Chapter 6

Igroaned as I turned over in the bed, looking at the high sunlight streaming in through the window and then at the old-fashioned wooden clock hanging on the wall above the bed. Nine forty-five. As I sat up, stretching and rubbing my eyes, I found it hard to believe that I'd slept in so long. I hadn't slept this well or this deeply for ages, and I felt the residual stiffness from the long hours spent in bed lingering in my bones.

The day before had been so chaotic and panic-inducing that, in the midst of all the moving pieces and changing winds, it took me a minute to remember where I was. For some reason, there had been a second when the surroundings themselves had made more sense than the fact that I'd slept in. I'd spent so long being so tightly wound—either from school stress, work stress, or the stress of being with a man who terrified me—that feeling safe enough to sleep in was foreign to me by this point.

As I got out of bed, I thought over the course of the day and pondered what I needed to do. As much as it grated to admit it, I did owe Dillon more of an explanation than what I'd given him, which had been absolutely nothing.

My face started to flame as I thought of the full day before and everything that had gone on between us, from our argument to how he'd encroached on me in the bathroom. I knew he hadn't meant to walk in on me, but I also knew that he definitely hadn't been opposed to what he'd seen when he came in. He'd stood there for a good three seconds as his breath got shallower and his face got redder before he finally turned away and shut the door behind him.

Regardless, I knew I needed to explain myself to him. At least a little bit. The idea made my hand start shaking as I pulled my sweatshirt over my head. The last man I'd let in had taken systematic control over my choices, my finances, and my body until I'd become a shell of myself, and I was goddamn terrified of that happening again.

Taking a deep breath, I walked out into the living room, where I saw Dillon sitting in front of the enormous computer setup that I'd noticed the day before. He was working on something extremely complicated that I was barely able to make heads or tails of, and I cautiously approached him, nervous about disturbing him. Alex had always been quick to fly off the handle when I interrupted him while he was "in the zone."

"Um… good morning," I said, walking up to him and twisting my fingers together in my sweatshirt pocket.

He tore his eyes away from his computer screen and finally looked up at me, fixing me with a cautious smile. "Good morning. Did you sleep okay?"

"I slept great, actually. Thank you." It was strange; in a house with a man I didn't know, isolated in the Smoky Mountains, I really had slept better than I had in years.

"Good." He tilted his head back to the computer bay. "I'm almost done with my work, but you can help yourself to coffee if you want it. Everything's on the counter."

"Okay," I mumbled, turning away from him and walking away from him. What was it about him that seemed to understand my need for a little bit of space before I bared everything about my history to him? He seemed to have a sixth sense for reading my moods, but I didn't want to think about that right now. It wouldn't do me any good as I got ready to bare my soul.

"Do you need coffee?" I asked from the kitchen.

"Black with two sugars," he said, not breaking in his typing. "There are mugs in the cabinet above the coffee maker."

"Okay." I prepped the two coffees, even finding almond milk in the fridge. I heard the chair slide out from behind his desk, and he came over to take his position and slide onto the stool by the bar. I was amazed by how a man so tall managed to fold his legs behind that counter, fixing me with his piercing green eyes and hooking up a corner of his mouth in a half-smile that did strange things to me.

Well, there was no use delaying. I might as well just dive into it.

"So," I said, taking a sip of my hot coffee, "you wanted to know the reason why I can't go back to my apartment."

He blinked at me before giving me a slow nod, simply giving me the space to say what I needed to say.

"I was engaged back in LA. His name is Alex." I swallowed a little on his name, unable to really meet Dillon's eyes as I spoke. "He's an attorney. He… was amazing, at first. We actually met when he had me come in and testify as an expert witness for one of his cases."

"As an expert in what?" he asked quietly. It wasn't a nasty question; it was natural, given that now I was working as a bag-and-check girl at a supermarket.

"In art therapy. He wanted me to come and talk about the signifiers of child abuse that can be found when kids draw." He looked up at me in surprise, and I nodded. "I have a BFA from Cal Arts, and a master's degree from UCLA. I'm a licensed therapist. It's still valid, even though I haven't used it in a while. I had to close down my practice before I left."

