Page 6 of Stirring Attraction (Second Shot 2)
Because who could say no to a six-year-old student with a plate of homemade double-fudge brownies? She might have followed her heart when she’d applied to teach kindergarten in her hometown when she graduated from college. But now, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, this career was hell on her thighs and waistline.
Not that the kids shouldered all the blame. She’d turned to chocolate for comfort so many times over the past few years that she’d started to wonder if she should follow her father into rehab.
But it hadn’t worked for him. He’d been arrested for driving under the influence. And this time t
he court had ordered him to rehab again. Not that he’d bothered to tell her. She’d received a call from his girlfriend of the moment with the news.
No, she doubted a twelve-step program to abandon chocolate would work for her. Plus, there were some times when she loved her curves. On those days, she welcomed the sugar rush, always promising to run the next day.
And other times . . . well, after struggling to care for her mother toward the end, the handful of reunions with Dominic, followed by the breakups—she’d kissed him goodbye more times than she wanted to count—hadn’t she earned a treat? She’d rather have Dominic . . .
But he hadn’t returned to Forever. And she’d buried her hope that he ever would after he took two bullets to the chest and one through his hand. He’d almost died in a war-torn country, then again in Germany while on the operating table. But it was the shot that had ripped apart his right hand that might bury him alive. He couldn’t go back to the army. The rangers had kicked him out of the only group he’d ever wanted to join.
And he still hadn’t come home.
Not to her.
He’d taken a break from his outpatient rehab to meet his niece after she was born. But he’d only stayed for a few days. Lily had been so caught up in school that she hadn’t realized he was in town until he’d left again.
The traffic light turned green and she ran across the street, heading for the quiet park. The university students had mostly left for summer vacation. Plus, it was after nine in the morning on a Monday. Most of Forever’s locals were at work. She ran past a mother pushing a stroller toward the park’s swing set. In the distance, she could see another jogger.
Alone with Taylor Swift. . .
She picked up the pace, determined to push the extra calories clinging to her legs into exile. She had a date tonight with a man who wanted the same things out of life. Marriage. Children. A fellow teacher who wished to settle in Forever, not run away. Ted was the definition of “good man” even if he never tried to back her up against the wall and take her . . .
Stop comparing him to Dominic. Stop waiting for someone who has made it clear he is not coming back.
The playground disappeared from view. She followed the path through the trees. Glimpses of the university’s buildings were visible through the bright green leaves, but nothing more. Rounding the bend, she saw a flash of red.
A man. Tall. Broad. Wearing a sweatshirt in June. Who did that? It was hot today even for a summer day.
He drew closer. Running toward her as if he knew her and wanted to say hello. He was moving fast. He was wearing a ski mask. In June . . .
And then he was on top of her.
She hit the pavement and fell back. He came with her. And oh God, he was hitting her. Over and over. She heard screams and hoped the sounds came from someone who would help her. A hit to the jaw. A punch to the gut, this one stinging. And then . . .
Silence.
She’d been the one screaming, her voice high-pitched and terrified. She’d been the one begging for help until the reality sank in. She was alone. In the trees. Out of sight.
“Please . . . stop,” she whimpered, struggling to break free. But she wasn’t strong enough.
“You ruined everything,” a deep voice growled.
She kept her arms over her head, protecting her face. But through the gap she saw dark brown eyes peering at her through the mask.
His pupils are huge. He sounds . . . familiar.
And he looks crazy.
Of course he was. Sane people didn’t attack strangers in the park. But who was he?
He hit her forearm and she closed her eyes. The pain distracted from trying to place him. Her arms stung as if she’d been covered in paper cuts. It didn’t matter who he was, she just needed him to stop hitting her, stop hurting her . . .
The weight lifted, but the pain remained. She reached for her side. It was wet from his punches.
No, that’s not right.
