Page 117 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
And on top of it all, I’d caught the cold that was traveling around my classroom.
But despite my stuffed nose and hacking cough, I had gone to work every day. Staying home hadn’t been an option. I’d needed my kids to help me through.
Now it was Friday and I was home. Alone. Stripping off my clothes, I took a hot bath, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles.
My head was fuzzy and my minor cold had taken a serious turn. Breathing was a struggle and I had a scorching fever. The cold medicine I had taken was starting to make me drowsy but I still couldn’t shut down my mind.
It was consumed with thoughts of Nick and our fight.
I had completely fucked up.
I was the only person to blame for how I was feeling. Sick. Lonely. Depressed. This was all my fault. I should have talked to Nick about the divorce a long time ago. And though his parting words had been harsh, I had deserved them.
The more I’d replayed our argument, the more I’d understood why he had been so hurt.
He’d left me in Vegas so I could be safe. He’d sacrificed his heart for mine and I had asked him to ignore all of that. And for what gain? So that we could just do it all over again?
I didn’t need another wedding. Our ceremony at The Clover Chapel had been a dream. What we needed was time. Time to settle into a life with Nick. Time to build new memories that would outshine the years of being apart. Time to love one another.
My actions had very likely taken away my possibility of getting that time.
The bath water started to cool so I slipped out, shrugging on one of Nick’s flannels and going immediately to bed.
Without the distraction of my students, I had no idea how I was going to make it through the weekend. My outlook was fairly bleak.
Maybe if I kept myself loaded up with cold medicine, I might be able to sleep through it all.
I heard the crash of breaking glass before the alarm.
My head lifted up off my pillow but my mind was frozen, unsure of what to do. The NyQuil/Theraflu cocktail I had taken was doing its job and my head was fuzzy.
The noise in my ears stopped just as soon as it had started.
Strange.
I must have been having a nightmare from the first break-in. The sounds of breaking glass and the alarm were all just a dream.
It was a struggle to keep my eyes open so I let them shut as I face-planted back into my pillow. I forced myself to stay awake for a few more seconds while I listened for other noises, but the house was dead quiet.
Moments later, I had almost drifted back to sleep when my phone started buzzing on the nightstand. This time I rolled over and scrambled to sit, desperately hoping the call was from Nick.
But before I could reach the phone, all of the lights in my bedroom came on. I winced, throwing my hands over my eyes to protect them from the blinding light. My head swung to the door and my body jolted.
I hadn’t dreamed the alarm. It had been tripped.
Two dark-clad men came strolling into my room. Both were wearing black leather motorcycle club vests, but these were not Tin Gypsies.
Panic consumed me as I tried to untangle my legs from my bedsheets.
In a flash, one man jumped on me. My wrists were trapped above my head and his body smashed me into the mattress.
“She’s a pretty one,” he said.
He reeked of stale beer and cigarettes. I squirmed and twisted beneath him, hoping to get free, but he was too big. “Let me go!”
“Quiet,” he said, adjusting his grip.
He kept my arms secured against the headboard and started groping me with his free hand, yanking at the buttons on Nick’s flannel that I had worn to bed. With some of them coming loose, he grabbed my breast and squeezed so tightly I cried out in pain.
