Page 87 of Almost Rotten

As I click submit on the first report, I rip off my headset and rise to my feet.

“Noah? Is she with you?”

“She’s here,” he yells. “She’s safe.”

I slump into my chair and force myself to breathe.

Like hellshe’s safe. She won’t be safe until she’s filed a fucking restraining order against Tytus Tremblay.

There’s no way he isn’t at the heart of this.

He’s broken her in the most predictable ways. Isolating her. Controlling her. Making her think she doesn’t have a choice, when Noah and I are both right fucking here, begging her to let us take care of her.

He’s a menace.

I hate him with everything I am, and if I have my way, he’ll never interfere in Sawyer’s life again.

Not that I have the first inclination how to keep him away. I rise and pace the room, my heart hammering against the hollow cavity of my chest.

I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to beg and hold out hope while preserving my well-being, while maintaining the carefully constructed walls I’ve erected around my heart.

I wouldn’t accept this sort of behavior from anyone else. It’s disrespectful on the surface; it’s rotten at its core.

But for her, I’ll bend every rule.

Chapter thirty-five

Sawyer

Noah holds me close as he passes over the threshold and kicks off his boots.

Mercer’s voice floats down the hall.

Noah replies, their exchange far-off.

I’m soaked. Hollow. It’d be easier on all of us if I faded away completely.

But I’m here.

Noah came after me.

He found me in the dark, and he brought me home.

As much as I don’t want to face the fallout of my actions, there’s nowhere else I want to be.

I open my eyes, only to discover crimson paths trailing down my arm. A whimper escapes me.

Noah cups my face. “Shh. You’re okay, honey. Don’t look at the blood. Rest your head against my chest and focus on my breathing.”

I do as I’m told, pressing my ear to his soaked shirt.

He’s so solid and steady, his heartbeat a metronome of calm that grounds me and lulls my fragmented thoughts into a sense of harmony.

“Thank you for coming after me,” I murmur.

He peers down at me, intense concern marring his expression. “You don’t have to thank me.”