Page 10 of Don’t Let Him In

I wait for him to lunge for it, to finally prove my fear right, but it doesn’t happen. He clears his throat, my fingers curling around it before the faint blue light flashes across my face. Still no connection. I shove down the panic rising through me as I spring to my feet.

“You said your boyfriend’s waiting for you?” His gaze drifts toward the neighboring trees, as if listening for something deeper in the woods before returning to me. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

He searches my face like he isn’t sure I’m in the right state of mind to absorb his words.

My lips throb where they are jammed against my teeth, my stomach turning sour from the intensifying taste of copper. I eye the worn canvas jacket hanging loose on his frame, my gaze sliding down to his bare wrists. No sign of a badge or wristband that indicates he’s part of the trail crew, though I don’t recall seeing one on Dax earlier either.

At the thought of him, my eyes sting, dejection clawing in my chest as I come to terms with everything. Forgetting I’m on the verge of tears in front of this stranger, my thoughts drift somewhere beyond reach, swallowed by dead leaves and brittle branches.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassures me, his voice soothing in a way that it shouldn’t be. “Let me help.”

A chilled droplet of rain plops onto my head before either of us speaks another word, followed by another until it quickly swells into a downpour. Rain hammers through the trees, drenching my clothes. I flinch, pushing wet hair from my face.

“Shit,” I mutter, but my voice is drowned out by the relentless roar around us. I lift my arms to shield myself from the onslaught, barely noticing him moving until his arm suddenly circles around me, pulling me against his side as he steers us out of the open.

A sharp jolt coils low in my stomach, unsettling in a way I can’t explain.

I gnash my teeth and dip my chin toward my chest as if that’s enough to bury the reaction, but the closer he draws me against him, the more my skin prickles against the freezing rain.

Pull back. Tell him you’re okay and leave.

But I can’t bring myself to talk. The words are already too tangled in my head to form anything coherent aloud.

Our bodies stay pressed together as we weave between the woods, zigzagging past mossy stumps and uprooted branches. My thoughts churn into a muddy mess, not unlike the murky puddles we splash through.

At this point, did I really have another option besides accepting his help? Rainwater streams down my skin as I force my aching legs to keep pace with him.

I can’t spend the entire night stranded beside my car in soaking wet clothes without any signal. I have nobody left to call anyway.

So despite every instinct clamoring inside me, there’s only one direction left to go.

Forward.

Through the pelting rain, I catch the crooked outline of a run-down house ahead. Two stories of warped wood and peeling paint are tucked deep between the trees, its sagging porch lined with long tufts of grass pushing through the cracks.

We rush toward it, stumbling over the splintered steps before ducking beneath the overhang. I slip from his arm the second we’re covered, putting a small distance between us as I clear my throat. “Thanks.”

His eyes flick toward me through damp strands of hair. “It’s Manson.”

I blink. “What?”

“My name.”

Thin wisps of white drift between us in the cold. My hands linger awkwardly at my sides before slipping into my sleeves. “Thank you.”

The name lingers at the back of my tongue, resistance chipping away just enough for it to emerge. “Manson.”

The corner of his mouth ticks upward, faint enough that I almost miss it. The tight bundle of nerves inside me loosens slightly.

He glances over my shoulder for a second. “So⁠—”

“Tatum,” I fill in, my voice an octave higher that I would’ve liked.

His eyes sweep back to me, his smile stretching a little wider, an invisible thread pulling taut in my stomach, spreading south.

Ignoring the unfamiliar churn, I drag my sleeve across my face as though I can wipe the feeling from myself entirely. But it only smears deeper, like rubbing at a wine stain, so I mask it with more conversation. “I’m sorry again about earlier.” I swallow, chewing at the inside of my cheek. “It’s just been…a night.”

My gaze ping-pong between him and the swaying trees, the heavy pour of rain doing a lot to fill in the brief silence.