“Mr. Dextry, I need you to stay still so I can get your blood pressure.” I try to gently cup his arm to get him to stop wiggling.

He turns to me, his face deeply lined and droopy. His eyebrows are furry caterpillars with wild hairs erupting everywhere, and I see gray hairs sprouting out of his ears. “What?” he yells at me.

I bite back a smile. “Please sit still,” I say in a much louder voice.

“Well, you don’t have to yell it,” he grouses, but he stops moving on his bed and lets me work.

I get his vitals and thank him, then move on to the last room I have to cover on the floor. I’m doing a round to check on patients who have been ill or are currently sick. Mrs. Maze is a feisty woman when she’s sick—hopefully she’s in a good mood tonight. She seemed pleased with dinner earlier and ate all her food, so that should help.

I pause before entering her room and try to stop thinking about Smith. But how can I? Something happened between us earlier. Some kind of shift in our relationship, or whatever the hell you’d call it. I don’t know what is going on with us, but I felt a change in him.

Those kisses he gave me scorched my bones. Every encounter with him changes me on some kind of chemical level. I’m never going to be the same. Smith and I have been doing a slow, torturing tease with each other the last several days. I wondered if that challenge I issued him outside the diner would spur him into acting.

It didn’t. At least, not sexually.

But I can tell he’s feeling as sexually hungry as I am. Something is going to give between us, soon.

I rap on Mrs. Maze’s door, which is cracked open, then peek in. She’s lying on her bed asleep. I gently touch her shoulder. “Hi, it’s time for me to get your vitals.”

Mrs. Maze blinks up at me. Her eyes are a little glassy still, but she seems better than she did yesterday. “Hey, Aubrey.”

I run through obtaining and recording her vitals. As I do, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

That opens the floodgates. She spends the next five minutes giving me a litany of things wrong with her, from how much she aches to how she’s constipated. Nothing to really be concerned with. I murmur in empathy in the appropriate spots.

“Well, your temp is greatly down. You’re barely registering a fever.” I give her a smile and pat her hand. “Try to get some sleep. It’ll help.”

“I could sleep if you guys would quit interrupting me.”

Ah, there she is. The sassy mouth I’ve grown to know and love. I laugh. “I’ll quit interrupting you if you get better,” I shoot back, then close the door to her earthy chuckle.

I head to the nurses station and rest my feet, which are already aching. It’s going to be a long night, but at least evenings are quiet. There are some fashion magazines spread out on the table, and I grab one and flip absently through the pictures.

After peering blindly at images of beautiful women for about twenty minutes, I tug my phone out and send Michaela a quick text saying hi. I don’t want to bug her if she’s up, but I miss my friend. Times like this, quiet nights on our shift, were when we got into the most trouble.

A moment later, my phone buzzes with a reply from Michaela. OMG you will not believe what just happened!!!! I AM SCARRED FOREVER.

Don’t keep me in suspense! I text her.

I caught Mr. and Mrs. Carter having sex in the activities room. He had her tied up to the chalkboard with two of his ties. Apparently he read Fifty Shades of Grey and decided to try it out, and he talked his wife into it.

It’s so hard to keep my laugh quiet. Don’t lie, I reply. You were so turned on, weren’t you.

I think Mrs. Carter wanted to crawl in a hole and die. LOL

A fresh wave of missing her hits me, and I stare at our texts. I made the right decision. I know I did. There was no way Roger was going to accept our breakup. He proved that loud and clear; it took the bruises on my upper arms almost two weeks to fade away. It just makes me kinda mad that I had to give up my life to find safety.

Though I have to admit, I’m starting to like Rock Bridge. When I saw Aunt Sylvia earlier while ordering dinner for Smith, she told me to come back anytime and said she’d save me a seat whenever I wanted to visit. That any real friend of Smith’s was a friend of hers.

It’s nice to feel like I’m planting roots.

I hope you took pics, I write Michaela back, then tuck my phone away. We’re allowed to use our cell phones during slow times, but I don’t want to look like a slacker. I need this job and am so fortunate to have found it on short notice.

Felicia and Tawny, two other nurses working the shift with me, stroll over and plop down at the table. They’re both older than me, with Felicia in her thirties and Tawny in her early forties, but they’ve been nice so far. I enjoy shifts with them.

Tawny groans and presses her hands to her lower back, stretching. “Fuck, I’m whomped already, and we still have hours to go before we’re done.”

“Living the glamorous life,” Felicia says with a laugh as she sips on her water.

“No, the glamorous life would include a wealthy husband and a pool boy,” Tawny replies, her toothy grin wide.

We both chuckle.

“I just want a margarita and a bar of chocolate right now,” I say.

They groan.

