Page 103 of Run Home

“Yeah, right,” I say, starting to pace. “Too late now. Whatever it is, you’d better spit it out because I won’t sleep tonight knowing something’s wrong that you’re not telling me.”

“Are you with anyone? You maybe shouldn’t be alone,” Ian says.

My pulse picks up steam along with my feet. “You’re freaking me out even more, Ian. Just say it.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, and I can hear the mental gears turning in that brilliant brain of his. Sighing, I say, “Ian, please tell me. Whatever it is. I can handle it.”

It’s his turn to sigh before he states, “I have a Google alert set for Charles’ name, and I got an alert today about a news article. Charles was released from prison.”

Blood stops flowing through my veins. Oxygen stops converting to carbon dioxide in my lungs. Signals stop traveling from my brain to my muscles.

But my anxious thoughts explode.

“He . . . what?” I ask.

Charles has been denied parole and had his time in prison extended multiple times for bad behavior, so he’s been behind bars much longer than his original sentence. I’m not sure why I subconsciously assumed he would forever make bad choices that would forever extend his incarceration, but in this moment, I realize I have never given thought to the possibility of him walking freely in society again.

“He was released yesterday. I guess he finally served his time without making things worse for himself, and he’s out on parole,” Ian says. He rushes to explain, “I felt like I should be the one to tell you as soon as I found out. That you should know. But I didn’t think about when I should tell you. I’m sorry, Sammi. I should have flown there and told you in person.”

Panic spirals through my body, but my protective instincts with Ian still reign in my mind. “No, Ian, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. I’m glad you were the one to tell me. I’ll be okay. I appreciate you calling me. Really.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to call Mom and Dad?” Ian asks.

“I’m sure. I’m fine. Let’s talk again soon, but you need to go to bed,” I say, managing to keep my voice from shaking despite my trembling body.

“Okay. I love you, Sammi,” Ian says.

“Love you too,” I barely manage before ending the call and crouching to the floor.

Fear floods my adrenal system, paralyzing everything except my thoughts.

Logic would point to the extreme unlikelihood of Charles seeking me out, of my path ever crossing with his again.

But trauma doesn’t make you logical.

It makes you afraid.

And I’m afraid.

When I finally regain enough control of my muscles to move, I stumble out to my car.

I need home.

Autopilot takes me on the familiar drive as my mind continuously spirals through worst-case scenarios. I’m overloaded, overstimulated, overwhelmed, over-everything when I pull into the driveway and knock on the door.

I’m trembling from head to toe by the time the door opens.

“Samantha?” Adrián’s curls are messy, and he’s dressed in athletic shorts and a white T-shirt. He was probably in bed already before I interrupted his night. He asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I need you,” I rasp as I fly to his arms, burying my face against his chest. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me tightly against him. He backs us two steps inside the house and closes the door, never letting go of me, which is good since I think I would collapse to the floor without him holding me up.

“Do you want to come sit on the couch?” Adrián asks, his breath tickling the side of my face. It adds a shiver to my trembling, and I nod against his chest, knowing I won’t be able to stay on my feet much longer.

He starts to lower one arm to my legs to pick me up, but I say, “I can walk. I need to be capable of walking.”

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs as he swoops me into his arms. “Not when I’m here for you. And I’m always here for you.”

Tears finally burst free, and I nestle my face into the crook of Adrián’s neck as he carries me to the living room.