Chapter 10
Emersyn
Turner’s entire body stiffens against mine as Gunner’s bark resounds through the cabin for a second time.
“It’s stopped snowing,” he mutters into me, his voice husky from the charged moment between us. Disappointment pangs in my chest and my shoulders slump as he untangles from me.
I graze my lips with my fingers, the flesh swollen, as Turner heads for Gunner, perched at the front door. He peers through one of the windows, and the dog barks again.
I stand there, watching, hot and bothered. I didn’t mean for anything to happen between us, but…his kiss. I lost control the moment his mouth collided with mine—and I’m trying not to focus on the way that’s never happened before.
I’ve never slept around. I’m the kind of girl who gets emotionally attached, and then falls in love too fast. After that, I either get heartbroken or fall out as fast as I fell in. But still, I’ve never been kissed like that… Like I was oxygen, and he was suffocating.
“Stay here,” Turner’s voice breaks my thoughts, and I realize he’s fully dressed in his white camo to go out. “Don’t come out. No matter what.”
I furrow my brow, my anxiety growing as I note the gun in his hands. “Why? Are you going to—”
His eyes hold mine. “Just don’t come outside, Em.”
“Okay,” I choke out as he rips the front door open, and he and the dog disappear into the night. It slams behind him, and I jump at the sound. What could possibly be out there? Adam? A search team? Is he going to murder them? He’s clearly the type to shoot first and ask questions later.
I run to the window, and peer out into the darkness.
I can’t see anything at all. I squint, unable to even find Turner or Gunner.
I think about upstairs and remember the windows I saw from outside.
It’s a better vantage point. Out of caution, I slide on my hiking boots and grab my parka, and then head for the stairs.
My footsteps echo as race to the second floor.
I stop at the first door, and push it open, met with darkness.
I squint as I make my way to the window, ripping open the curtains and gazing out.
There’s nothing to see other than the shadow of trees.
There’s no moon or stars in the sky, no beams of flashlights or headlights.
I give it up, choosing to back away from the window with a defeated sigh.
I’ll just have to wait.
I turn around, my eyes having adjusted. They land on bookshelves, picture frames adorning the exterior portion. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slip toward the door, finding the light switch. I flip it on, illuminating the entirety of the room, layered in dust.
My lips purse as I’m met with a completely different version of Turner.
With my back against the door, I inch it shut until it clicks.
Then, I start making my way around the room.
Books line the shelves, but it’s the pictures that catch my attention.
He’s young, smiling, and has his arms wrapped around his friends—or maybe brothers? It’s hard to know in the first picture.
The next frame is a shadow box with Marine Raider patches. Next to it is a medal of honor and a photo of Turner receiving it. My brows furrow as I note the date. Thirteen years ago. I brush my fingers over the glass, glancing down at dark gray dust that coat them.
As I continue, I begin to shape his life in my mind. Most of the pictures on the shelves are of him and another few guys—one of them looking so much like Turner, himself. I keep making my way, seeing a lot of photos of him in his uniform in desert terrain.
When I reach the end of the first wall, I come to another shadow box—but it’s not Turner’s. It’s someone named Taylor Martin, and it doesn’t take me long to understand the purple heart.
Taylor Hart Martin, killed in the line of duty.
“Thirteen years ago,” I say aloud, glancing back to the other. I don’t have to know the details to put some of it together. I get it. He lost his brother, and as I keep going through the other in memory of décor, I realize he lost a lot more than just his blood brother.
My heart sinks deep in my chest as I make it down the second wall, seeing the pictures shift to family photos of Turner as a kid. I stop at the first one, seeing his presumed parents and three boys. I pick him out as the middle, and the one who passed as the youngest.
And then I find his father’s obituary.
And mother’s.
Date of Death: October 27, 2011.
I shake my head at the notion, and then go back to his brother’s shadow box. Killed in the line of duty, October 12, 2011. My hand flies to my mouth.
Holy shit. He lost his brother and his parents in the same freaking month? How could anyone be so fucking unlucky? My stomach churns with empathetic nausea. I take a deep breath and stop there, seeing a college degree hanging on the wall near the window.
Thomas Robert Martin.
I run my hands over my face. That must be the other brother? Is this his room? I mean, his degree is hanging on the wall. God knows what Turner went through. No wonder he locked himself away from the world. My eyes land on a typewritten letter, laying on the far corner desk then.
