22. Karolina
KAROLINA
Cold, dirty water floods my mouth. I try to force it back out, but I’ve wasted all my oxygen on a scream.
I kick and flail, searching for the surface.
Cool air kisses my hand, and I try to follow it. I manage to surface just long enough to gasp once before the current pulls me back under.
The river is dark and impenetrable as I tumble though it.
I can’t see.
I can’t breathe.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to drown.
Just like my parents.
My lungs seize, a horrific sensation I recognize all too well.
But this time, my head isn’t forcibly submerged in the ice-filled sink. My foster mom’s fingernails aren’t digging into the back of my skull.
There will be no reprieve once she’s satisfied that I’ve learned my lesson.
I’m not that weak little girl anymore, but the river is far stronger than I am.
There’s only the murky water and my impending death.
I claw at the water as though I can rip it away before it trickles into my lungs.
Something hard hits my chest, knocking the precious little air I have left from me.
I can’t open my mouth again. I’m not ready to surrender yet.
But my insides are burning.
My vision goes darker than the river.
I’m not sinking anymore. I’m floating away…
“Look at me,” Rand begs raggedly. “Open your eyes.”
He pounds my chest, and I vomit dirty water.
I roll onto my side, clutching at the damp pavement as I gasp in precious oxygen.
He smooths my wet hair back from my brow.
I blink hard, and the world comes into sharp focus around me.
We’re both soaked, and we’re lying on the river path. Rand goes limp beside me, as though all of his powerful muscles have given out.
I struggle to push myself upright.
“Are you okay?” It’s little more than a pained rasp.
He gathers me up in his arms and holds me to his chest.
“You’re alive,” he murmurs. “You’re alive.”
“What happened?” I croak.
“You fell into the river,” he says shakily. “Someone pushed you.”
I shudder and meet his panicked gaze.
“And you saved me?”
He manages a jerky nod.
“Thank you,” I sigh, all the remaining strength draining out of me.
My worst fear was just realized. I almost drowned.
My entire body starts to shake. Even my teeth are chattering.
He keeps me cradled to his chest as he gets to his feet. “I’ve got you,” he promises. “I’m taking you home.”
I consider protesting that I can walk, but that would be a lie. I’m completely shattered, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from spiraling into childlike sobs.
The memory of Shirley’s fingernails in my skull is so close to the surface.
And the nauseating image of my parents’ bloated bodies. I never actually saw them in death, but I spent too many morbid hours online poring over what happens to drowning victims in the summer after I lost them.
I’m dimly aware that Rand and I get some odd looks as he carries me through town, but his expression is fierce enough that no one stops to question us.
It seems there weren’t any witnesses on the riverside path when I was pushed in; no one called the police.
If Rand hadn’t been there to rescue me, I’d be dead.
I shudder.
I can’t reconcile the stalker who sent me the possessive messages with the one who wrote that disturbing letter. I never thought he’d actually try to kill me.
But I’ve been in more danger than I realized.
I cling to Rand, past caring about appearing weak.
We stop at a Georgian townhouse, and he unlocks the door.
“I thought you were taking me home?” I ask.
“This is my place,” he explains.
We enter the house, both of us dripping dirty river water onto the colorful tiles in the entry hall.
“We need to get cleaned up,” he says. “I have two bathrooms, so we can both shower.”
I hold him tighter on instinct. I don’t want to be parted from him, not even for a second.
I force myself to breathe. My throat burns slightly, but I manage the familiar calming pattern.
By the time we reach the top of the stairs and enter a large bedroom, my pulse has slowed to a semblance of a normal rhythm.
Rand carries me into the ensuite bathroom and sets me down on my sodden sneakers, keeping his hands braced at my waist to steady me.
“I have clothes you can wear while I wash yours,” he says. “I’ll put them on the bed. Call for me when you’re ready.”
My fingers flex into his arms. “Rand…”
He presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be just down the hall. You need to get warmed up.”
I nod reluctantly. I’m cold down to my bones, and I stink. My mouth feels foul.
“There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink,” he says, reading my disgust at my current state.
“I’ll be alright,” I promise weakly. “You need to get warmed up too.”
