Page 74 of Protect Me
Kinoshi’s manilla envelope lay in my drawer, hidden under all my pajamas. It still called to me, a taunting thing.
Reminders.
So many reminders.
Despair followed. Though I felt myself firmly oriented in the moment, I loathed these problems. One drunk, drug-addled decision on Timothy’s part and the rest of my life had been utterly changed.
Bitterness crept back in. For years, I’d managed to chew through it. Get rid of each piece as it rose. Now, Timothy walked free and I didn’t. He set my life off-kilteragain.
I grabbed a blanket, wrapped myself in it, and stalked to the front room. Vikram’s door lay canted open, his breaths quiet and gentle as I slipped by. I resisted the urge to climb into bed with him and plowed into the living room instead.
The clock declared the time as a ripe 2:56. It would be almost 5:00 am for Vinita. The temptation to text her followed. She’d always been a late sleeper, though. 5:00 am was unfathomable to her unless work required it. Since she set her own hours, her clients never required such a timeframe.
No.
This I could do on my own.
Ineededto do this on my own.
The storm grumbled in the background when I flipped on the TV. Vikram had seven channels, but nothing appealed. The dull drone of late-night shows made the agitation worse. I jumped with a squeak when a boom descended on the mountains. The windows trembled.
“Holy coconuts,” I muttered.
Hail bounced like hot popcorn on the road outside, leaping all over the place. I double-checked the locked front door, then the back door. A cup of tea, another warm blanket, several minutes of pacing, a lamp or two, and an abandoned attempt to eat later, it all felt worse.
“I’ve got this,” I murmured. “I can do this.”
There had been plenty of thunderstorms in the early days of traumatic recovery, when I’d slept in Vini’s bed. Later, I struggled through them on my own. None of them had been this percussive, however. The noise was so deafening. Hail slammed into the roof with violence, as if the storm wanted to lash through the walls.
When another clap of thunder jump-started my heart again, I dropped the blankets and hurried down the hall.
Forget this.
I didn’thaveto be alone anymore.
Vikram lay on his stomach, sprawled in the middle of the bed. Rain sluiced down the windows in shadows when I crept to the other side. His room smelled like lemongrass and dried sage, a heady mixture that made me think of him. Lightning illuminated the path around his bed.
“Vik?” I murmured. I eased onto the bed next to him. He stirred, sleepy. Near him, the binding tension in my chest began to unwind. Dangerous ground, to steady myself to him so quickly.
While the storm continued to fuss, I tugged on his blankets.
“Vik?”
His head lifted in a sleepy, one-eye-opened daze. He blinked, saw me, and pushed onto his elbows.
“Kate?”
“I, uh . . .” I swallowed. Sweet baby pineapple, how did a grown woman tell the love of her life that she was frightened ofthunder? “I—“
A burst of illumination broke outside, followed by an immediate crack. I jolted. In an instant, his warm hand clamped around my arm. His silky voice tugged my heart.
“C’mere, lady.”
The next moment, I lay tucked against his chest. He curled an arm around me, pulling me close. His body felt lean and toasty, his power encompassing. He lifted the blankets, brought them over me, and used a hand to brush aside my hair. When he settled with a little sigh, goosebumps broke across the back of my neck.
I snuggled deeper.
He tightened his hold.
