Fifty
Hale
Standing at the window that overlooked the front of my house from the second floor, I watched as Bay followed Ransom down to his truck. My throat felt so goddamn thick that I couldn’t swallow. I gripped the glass in my hand so tight that it was a wonder it hadn’t cracked.
Ransom loaded her luggage and held the passenger door open for her.
She slowed, then turned to look back at the house.
I backed away into the shadows, not wanting her to see me.
I didn’t want her to know I was here, but I never took my eyes off her.
I wasn’t sure if she was looking for me or not, but the pain in my chest wasn’t from the bullet wound.
This was something else entirely. And I refused to put a fucking name to it.
Finally, she turned and stepped into the truck. The door closed behind her. Ransom paused for a moment and glanced up at the window I was in, as if to ask if I was sure this was what I wanted. I nodded my head once, and he continued on.
The truck pulled away, and I stood there, watching until it was gone. Unable to move and hating the thought of walking back into my bedroom, knowing she wasn’t coming back.
One day, she’d thank me. Or perhaps she’d never think of me again.
I wasn’t real damn sure I’d ever get her out of my head.