d come for my dad’s funeral two years ago, I steered clear of town and hid in the trees of the cemetery so no one would notice me. I’d been successful then, so here’s hoping that luck will carry forward.
The paved sidewalk running between the buildings on Main Street and the coastline hasn’t changed much, aside from some fresh plants placed strategically on either side of the walkway.
A few new benches here and there, but aside from that, everything is pretty close to the same. As soon as I can, I step off onto the grass so I hopefully don’t leave a blood trail on the pavement. In this small town that would be front page fodder.
My leg begins to throb even worse as the adrenaline wanes.
I stumble forward and catch myself on the back of a bench.
Supplies.
I need supplies.
Something to stop the bleeding and possibly some thread and a needle, or even some glue to close it up. But where?
Everywhere is closed and the last thing I need is to get arrested for breaking and entering. I can see the headlines now: LOCAL DRUNK’S RUNAWAY brIDE DAUGHTER RETURNS AS A THIEF.
I groan.
Why did it seem like such a good idea to come back?
Because I had nowhere else to go.
As I’m stepping off Main Street and coming up on the marina, a familiar boat catches my eye. Its sails are down, and the green striping along the side is slightly faded—but unmistakable.
As is the faded The Tessa painted on the bow of the ship.
My heart leaps at the sight of my name. I would have thought he’d have painted over it. Renamed it something else.
Something better.
Don’t think on it too much, he probably just got busy. Shoving the past back where it belongs, I change course and head straight for the marina.
Supplies.
A cautious planner, he always had a first aid kit on board. Here’s hoping that, like the town, that didn’t change. I can find the supplies, tend to my leg, then slip out before anyone ever notices that I crawled back to this place.
With renewed strength thanks to my plan, I continue forward until I hit the dock. My shoes thud against the boards as I limp my way toward the boat, all the while glancing behind me to make sure I’m not being followed.
As soon as I climb aboard, I head straight for the door that will lead me into the cabin. I know this place like the back of my hand because nearly every good memory I have of this town happened here. On this boat. With him.
I pull open the door and his scent hits me. Salt and teak. Home. Because it smells like him. Tears blur my vision for reasons other than the pain now, and emotion sears the inside of my throat.
There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I haven’t thought of him.
My vision wavers again, a sobering reminder that if I don’t stop focusing on the past, I won’t have a present, so I fumble around for a light switch I know I can’t use for long without drawing attention.
But trying to find supplies in the dark, on a boat I haven’t been on in nearly two decades, seems improbable.
Supplies. Maybe a little rest. Then I’ll be gone before he knows I was here. Maybe the holding tank even has water in it so I can take a quick hot shower.
Man, wouldn’t that be lucky.
I continue toward the right, running my hands over the walls.
But when the cool steel of a gun barrel presses against the back of my head, I freeze in place, dread coiling in my stomach like a deadly snake ready to strike.
No way. There is no way they found me here. Not this fast.
Light floods the room when a lamp is flipped on. I blink rapidly as my vision adjusts to the assault.
“Tessa?”
My heart flutters at the recognition even as my stomach plummets to the floor. No. Of all the people to run into, why did it have to be him?
Right as I turn toward him, the floor gives way and the room tilts. Or, maybe it just feels that way, because everything goes dark.
“Stay with me, please!” that familiar voice orders.
If only I could tell him that I never wanted to leave in the first place.
A thin line of sunlight draws me out of sleep, but the peaceful feeling ends there. As soon as I’ve crawled out of the dark nightmares, pain assaults me. There’s not a single inch of my body that doesn’t ache, and my left leg might as well be on fire.
The steady beeping of machines claims my focus next, and the all-too familiar sound brings a wave of nausea over me. No. No. Did he find me? Will he find me? My heart begins to pound, but I keep my eyes closed tightly.
Like someone trying to avoid a bear attack, I play dead—or rather, unconscious.
“Tessa, you’re safe.” The deep voice is comforting and familiar, but it brings an onslaught of emotions even more powerful than the fear.
Zane.
My eyes flutter open and I look up at him. He’s standing over me in faded jeans, a worn sweatshirt with the word NAVY across the front, and a tattered South Carolina baseball cap pulled low over his sun-kissed hair.
Oh, Zane. His face is glorious torment and sweet rescue all at once.
He’s here.
Where is here?
“Hey, there, sweetheart! You’re awake!” A woman in blue scrubs with kittens all over them comes breezing over toward the bedside. “How are you feeling?” Her expression grows more worried the longer it takes me to respond.
“Throat dry,” I choke out.
“I’ll get water.” Zane turns to leave and I want to beg him to stay. The moment he’s out of sight, my heart begins to pound again.
What if he doesn’t come back?
What if he does?
“Easy, sweetie. Zane’s not going anywhere.” She smiles softly. “Do you remember me?” She runs her hand over my forehead in a way that brings suppressed memories to the surface with the force of a tidal wave.
Her black hair is threaded with silver, but her soft brown eyes still hold the same kindness as the woman who spent far too many years helping me with broken bones or injuries that required more than a Band-Aid.
“I do. Hi, Nurse Rose.”
She smiles kindly, then finishes checking my vitals. “Hi, sweetie. Listen, we have you checked in under a different name, okay? Zane wasn’t too sure what was going on, so he convinced Leopold to—”
“Leopold? As in Officer Alan Leopold?” No. This is bad. I try to sit up, but whatever pain medicine they gave me has my vision swimming.
“Honey, relax. You’re safe here.”
“No. I can’t—the cops. If they’re looking for me, they’ll find out—”
“Who will find out?” Rose asks, her brow furrowing.
Zane breezes in and I freeze in my bed. He sets a plastic cup on the bedside tray, then shoves both hands into his pockets.
“I’m going to go update your chart,” Rose says. She squeezes my arm gently. “You’re safe here, Tessa. You always have been.” With one final smile, she turns and leaves the room, cracking the door behind her.
“Are you feeling okay?” Zane asks.
“I need to leave.”
His jaw tightens. “You can’t go yet. You haven’t been released yet.”
Our gazes hold, his green eyes having been burned into my memory since the moment I first saw him. I know them better than I know my own. And as usual, his expression nearly strips away every wall I’ve built over the last eighteen years.
I never thought I’d see him again.
I never dared to even hope to see him again.
But here I am, sitting here in a hospital gown, mere feet away from the only man I’ve ever loved.