Page 7

CHAPTER 7

LARK

Contrary to what I told Knox this morning, I’m not okay.

When he texted at seven-thirty AM, he apologized for waking me up, but said he wanted to check in before he headed out to check on some job sites.

Despite my terrible mood, I came up with a positive response—that I was okay, he didn’t wake me up, and I hoped he had a good morning.

Two of those were true, at least.

What I didn’t say is that I never fell asleep to begin with. That I felt the furthest thing from okay.

And I definitely didn’t say that I’d spent the last ten hours on the verge of a panic attack.

How embarrassing. After all my claims of being strong and independent, as soon as I was alone, I crumbled.

Yesterday I thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered. I was still in shock, my arm hurt, and I had a chill I couldn’t shake, but as I kept reminding myself, it could have been so much worse. And I had great company to distract me from the memories that tried to worm their way in—Knox, of course, and the welcome surprise of Winter, as well.

While Knox was over at Enzo’s house for his meeting, Winter and I watched half of Lights On for Christmas while we chatted about our favorite books and devoured nearly the entire box of cookies. As we looked at the two lone cookies remaining, Winter turned pink as she exclaimed, “Oh, Lark. These were supposed to be for you to enjoy later! And here I am eating them. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t mind. It was the first time since the break-in when my appetite felt close to normal. “It’s fine,” I reassured her with a smile. “You were right. Cookies are necessary.”

Having Winter over felt normal. Like I wasn’t in hiding from a gunman who tried to kill me, but just hanging out with a new friend.

And Knox.

He was the best part of yesterday. If not for Knox spending nearly the entire day here, I’m not sure I would have held things together nearly as well. He came back right after his meeting and spent the rest of the evening here, sharing the delicious chicken soup he made and watching Elf with me.

“Isn’t it too early?” he asked when I suggested watching it. “I thought there was a rule about Christmas movies? Like not watching them until after Thanksgiving or something?”

“Nope,” I replied. “In my rule book, once it gets to November, holiday movies are fair game. Unless—” I backpedaled, realizing just because I love Christmas doesn’t mean everyone does. “If you’d rather watch something else, that’s fine, too. One of those car racing movies you’ve talked about. Or something with robots.”

“No way.” Knox smiled at me, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “If you want to watch Elf , that’s what we’re watching.” Then he caught my hand and gave it a small squeeze. “And I love Will Ferrell. Any movie with him in it is good.”

As we watched the movie, we somehow migrated closer and closer together on the couch until our legs kept brushing against each other with every small shift of our bodies. And I was hyper aware of each contact, just the brief sensation of our knees rubbing together or my thigh touching his was enough to send a rush of heat up my leg and into my belly.

In all the other times we’d spent together, it never went that far. We’d eat dinner or talk, always with a respectable space between us. We never hugged hello or goodbye, and save for our first meeting when we shook hands, I avoided physical contact without even realizing it.

I thought I didn’t want it. I thought it was safer that way. But now that I’ve felt Knox’s arms around me, held hands with him, sat almost flush next to him on the couch for hours… I’m not sure I want to go back to the other way again.

But I may not have a choice. Knox spending hours protecting and entertaining me isn’t a permanent thing. Once the gunman is caught—I’m sure he will be, it’s just a question of when—I’ll go back to my regular life and Knox won’t have a reason to spend so much time with me.

So I need to get my act together and get used to being on my own again. I need to find the old Lark, who enjoyed time to herself and wanted to live in an isolated cabin in the middle of the woods.

Except… maybe not just yet.

Because last night? It was pretty awful.

Once Knox left to go home, I thought I’d be good. It was already past ten PM, I’d been up for well over twenty-four hours with only snippets of naps, so I was certain I’d snuggle into the cozy queen-sized bed upstairs and fall asleep within minutes.

Not quite. Even though I knew I was safe, with the cabin fully armed and countless cameras and alarms positioned all over the GMG property—and a scale-proof fence around the majority of it—my brain couldn’t accept it.

