Page 57 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

I shot out of bed, my heart racing. My stomach lurched.

The bedroom was bathed in gray but my mind was swimming in red. Blood red.

I ran to the bathroom, tripping on the shoe that I’d kicked off in the middle of the room earlier. I managed to catch myself before I smashed into the wall, righting my feet as I slapped a hand over my mouth.

My knees cracked on the tile floor as I landed by the toilet, retching until my stomach was empty. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I shoved the hair from my eyes.

“Damn it,” I cursed to the empty room, burying my face in my hands.

This was the worst nightmare I’d had in months. Maybe years. It was like the versions I’d had early on. The ones where I was at the scene of the crash.

It was the nightmare where I found my father’s mangled arm outstretched on the pavement. The dream where I saw my mother’s head severed from her body.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the smell of torn flesh and burnt rubber and scraped metal out of my nose. Think of something else. Anything else.

The firs

t image that popped into my mind was of Lily Green. Her disfigured body shattered on the rocks below Indigo Ridge.

My stomach roiled again but there was nothing left to puke.

“Fuck.” I pressed my fingers into my eyes until the black became white.

Shoving myself off the floor, I stood on shaking legs and shuffled to the sink. After splashing water on my face, I brushed my teeth, then turned on the lights.

All of the lights.

I flipped every switch as I made my way from the bedroom to the kitchen. The clock on the oven showed it was just past midnight.

The house was still and quiet. My heartbeat filled each room with a resounding boom, boom, boom.

I brewed a pot of coffee. There was no way I’d go back to sleep tonight. With a steaming mug in hand, I went to my bedroom and began organizing. I threw myself into the task, refusing to think of the nightmare. Refusing to think of Griffin.

For the past week, each night he’d slept in my bed, I’d slept all night long. Chances were, if he’d been here tonight, I still would have had the nightmare. Or maybe the dreams had been waiting for me to be at my weakest.

Sometimes, it was like the images had a sick mind of their own. The harder I fought them, the harder they struck. Every nightmare I’d had since moving here had been brutal. It was like they’d crept their way into my new pillows, waiting to pounce.

Of course it would be the night of Griffin’s absence.

Maybe he was with his reporter tonight.

Maybe not.

It didn’t matter anymore.

He hadn’t shown up for me to end it tonight. I guess that was end enough.

So I worked alone to unpack my house. Because that was what I was.

Alone.

Chapter Ten

Griffin

The restraint it required to stay away from Winslow was crippling.

For the past two nights, I’d practically barricaded myself at home. My email inbox was empty, my desk clear. Last night, after dinner, I’d wanted to go to her so badly that I’d spent three hours cleaning stalls in the barn.