Page 41 of Fear of Flames
Nineteen
Michelle hadn’t thought she could be more frightened than she was during the attack in her home. Her visceral reaction to the rattling doorknob proved she was wrong. Call it PTSD or shattered nerves, the results were the same. As she stared down at the pistol in her grasp, her hands trembled—her entire body shuddered. Her stomach rolled as she tried desperately to recall Fletch’s lesson.
It was a gun, not too unlike her own.
All she needed to do was point and shoot.
With the Glock in her grasp, she set her sights on the door and extended both her arms. Michelle tried to steady herself as she released the safety. With the potential of harming someone, the pistol felt heavier in her grasp than it had during Fletch’s lesson.
She saw the movement of the doorknob. The sound was muted by the rush of circulation thumping in her ears.
A voice came through the chaos. “Shelly.”
The breath she was holding rushed from her lungs at the familiar timbre. Laying the pistol back on the TV stand, she hurried to the door. Peering through the peephole., a bird’s eye distortion of Fletch came into view. His baseball cap covered his messy mane, and his dark eyes stared back at her.
Quickly, she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. Her entire body sagged as he slipped inside the room and closed the door from the winter chill.
“You scared me.”
After dropping the shopping bags on the small table, Fletch’s gaze assessed the room milliseconds before turning his attention to Michelle. The darkness of his orbs intensified as he took in her expression and reached for her cheeks. “You’re shaking and pale. Did something happen?”
As she closed her eyes and shook her head, a rogue tear slithered down her cheek. “I picked up the gun, like you said.” She looked up at him. “I released the safety, but as I stood there waiting for someone to charge inside, I didn’t know if I could shoot.”
He wiped away the tear with his thumb. “That’s okay. You did the right thing by picking up the gun. Didn’t you hear me say your name?”
“Not at first. I just heard the doorknob rattle, and my mind went blank.”
Fletch wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his cool hoodie. The steady beat of his heart beneath the soft material, combined with his signature scent, allowed Michelle’s frayed nerves to mend a bit.
With a grasp of her shoulders, Fletch moved her to arm’s length and feigned a smile. “Hey, you reached for the gun and removed the safety. Those were the right moves.”
Inhaling, she nodded.
“I have food and supplies. The truck outside is our new ride. I made a stop at the junkyard for a different license plate.”
“I don’t know how you know what to do.”
“Years of practice.” He dipped his chin toward the small table. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring in the food. Then we need sleep.”
“How long until we reach wherever it is we’re going?”
“This time of year, we have Mother Nature on our side. There’re more hours of dark than light. We’ll set off after the sun sets tonight and get a good twelve hours under our belt before we need to stop. That will give us one more day of driving. We should arrive to the complex Saturday.”
“Complex? What is that?”
“We have time, Shelly. Let’s concentrate on food and sleep.”
Michelle wanted to argue, but the last seventy-two hours had drained her. They’d done more than that. Since falling asleep at her father’s house, her life was completely upended. She wasn’t certain she’d ever have a normal life again. Mentally and physically, Michelle was exhausted. During the few seconds of Fletch’s embrace, she could have been lulled to sleep.
After consuming a breakfast sandwich and orange juice, Michelle lay on one edge of the queen-sized bed and pulled the blankets over herself. One deep breath in and out. She told herself that she was safe as she listened to the rush of water through old pipes and thin walls.
Fletch was showering.
She didn’t know what the future would bring, or if Fletch would stay a part of her life. Currently, she wasn’t reliving the magic they’d shared that first night that now seemed a long time ago. Instead, as her cheek settled into the soft pillow, Michelle only knew that Fletch’s presence reassured her—which was bullshit. Since the loss of her mother and her father’s move to Massachusetts, she’d been happily independent, not relying on anyone.
That didn’t mean she didn’t have friends. She did. She even dated sometimes. Michelle had a few friends with benefits but spending significant amounts of time together wasn’t either of their goals. Going home to a quiet house after a night out with friends gave Michelle comfort. If she were into personality types, that would probably make her an introvert. She suspected that most authors were.
That life was gone.
