Page 134 of Dear Future Husband

He didn’t flinch. That smile returned and kept growing, like an infection. He tutted as he pilfered the remaining safe distance between us with only a couple steps forward. I didn’t try to step back. I was pinched between this man and the Jeep, leaving no room for me to retreat.

“Home?” he asked. His voice was soft, almost sing-song like, but that smell… It was so strong, and it was invading my brain. Everything in my body was crying out in a million different, terrified voices for me to run, to hold still—to remember.

“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “Home.”

I continued to hold my hand out for the keys, but Rick refused to acknowledge my request as he held the keys to his side.

“Your home isn’t here,” he said lowly, the closeness allowing me to scent the alcohol on his breath. “Your home is with me.”

I should’ve panicked at how close he was. I should’ve been scared of the way he watched me. Like I was a treasure he sought out and finally found. But I couldn’t think past the ruckus of frantic thoughts banging against my brain with that damned smell.

Remember. Remember. Remember.

My vision blurred with trapped tears. I licked my lips, and his eyes sluggishly followed the movement.

“You’ve been gone for a long time. I missed you.”

He was so close now, his breathing hot on my face, but his arms were hotter as they wrapped around my rigid body.

Remember. Run. Remember. Run.

My brain couldn’t recall his real name right away, but my body knew his touch. Even though it never knew it to be gentle like this.

My joints locked up. My limbs paralyzed.

I was a child again.

A helpless, terrified, speechless child. I could feel it. The seeping in of recollections, the terror-filled memories that this man owned. Like each hit I’d ever been dealt was being struck against my skin at the same time.

I doubled over in his arms with the sudden overwhelming weight. I bit down on my chest-cleaving sobs, as every single moment I cried, cowered and begged came tumbling through my battered brain.

“Shh,” he hushed, putting one hand in my hair and pressing my face painfully tight to his collarbone. “I’ve got you.”

Bile burned the back of my throat as I remembered why that smell was enough to ruin me. It was his aftershave. He used the strong-smelling liquid to mask the persistent smell of alcohol on his breath. But they only combined to create a horror of scent that haunted each one of my waking nightmares.

The tears trapped in my eyes finally escaped down my cheeks as I trembled in Rick’s—no, not Rick.

In Richard’s hold.

“Good girl,” he cooed, and I wanted to die. “That’s a good girl. I’m here now.”

My body had a mind of its own as I stood there, still as stone, with my hands fisted around the strap of the purse slung over my body.

Richard didn’t need a gun or knife to persuade me to keep still. The fear and instincts that took over my body did the job for him.

He pulled back from me, cupping my face in both his considerable hands. His eyes were bloodshot, he had a shadow of stubble along his jaw and his shirt was undone at the top. He wasn’t as put together as he had always prided himself on being.

And he was, without a doubt, drunk.

With hands holding either side of my face, pressing in on my temples, Richard stared at me. His drunken emotions overwhelmed his usually structured face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he choked out. “I saw on the news that you’d been in a coma but woke up. I thought I finally found you, your mom, and your brother. I wanted us to be a family again. So, I ran straight to San Francisco. I had to see you.”

He rocked forward and I couldn’t help but rock with him as his hands held my head in a vice-like grip.

“But when I got to your hospital, they said your mom and Liam were…were dead.” A strangled sob escaped him then, and I nearly buckled on my wobbly knees.

Stop, don’t think about it now.