He ghosts another kiss over my forehead and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
I lock my knees to prevent them from folding.
I won’t allow myself to fall to pieces.
Instead, I trudge to the sink and find the toothbrush. I’ll feel more human once I wash the river off me.
Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and dressed in Rand’s massive t-shirt. I decided against the sweatpants he left out for me—trying to make them fit would be comical.
I don’t feel like laughing.
The shirt is big enough to cover me almost down to my knees.
He promised to wash my clothes, so at least I’ll have my sports top and running shorts back once the cycle ends.
“Rand?” I call out. “I’m decent.”
Well, that’s not exactly true. I’m not wearing a bra or underwear, but I’m not willing to hide away until my clothes are fully dry.
I need to be with the man who saved my life.
I need him to hold me.
It goes against all of my independent sensibilities, but the walls I’ve built to keep everyone else out have crumbled when it comes to him.
He appears at the threshold to the bedroom. His hair is darker when it’s wet, curling softly around his shoulders.
He’s imposing as ever in his black athletic gear—similar to the long-sleeved shirt and sweats he wore on our run.
His eyes flick over me, as though assessing me for injuries.
Judging by the way his nostrils flare, he’s noted that I haven’t put on the sweatpants, and I’m not wearing a bra.
I don’t exactly have a choice in my attire right now, and he’s not the kind of guy to make a skeevy comment about it.
“I’m sorry I failed you,” he says, voice raw from the exertion of fighting the current to get to me.
I cross the distance between us and trail my fingers over his tight jaw. “You didn’t fail me. You saved my life.”
He shudders, but he turns his face into my hand so he can kiss my palm.
His gaze is sharp enough to cut into me. “I didn’t stop him this time, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
My heart squeezes. He ended up in the river because of me. We both could’ve drowned.
“What if I can’t keep you safe?” I ask, strained.
His fingers trail through my hair in a soothing rhythm. “It’s not your job to protect me.”
I shake my head. “Everyone I get close to gets hurt.”
No, that’s not right. It’s so much worse than that.
“They end up dead,” I whisper.
His thumb hooks beneath my jaw, so I have no choice but to look up at him.
“I’m not dead,” he reassures me. “I’m right here.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t understand.
His brow furrows. “If this is about your stalker killing Rich, I already told you it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
I try to shake my head again, but he holds me immobile.
“It’s not Rich. Well, not only him. He’s not the only one who’s died because of me.”
Rand goes utterly still.
“My parents,” I admit shakily. “I caused their deaths.”
His features harden to a stern mask. “You were a child. How could you possibly be at fault?”
I force the confession through my constricted throat. “I was at a sleepover. There was a storm, and I got scared. I called them and begged them to pick me up in the middle of the night. They got caught in a flash flood.”
He refuses to release my face from his tender but steady hold. “It was a freak accident. You can’t control the weather.”
“It’s not just them.” I’m desperate for him to understand. “I don’t want to do it again.”
If he doesn’t kill me, my stalker wants to rape me. The last time that happened, I murdered two people to protect myself.
All these years, I’ve barely been able to live with it. Even if this twisted madman needs to be eliminated, I don’t want to be the one to end him.
“Do what again?” Rand presses.
The guilt bubbles up to the surface, and the truth pours out of me before I can think better of it.
“My foster brother…” I choke on the admission. “I killed him.”
Rand’s expression goes blank, but his fingers flex ever so slightly on my jaw.
“Carter…” I stumble over my bully’s name.
I had no love for him, but we shared a home. He was close to me, and he died. At my hand.
“Tell me what happened,” Rand demands.
My stomach churns.
His hand is gentle in my hair again, but his eyes flash. “You wouldn’t hurt someone if they didn’t deserve it. What did he do?”
“He…found me in the woods one night.”
I can’t talk about Brandon’s betrayal, how he told Carter where to find me. How he planned to share me.
Even after all this time, it’s still a knife in my heart.
Rand’s hand remains careful on my scalp, soothing. But he gnashes his teeth, clearly enraged on my behalf.
“Tell me what Carter did,” he growls.
“He wanted to…” I swallow against the burn at the back of my throat. “He hurt me.”