I shouldn’t pry anymore.
I take a step toward it. However, I freeze when I hear a creak from outside the room.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The door flies open before I can move, and Turner’s frame fills the doorway. He’s still dressed in his winter gear, and there’s still a rifle in his hands.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he explodes, his voice causing me to shrink backward.
I hold my hands up in surrender, but notice his eyes are elsewhere, taking in the pictures on the shelves. “Turner, I’m sorry…I was just trying to see out the window—”
“Get out.” He raises the rifle, pointing it the center of my chest. His eyes are dark. And empty. Focused only on my chest. “Get out.”
“Okay,” I choke on the word, my heart in my ears. But I can’t leave. He’s blocking the door. “I just…I just need to slip by you.”
He doesn’t budge and as I gather the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes snap back to mine… But they’re so… dead.
“Turner…” My voice trails off. “I’m sorry.”
But it’s like he doesn’t hear me, even as he takes another step toward me. The barrel of his rifle is only a few feet from me now, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I stagger backward and to the right, trying to dodge the end of his gun.
And that’s when it fires.
A scream lights up my lungs, and I lunge for the door as a second shot sounds. Panic sears through my body as I hear the bolt action from somewhere behind me.
“Get out!” Turner shouts.
His voice sounds like he’s shouting above the volume level of a concert, but shots just keep going off, shaking the walls of the cabin. As I stumble down the stairs, I nearly crash into Gunner, who’s running toward the sound of Turner shouting from behind me.
As I make it to the kitchen, the sound of upbeat pop music still plays in the chaos. Over the noise, I hear his thundering footsteps coming down the stairs. He continues to shout the same two words over and over.
I don’t get it. But I do understand the sound of another two rounds firing off in the stairwell.
He’s going to fucking kill me.
Gripping my parka, I make a dash for the front door, ripping it open to the chilly air outside.
The wind is so harsh that it burns as I take off into the deep snow.
It buries me up to my knees, and I cry out in frustration as the shots keep sounding from behind me.
Gunner starts barking, and all I can think about is making it to my truck.
Maybe I can dig it out and hide.
But is that an obvious place?
I spot a barn in the opposite direction, and part of me thinks of trying to go that way, but I realize no matter what, Turner has the upper hand. He’s ex-special forces for fuck’s sake. I’m no fucking match for him.
It’s a sobering thought—almost as sobering as dancing with him in the kitchen only an hour ago.
I trudge forward, trying to remember where the hell the driveway is.
The wind blows, and I can’t tell if another round has gone off, or if it’s just in my head.
As soon as I make it to the tree line, I stop and pull on my coat.
I peer back toward the house, expecting to see Turner on the front porch like the first afternoon. But he’s not there. My teeth chatter as I pull my hood up, my legs burning from my already soaked jeans. I squeeze my eyes shut, just long enough to gather my wits.
Everything is silent. Not a single natural noise fills the woods, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. I tighten the strap around my face to hold the hood, and start deeper into the woods, the sound of Gunner’s bark jarring me.
Please don’t lead him to me.
Tears slide down my cheeks as I trek into the darkness. Another shot fires, and this time, it sounds as if it’s farther away. I breathe a little easier, but refrain from slowing my pace. When did Turner say it would start to snow again? Tomorrow?
My lips burn, the brutal cold reminding me of the kiss I was lost in—with a man who’s now trying to kill me. I shiver beneath my coat, my eyes feeling tired as I try to navigate the unknown. I’m not used to this kind of weather. I let my mind loose to distract me.
Fuck you, Adam. It’s your fault I’m here.
You should’ve just broken up with me when you decided it was going nowhere.
I bat the tears away. I have no right to be broken up about him.
I mean, I was just kissing someone else—not even thinking about my newly ex-boyfriend.
I could reason that I let Turner kiss me because it was a distraction from Adam, but the moment Turner started to open up, I haven’t been able to recall those feelings for Adam.
It was over a long time ago.
I purse my lips, annoyed by my inability to retain feelings once someone starts pulling away. It’s easier to break my own heart, and that’s what I did with Adam. A year ago, he wouldn’t answer the commitment questions.
And so, I started letting him go right then and there.
The moment things go wrong, I mentally bolt, even if I stay there physically. I frown at that—and the sound of a familiar voice. My heart stops as I take in the small clearing and the headlights shining through the night.
Adam.