Every tiny noise was the intruder coming back for me. The hum of the heat kicking on was the sound of him humming as he walked up the stairs. And the second I’d close my eyes they’d pop open immediately, certain I was about to see him looming in the bedroom doorway, his gun pointed straight at me. With each reassurance I gave myself, the scared voice in my mind whispered what if ?

What if the gunman somehow bypassed all the security? What if he busted through the gate with a giant truck? What if he went to Enzo’s house first and hurt them? What if he showed up at my cabin covered in blood after shooting two of the people who selflessly volunteered to shelter me ?

It was maddening. The logic I’d always relied on was gone, replaced by a primal panic that made me jump at tiny noises and convinced me I was seconds from being attacked again.

After two fruitless hours in bed, I finally gave up and came downstairs to watch repeats of old Hallmark Christmas movies until the sun came up.

So the takeaway is I’m not feeling great. I’m exhausted, my stomach is in knots, my arm is aching, and I can’t seem to take a full breath. But when Knox asked me how I was doing, my default answer was I’m doing okay. What else could I say that wouldn’t make him feel bad?

But now he’s on his way over, and I’m really hoping I look better than I feel. He had a holdup with one of the job sites, so he’s not getting here until almost four, which he apologized profusely about several hours ago.

He called, his voice dripping with apology as he explained, “I’m so sorry, Lark. I didn’t mean to stay away for so long. A couple of the guys on my crew got sick, so we’re way understaffed. I’m trying to get there as soon as I can.”

I understand. I’ve had chaotic days at work when I’ve stayed almost to midnight. And it’s not Knox’s fault I’m having a bad day.

My phone buzzes, and I lunge forward to grab it off the coffee table, hoping it’s not Knox saying he’s delayed even longer.

Stop it , I scold myself. I don’t need a man to feel safe. And it’s a very bad idea to start relying on Knox this much. Because despite the insinuations Winter made about his feelings, the fact is, he’s never done anything to show he wants more than friendship. And if he does, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to accept it.

But when I pick up the phone, I can’t help smiling as I read his message.

Hey, just pulled through the gate. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Can’t wait to see you.

Can’t wait to see me? Is that friendly? Or more? Do I tell Kate that I can’t wait to see her? My dad? Or is something like that reserved for people you’re romantically interested in?

If I had the time, I’d text Kate to ask her opinion.

“Ugh.” I huff out an irritated breath. “Why am I obsessing over a text when I have so much bigger things to worry about?”

Pushing up off the couch—finally remembering not to use my injured arm this time—I head over to the small mirror near the front door to give myself a final inspection.

Aside from the shadows beneath my eyes, I think I look pretty decent. My hair is behaving today, falling in smooth waves instead of frizzing. The touch of copper eyeliner makes the gold flecks in my eyes pop. And my emerald-toned sweater is the perfect compliment to my red hair.

Although… do I look too Christmas-y? Is Knox going to think I’m obsessed with the holiday?

“Argh.” When did I start talking to myself? “Stop stressing about Knox,” I tell my reflection. “You’re friends. Worry about actual problems, like people breaking into your house, trying to kill you.”

The doorbell rings, startling me out of my mini-lecture, and I let out a little yip of surprise .

A second later, Knox’s voice rumbles through the door. “Lark? Are you okay?”

Oh, God.

My face turns fuchsia, then spreads to the tips of my ears.

Did he hear me talking about him? I cast a frantic look around the room. The walls have to be well insulated, right? Knox is a professional builder. They have to be.

Now more concerned, Knox calls out more loudly, “Lark. Are you hurt? Can you let me in, please?”

“I’m okay,” I reply loudly as I fumble with the three complicated locks on the door. “Hang on. Just trying to get the door—” As the last lock releases, I fling open the door to find a very worried-looking Knox standing on the other side of it.

“Lark.” He steps inside, his gaze sweeping over me. “Are you alright? I heard you cry out. Did you hurt yourself?”

I should answer him.

I really should.

But oh, my. He looks so handsome .

It’s not like I haven’t seen Knox dozens of times in a variety of different outfits. His normal work outfit of cargo pants and a company shirt. Jeans and one of his worn Army sweatshirts. Athletic shorts and old concert T-shirts. And he looked good in all of them. But now it’s like I’ve given myself permission to really appreciate just how sexy Knox is.