"Okay, back up." He leaned forward on the counter, fixing me with a hard stare. "So go back to Alex."

I wasn't sure of why there was such a sour look on his face when he said it, but I nodded. "Yeah. He asked me to move in with him really quickly, and I figured, ‘why not?' We were spending almost every night together anyway."

He nodded stiffly. "So what happened then?"

"He proposed about a year and a half later, and I accepted. It just made sense. But then he started getting weirdly possessive, and he started checking my phone without my permission. There were a couple of times when he got physical with me during fights—nothing overt," I said, wanting to put off the furious look on his face. "Not at first. He would just restrain me. But then it started getting more physical. He would leave bruises behind as a reminder. That's what he told me. To remind me that I'd disappointed him or made him angry."

I swallowed, turning away from him. He was so quiet I had to look back at him to see whether he was still there, and from what I saw, he was clenching the stone countertop so tightly it looked like it was in danger of cracking. I wondered why he was taking what had happened to me so personally.

"Eventually, it ended when my mom called me one day while we were fighting. I don't know how, but my phone picked up the call by accident, and she heard him hitting me. She lives a few hours away from LA, but she came down that night to get me out of the apartment.

"I went back to her house in San Luis Obispo, but he wouldn't leave me alone. I knew I had to leave and go somewhere random, so that's why I'm here."

"And now he's here? In the Ridge?" He spoke so quietly I thought I might've misheard him.

"Yeah. I have no idea how he found me, but I guess he did. He left me a voicemail yesterday that he was in Nashville when I started the hike, and then another that he was near my apartment when you took me to my car."

"I can think of a few ways that he might have found you." He got off his stool and paced back and forth, covering his face with his hands. "Do you still have your laptop from home?"

"Yes," I said, confused.

"Did you get a VPN?" he asked.

"What's that?"

He snorted. "Jesus. That's just basic cybersecurity. I'm surprised it took him this long to find you." He turned to face me, his face twisted with anger and frustration. "So, you knew this guy was after you? And you still decided to come hiking in a place that's completely unfamiliar to you and isolated?" He shook his head, and I started to feel my face heating up at the dismissal in his expression. "Jesus Macy, do you have a damn death wish?"

That was it. I'd already spent too much time ripping myself to shreds over this, and I wasn't going to have this asshole finish the job when I was just starting to stitch myself back together.

I set the mug down with a clatter, not bothering to clean up the coffee that splashed over the rim. "No, I don't have a death wish. And I don't need you to keep reminding me that what I did was foolish. Jesus, living all alone on this mountain has done fucking wonders for your people skills."

I opened the door and slammed it shut behind me, walking out into the forest behind the cabin. I knew I didn't know the area. I knew it was probably a dumb idea. I knew that I was probably proving that stupid alpha male right.

And absolutely none of that mattered. I couldn't stand to be around him for a second longer. All I knew was that if I was around him anymore, I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.

Walking into the brush, I allowed the tears to finally start flowing, giving space to the pain and fear that had been rising since the day before. The breaths started to come out of me in gasps, and I worked hard not to wheeze on the heaving in my chest.

"Macy!"

I didn't turn around at the voice. I just stood there, in the forest, letting him come to me.

"Macy, I'm sorry." He came around to face me, his face contorted with an apology. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that."

"You must've meant part of it or you wouldn't have said it." I was amazed that the words came out so steady.

He sighed. "I just… I've seen some shit."

My eyes snapped up to him. "So have I, Dillon. I lived the shit. That doesn't give you the right to talk to me like that."

"I was a cop. In Nashville." The words came out softly. "I saw all the statistics, and I saw the shit that made the numbers inaccurate. You don't want to know how many crime scenes I got called to where there was a woman who was murdered by her partner, who she didn't report." He heaved a breath. "I don't want you to become just another number."

"Too late." I swallowed heavily as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"Just…" He threaded his hands together. "Just stay here, okay? I can help you, but I need you to listen to me and take my advice. You can't just walk away from the cabin. Come back inside, and we'll make a plan."

I peered up at him, still annoyed and hurt even after his explanation.

Still, I followed him back to the cabin, knowing that I wasn't in a position to be picky about the help I accepted.