“Did he touch you?” The words are so rough they’re barely intelligible.
My hands are shaking, so I curve my fingers into his corded arms to ground myself to him.
“He did,” I whisper. “But I made him stop. I killed him. I didn’t mean to.”
I echo the pathetic excuse that’s been ringing through my head for five years, ever since I murdered the boy I loved.
Brandon’s name sticks in my throat. I can’t tell anyone about what I did to him.
“I’m a murderer.”
Strong fingers thread through my hair, gripping just tight enough to tip my head back.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You defended yourself. That sick fucker, Carter, violated you. The world is a better place without him in it. You’re safer without him.”
Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t absolve me.
“I’m poison to the people closest to me.” I barely breathe the harsh truth through the sharp pain in my chest.
“Not me,” Rand insists. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me walk away.”
“Why?” I ask, almost pleading with him. He’s not seeing reason. “We’ve only just met.”
He rubs his thumb over my mouth, and despite my pain, my lips tingle with desire for his possessive touch.
“Let me know you.” Maybe he’s the one pleading now. “Stop finding reasons to deny us.”
“I’ve just told you that I killed a boy.” I’m wavering. I can’t waver. “Doesn’t that scare you?”
“The only thing I’m scared of is losing you. You want to know why I’m desperate for you? We’re alike, Lena.”
My heart twists.
“Because we’re both orphans?”
His eyes tighten with his own pain. “You’re not the only one who’s killed to survive.”
I should be shocked by the revelation, but I’m not. Deep down, I’ve sensed that Rand is capable of killing to defend me. I’ve known it ever since he ran to meet me on the river path to protect me from my stalker.
He holds me closer, as though he’s afraid I’ll recoil from him. “Are you scared of me now?”
“No,” I promise, tentatively running my fingers through his hair in return.
He leans into the tender touch on a deep inhale, as though he’s breathing me in.
“How could I be scared of you?” I ask softly. “All you’ve done is protect me. You’re a good man.”
He grimaces. “I’m not a good man, but I’ll be good to you. Let me prove it to you.”
My heart tugs toward his. He thinks he’s unworthy. Even though I just told him I’m a killer, too, he’s convinced that he’s a bad person for what he’s done.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” I press.
I’ve confessed to Carter’s murder. I’ll offer Rand the same opportunity to unburden himself.
But he shakes his head. “I never want you to know what I’ve done.”
I search his face for signs of deception, but all I see is raw anguish. Whatever he’s been forced to do, he’s not ready to share with me. He’s holding back, but he’s being honest with me.
“You can tell me,” I encourage.
He closes his eyes, brow furrowed with some unseen strain.
“I want you to accept me, but I can’t tell you. Just believe me when I say I did what was necessary. I took the only path open to me.”
I cup his cheek, drawing him back to me. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. I do accept you.”
His dark gaze burns into me. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“I think I do.” My voice hitches.
I told him some of my worst sins, and he’s accepted me. I’ll grant him the same absolution he’s offered me.
He captures my face in both hands, holding me like I’m something precious and fragile.
“I can’t bear it if anything happens to you,” he rasps. “I’ll handle whoever’s threatening you. And I’ll make them pay for it.”
A shiver races over me at the overt threat. Rand is capable of violence, and not just because he’s trained in MMA.
He’ll turn that violence on my stalker.
I search my conscience and find that I don’t care. That sick, anonymous letter was enough to seal the psycho’s fate. He wants to rape me.
Or he might try to kill me again.
He knows my real identity.
Even Rand doesn’t know my name.
Suddenly, I long for him to call me Karolina.
I swallow the urge to share more of my past with him. If he decides to look into Karolina Taylor, he might find out what I did to Brandon.
It’s a miracle that he relates to the fact that I killed Carter in self-defense, but I can’t reveal that I murdered my first love.
I still hate myself for it. Why would he feel differently if I tell him the extent of what I did?
“Are you scared yet?” he challenges softly.
“No. I’m not scared of you, Rand. I know you’ll keep me safe. I…”
I stumble over the words. I haven’t dared to make myself vulnerable to anyone in years.
Gathering my courage, I vow, “I trust you.”