He’s wearing a deep-blue sweater that almost matches the color of his eyes, and it’s stretched across his broad shoulders and very muscly chest. His worn jeans show off his powerful legs and the waistband sits just below his flat stomach.

He must have a six-pack under there, at least. Right? And his chest… after hugging Knox, I know it’s just as muscular as I thought it was.

His beard is freshly trimmed and shiny and his hair is all tousled and there’s a faint pink flush of cold to his cheeks. Eyes dark with concern regard me, brows drawn down into a V above them.

“Lark?” Knox gently touches my shoulder. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call Ronan? He was a medic for his team, so he can take a look at your arm if it’s really hurting. Or—” His hand moves to my cheek. “You look flushed. Are you feeling feverish?”

Before I can answer, he puts an arm around my waist and hustles me over to the couch, tugging me onto it and crouching on the floor in front of me. His tone softens. “It’s okay to tell me if you’re hurting.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Trying to force my blush to go away—good luck, as a redhead with pale skin I pretty much turn to a lobster over anything remotely embarrassing—I add, “I was just startled is all. I was…”

Crap. What am I going to say? I was checking myself out in the mirror to make sure I look nice for you?

“I was waiting for you, but I got distracted. So when the doorbell went off, I just was surprised. That’s all.”

Knox tilts his head, a clear look of skepticism on his face. But after a moment of silent thought, he thankfully decides not to follow up, instead saying, “I’m sorry I startled you. That’s why I texted. But next time, I’ll text again before I ring the doorbell.”

“Oh. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. Really. ”

“I should have thought of it myself. Of course you’re feeling jumpy. And being alone here… Did you call Winter? She works from home, so can stop by most times unless she’s on a deadline or a business call.”

“No… I didn’t want to bother her after she came over yesterday.”

“Lark. She wouldn’t mind.”

Looking into his eyes, I find myself admitting, “I wasn’t feeling that great today. So I didn’t really feel up to it. Entertaining.”

Knox frowns. A moment later, he’s beside me on the couch, cradling my hands in his. “How were you feeling?”

The truth is a thick lump lodged in my throat, and it’s a struggle to work it out. “This isn’t how I meant to be when you got here,” I reply quietly. “I just wanted to have a nice time and not talk about all my crap again.”

There’s a long pause as he looks at me, an indecipherable emotion darkening his gaze. Then he exhales and says, “You can talk about anything you want. Whenever you want. Please don’t feel like you have to pretend to be okay around me.”

Unexpectedly, tears spring to my eyes, but I blink fast as I try to force them back. Through a thickening throat, I admit, “I thought I was doing okay. Yesterday, that is. But last night and today… I couldn’t sleep. And I feel jumpy all the time. Even though I know it’s safe, it doesn’t help.”

“Oh, Lark.” His lips press into an unhappy line. “I’m sorry?—”

“No. Don’t be. It’s not your fault. ”

“I should have come back sooner. After I promised to be here as much as I could?—”

“It’s your job, Knox. I understand that. I don’t expect you to be here babysitting me all the time.”

“It’s not like that,” he replies quickly. “I’m here because I want to be.”

My heart jumps.

“Well.” Trying to distract myself from all my scattered emotions, I cast about for something different to talk about. Spotting a large brown paper bag by the door, I ask, “What’s in there?”

Knox blinks, probably startled by my abrupt change of topic. But as he follows my gaze, his solemn expression brightens. “Oh. I brought some stuff over. Do you want to see?”

“Of course.”

With a boyish smile that makes him look at least a decade younger than the thirty-eight I know he is, he bounds over to the door and returns with the bag, setting it on the coffee table. “Some of this may seem silly. But I was thinking of things to cheer you up, and…”

Reaching in, he pulls out two Jenga games and places them beside the bag. “I know,” he adds, “it doesn’t seem exciting. But my friend Leo, he was stationed at Fort Campbell with me, and he came up with this thing called Extreme Jenga. We use both games and make super high towers, and there are challenges. Like making a move in five seconds or pushing the block through with your eyes closed.”

