He nods. “It makes my mind quit wandering. Ties me to the present.”
Understanding sparks in my eyes. He gets it. He gets me. “Roscoe, I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t even know how to begin.” My voice quivers.
“Shh… You don’t have to, Ginger,” he reassures, stroking my cheek softly. “I’m glad you feel better.”
I scrutinize his rugged, square-cut face, tanned, chiseled physique, and mane of thick hair. He’s an untamed version of Charlie Hunnam …fucking gorgeous.My roommates would jump this man’s bones in a heartbeat.
They’re dead, Ginger…
My stomach lurches.
As if somehow reading my mind, he asks, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I pause, uncertain of what I feel or how to answer his question. I squeak, “But don’t you have to get firewood?”
“I do,” he says, glancing past me at the waterfall. “But I need to make sure you’re okay first.”
I shake my head. “My roommates…”
He nods, urging me on.
“I saw them dead on the kitchen floor as Asher dragged me from the house.” Memories wash over me, the adrenaline rush of my escape giving way to pure, hellish horror. “He told me Crystal and Tiff were useful idiots … to get to me. But why?”
“Is Asher who took you?” He runs his fingertips comfortingly up and down the sides of my neck and shoulders, his whisper-soft touch trailing tiny sparks across my flesh. The gesture keeps me aware enough of the present to avoid slipping too deeply into memories.
I nod. “Asher Scofield. A biology grad student at the University of New Brunswick with me, Crystal, and Tiff.”
“Crystal and Tiff were your roommates?”
“Yes, and he was their friend, not mine. I avoided him as much as possible, but they said I was too judgmental. They liked partying with him because of who he knew.”
“And who was that?”
“Rich people. The upper crust. He’s the son of a senator.”
Roscoe gives me his complete focus as if memorizing every word I say, every breath I take, and the expressions I make. It’s wonderfully intense, anchoring me to him and making me feel heard for the first time in my life.
“How did you end up in the Jeep with him?”
My voice quakes. “Crystal and Tiff went out partying last night. I remember they came home around one in the morning, so loud, they woke me. I heard male voices, too, although I didn’t recognize Asher’s. I fell back asleep. A little while later…” I pause, trying to keep my composure. “I…uh…I awoke to a hand over my mouth…”
Anger flashes across the man’s face … deadly and dangerous as he scrutinizes me. His jaw tenses, the muscles jumping beneath his thick beard, his far-too-kissable lips pressing into a firm line. His hand comes up, palming my cheek with a feather-light touch. “And what happened here?”
My mind swirls, and it takes me a moment to remember. “He backhanded me in the Jeep because I refused to answer him.”
Roscoe’s eyes narrow, and his face tightens. “Did he hurt you in any other ways?”
I shake my head, and he exhales slowly.
I can hear his teeth grinding together as he says in a deadly calm whisper, “He will never touch you again.” The words have a finality to them I don’t question. Maybe it should trouble me, but it doesn’t.
Taking a shallow breath, I tell Roscoe more, describing how Asher duct-taped and bound me and the drive in the Jeep. I tell him about my thoughts as we traveled and the fears that raged inside as we hiked. And I tell him about the unadulterated hope that blossomed with his scream, distant but present in the woods. He listens calmly, nodding empathetically and absorbing my experiences as I absorb his heat.
In dark tones, he promises, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and get you home.”
I believe him with every cell in my body, down to the marrow of my bones. My hands slide over his scarred back again, needing to know and feel this man, though I can’t explain why. I guess I need a hero… Instead of tensing at my touch this time, he patiently lets me explore the topography of pain carved into him, eyeing my blank face curiously.
“You’re not afraid of my scars,” he observes flatly.