Page 36 of Jessica's Hero
I miss his smile.
I miss his hugs.
I miss how safe he makes me feel.
I even miss his gentle bossiness; how he pushes me to open up and nudges me into plans I’d be afraid to make myself and how he defends me when I’m too much of a coward to do it on my own.
Maybe, like Hazel said, I deserve something good, after all.
With a smile still lingering on my lips, I slide into bed and snuggle under my fluffy down comforter, a rare splurge I allowed myself as a Christmas present last year. I’m wearing decidedly un-sexy pajamas tonight—worn flannel pants and a shirt with a stain on the sleeve—which will definitely not fly if Kane ever ends up staying over.
Waking up my phone, I punch in a quick reminder.Buy sexy PJs. ASAP.
Overly optimistic? Maybe. But better prepared than not, as my mom used to say.
I flick off the light on the nightstand and check my alarm one last time before setting the phone on its charger. Just as the screen’s about to go dark, another message lights up.
Just leaving work. And still thinking about you and those PJs. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
Well. It looks like new pajamas aredefinitelyin order.
In fact, maybe I should look online now. Just in case.
I’m just reaching for my phone again when the sound of glass shattering breaks the silence.
Moments later, the security system starts blaring.
Then another crash follows. And another.
I shoot up in bed, my heart slamming against my chest.
Fear seizes my lungs, stealing their air.
What was that?
My brain knows but doesn’t want to believe.
For a few seconds, I just sit frozen in bed, my breath coming in short, frightened bursts.
Logic tells me to get up, lock the bedroom door, and wait for help. The security system should notify the police, maybe even Kane, if he hasn’t left the station yet. All I have to do is hide until they get here.
But.
I’ve been through this before. Been told I was making things up. Or that I orchestrated the evidence—footsteps outside, threatening mail—in an attempt for attention.
I need to know for sure that it wasn’t some fluke. That it wasn’t one of the shelves I installed after watching a YouTube video falling off the wall, shattering the glass figures my mom used to collect as a result. That the panrack hanging over the kitchen island didn’t pull out of the ceiling. That my TV didn’t take a suicidal leap off the stand and onto the floor.
It might be stupid to look, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
So I gather my courage and slip out of bed.
Clutching my phone in a death-grip, well aware this could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, I tiptoe out of the bedroom and down the hallway.
The alarm is still blaring, but it doesn’t seem as loud anymore. Or maybe my ears are just used to it.
Heart thrumming at double speed, I creep to the stairs. A voice in my head shrieks,Go back! What are you doing? This isn’t safe!
Go back, the poor, ignored, rational part of my brain insists.This isn’t smart. If this was a movie, you’d be the too-stupid-to-live woman, the one who marches into danger when all the signs tell you to turn around.