He glances at my injured arm as he explains, “It’s all one-handed. So I thought it would be okay to play. Although you said you’re tired, so if you’re not up for it?—”

“I am.” A flicker of excitement comes to life inside me. “I love Jenga, actually.”

Knox beams at me. “Great.” Reaching into the bag again, he retrieves a little box with the title Exploding Kittens on the front of it. “And I brought this; it sounds awful, but it’s really fun. If you like Cards Against Humanity, you might like this one, too.”

“Oh, Cards Against Humanity is one of my favorites. I’d love to try it.”

If possible, his smile gets even bigger. And my heart does this twisting thing that makes me feel slightly breathless.

“Oh, good. I didn’t know if you’d think it was weird, bringing games over. Gage actually suggested asking you to play World of Warcraft with me, but you really need two hands for that, and I don’t want you hurting your arm.”

Before I can respond, he dives back into the bag again, this time coming out with another, smaller brown bag. “Sandwiches from the Laughing Goat. I don’t know if you’ve tried them, but they make the best sandwiches all from locally sourced ingredients. I got four different kinds, so you can pick your favorite.”

“Oh.” Those darned tears are threatening again. “This is so nice, Knox. You didn’t have to do all this. But I love it.”

Knox puts the bag of sandwiches down and sits beside me again. His gaze burns into mine. “I wanted to, Lark. If it makes you happy, I’ll—” The tips of his ears go pink. “Well. I just want to make you happy. ”

Oh.

Why did I keep him at a distance for so long?

With a slightly watery smile, I lean forward and hug him. “You did. You always do.”

I’m jerked out of sleep, my heart slamming hard against my chest.

At first, I can’t figure out why.

The house is quiet.

I’m snuggled under the covers, toasty warm against the faint chill of the room. My clock glows faintly on the bedside table, displaying a time I should usually be asleep. A quick glance out the window shows the snow still falling steadily, huge flakes glowing white in the moonlight.

It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.

I probably just heard a tree breaking outside. Or the ice clinking into the tray in the freezer.

Then I hear something.

A creak.

Or is it?

Then I hear it again. This time, I’m sure.

Definitely a creak.

My pulse rockets to triple speed.

But it could be nothing. Right? The house settling, whatever that is.

I sit up in bed, too rattled to lie still.

Should I check? Look around to see if there’s a rational explanation for this?

Maybe I should call the police .

But what would I say? I heard a creak in my log cabin? They’d laugh me off the phone.

Still. I start to push the covers off, gathering my courage to investigate. To prove I’m braver than simple bumps in the night.

Then.

A low chuckle.

My gaze jumps to the doorway.

Oh, God.

There’s a man. All in dark clothing. A mask covers his face. The whites of his eyes are terrifyingly bright in the darkness.

God.

I need to do something.

He raises his hand. In it, something shines dully.

Panic has me frozen.

My dad’s voice shouts in my head, Get the gun in the nightstand! Quick!

I force my muscles to unlock and reach toward the drawer.

But even as I’m moving, I hear another horrible sound. One I recognize all too well.

A click.

I fling myself to the side, but it’s too late.

Pain explodes in my chest.

Not pain. Oh, it’s worse than that, oh please, I don’t want to die ? —

“Lark. Wake up.”

I’m sobbing in pain, still reaching for the nightstand, but I can’t move.

I don’t want to die. Not now ? —

“Lark, wake up. You’re okay. ”

Why didn’t I hide? Why can’t I move?

“Sweetheart, wake up.” Warmth envelops me, slowly chasing away the ice seeping through my body.

A rapid heartbeat thrums beneath my ear.

“It’s alright. It’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

Reality slowly trickles in as the horrible images dissipate.

I’m being rocked. Held. Strong arms are wrapped around me. A gentle voice is crooning the same things over and over. You’re safe. It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s just a dream.

Just a dream.

Oh, crap.

Like jigsaw pieces slotting together, it all makes sense.

I’m on the couch. In Knox’s arms. Still shaking from a whopper of a nightmare. I must have fallen asleep while we were watching a movie, and like last time, he stayed to watch over me.

He’s still hugging me, rubbing circles on my back with one hand while he strokes my hair with the other. “Are you back, sweetheart? Do you know where you are?”

Humiliation sweeps through me, an inferno burning everything in its path. But I owe Knox an answer, so I mumble into his chest, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, Lark. No.” He leans me back and tips my chin up with his finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Don’t apologize. Nightmares happen.”

A few tears force their way past my defenses, leaking down my cheeks. My voice wobbles as I say, “But we were having such a nice night. With the games, and dinner, and watching the movie…”

Knox lifts me onto his lap, so I’m sitting sideways across it. With an achingly tender touch, he thumbs the tears from my face. “We did have a nice night, Lark. This doesn’t change things.”

“But… I’m an adult. I shouldn’t be waking up screaming and crying all over you.”

“You know how I play video games with Gage at night sometimes? That’s because I have nightmares that make it really hard to sleep. He does too. So we decided to play games online together when we’re having a rough time.”

“Oh.” I knew they played World of Warcraft ; Knox mentioned it a few times, but I never really thought about there being a specific reason for it. “And it helps?”

“Sometimes.” Knox combs his fingers through my hair. “It helps to know I’m not alone. Even if I know the nightmares may never go away.”

My own nightmare is forgotten as I think about Knox and what he must dream about. After almost twenty years in the Army, he must have seen some horrible things. Lost people he cared about. “You can call me,” I tell him. “If you can’t sleep. Not to replace Gage. But if he can’t get online, or… I don’t know.”

His features soften. “Thank you.”

We both fall silent as we look at each other. So much is tangled up inside me—how I feel about what just happened, about being in Knox’s arms… But I don’t know how to unravel it.

Instead, I finally blurt out, “I haven’t had nightmares like this since I was a teenager. ”

His jaw tightens. “What happened when you were a teenager?”

I can tell him part of it. The part that doesn’t tear me up inside to think about.

“My dad and I were in a bad accident when I was sixteen. It was a fluke, he hydroplaned and went off the road.”

“Shit.”

“We went into the woods, hit a bunch of trees. Both of us were injured—” My voice catches. “We were stuck there for almost an hour before help came along. So… I had a lot of nightmares after that.”

Knox hugs me closer to him, still being careful of my injured arm. “Were you hurt badly?”

“I spent some time in the hospital, but I’m okay. My dad, too.” Pausing, I add, “That’s one of the reasons he’s so protective of me. Because he feels guilty. Not that it was his fault. But it’s always been him and me. My mom took off when I was a baby, so he was always protective, but after the accident…”

“I get it.”

“He’s better now. But he still worries a lot.”

A wistful expression moves across his face. “It’s nice that he cares about you.”

“It is. It was always just us; he didn’t have any close family. That’s why he pushed me to work for the company. He wants me to take over Weber Investments one day. But if I do… which I’m still not sure about… I want to earn it. That’s why I got my bachelors and masters in finance. And I worked my way up from the bottom of the company. So if I end up taking over, I’ll have earned it. ”

Knox stares at me for a second, his eyes seeing too much. “Do you want to run the company?”

That’s the real crux of it, isn’t it? Is it my dream? No. But I’m not sure my dream is possible.

Sighing, I admit, “I don’t know.”

Knox shifts, his muscular thighs flexing underneath me, and I suddenly realize I’m still sitting in his lap, which is very much not a just friends sort of thing.

My cheeks go hot as I start to scramble off him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I should get off you. And… it’s late. You probably want to go home.”

“No.” He gives me an unreadable look before lifting me off his lap and setting me beside him. Then his arm wraps around my shoulder, gently hugging me to his side. “I don’t want to go home.”

Snagging the remote from the end of the couch, he turns on the TV and sets it to the Hallmark Channel. “Why don’t we watch another movie? And I was thinking, maybe I’ll just sleep on the couch tonight. In case you have another nightmare. How does that sound?”

Oh.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.

“I would really like that.”