“That sounds divine,” Tawny says with a nod. “We should make that happen.”

“Foley’s Sports Bar serves the best margaritas I’ve ever had in my entire life,” Felicia says. She pats her dark red hair to make sure it’s still in a bun and eyes us both. “We should go soon and get some.”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Tawny pauses. “I work tomorrow evening and then I’m off Saturday. What about you guys?”

My heart jumps in my throat. I’m actually being asked to join coworkers for a night out. I’m making real friends. Deepening my roots. “I work Saturday morning shift, so that evening would be good for me.”

Felicia wiggles in her chair in excitement. “I’m working Saturday morning too. Sounds like we have a date, bitches.”

“I haven’t been to Foley’s,” I tell them. “Is it good?” I remember the name though. Foley’s was the place Smith told me to go that first night I showed up at Outlaws. Where he said someone like me would be better suited.

“So have you been drinking out of town or something? Because that’s really the only place around,” Tawny says. She scrutinizes her perfectly painted nails.

“I’ve gone to Outlaws.”

Both women stare at me.

“The bar,” I add.

Felicia’s lips quirk. “Oh, we know what Outlaws is, trust me. But it…”

“Isn’t my type of joint,” I say with a laugh. “Yeah, I heard. They have good beer though.”

“And good-looking bartenders.” Tawny waggles her brows. “Those Beckett boys are hell raisers, but I hear they’re wild in the sack.”

I think about the night Smith and I had sex, the way he went down on me in the bathroom. God yes, he’s wild. I wish I knew how wild though.

“No fucking way,” Felicia says in shock, as she sees the look on my face. “You bagged a Beckett? Oh my God, you did!” she practically shouts, pointing at me.

My throat burns, a slow crawl that works its way up my cheeks. “I…” I swallow. “I’m kinda talking to Smith.”

“Sweetheart. No one talks to Smith.” Tawny lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic squeeze. “The Beckett boys are good for one thing. Fucking. Okay, two things—fucking and fighting. But they don’t date anyone, and they sure as hell don’t talk.”

It’s not true, though I don’t bother to correct the women. Smith and I have talked. I’m the new girl, though, so I know I’ll just hear how I don’t know enough yet. It’s like the script writes itself—I can almost predict it.

Tawny sighs and picks up a magazine near her. “I sure wish I could find out how well they are in bed. I’m far too old for them though. I don’t think they’re into cougars.”

Felicia laughs. “Please. I saw the way that guy at Foley’s was hitting on you. Remember him? The black-haired one who barely had enough facial hair to indicate he was out of puberty?”

They both cackle and talk about him, the Beckett Boys forgotten. But my stomach is unsettled now, uneasy. Am I really naïve as to think that maybe what Smith and I are doing is different? Or is this just me being blind?

Sometimes I can see every emotion on his face. Other times, I can’t tell a damn thing he’s thinking. Hot and cold.

The rest of my shift crawls by. I’m plagued by doubts, feeling a little silly, yet also trying to convince myself that I know what I know. I’m not just a booty call to Smith. There’s more between us than that. What that “more” is, I don’t know. But it’s there. Either that, or he’s the world’s greatest actor. Because the emotion in our last kiss was so strong it almost blew me over.

At seven, I wrap up my shift, tired down to my bones, and get in my car. The morning sun is peeking over the horizon, and the trees are awash in a golden glow. There aren’t a lot of cars on the road, just tree-lined avenues and quiet houses waking for the day. Rock Bridge is a lovely town, and for the first time, I let myself really start to observe it for what it is.

Really, does it matter what Smith and I are right now? We’ve only known each other a few weeks. I should stop hyper focusing, overanalyzing, and just let it be what it is. Enjoy his company, his kisses, the way I feel when I’m with him.

Smith isn’t perfect—he’s surly and abrasive at times, hard to read, and his temper is quite strong. But he’s also got this vulnerability underneath all of that. His kisses make me feel alive. And God, do I crave him again, despite my best efforts not to. I want him inside me so badly I could scream.

He’s spent the last few days showing me who he is. Slowly dropping his guard, giving me a hint or two about his life, his stresses. What he wants. And every bit of information I get is like a drop of rain on the desert. I soak it up and instantly want more.

I weave my way to my apartment, getting a string of green lights.

I’m in a good place right now. I need to stop being so on edge. Rock Bridge is turning into home for me.

I pull into my parking lot and kill the engine. Lock my car door and head to my apartment. There’s a folded-over note for me taped on my door with no text on the outside. Maybe Smith thanking me for bringing him dinner?

I rip it off and flip it open.

The words are stark and accusing.

I FOUND YOU

I can’t believe that he’s been here.

Roger.

Just thinking his name, just seeing his handwriting, makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.

My hands shake so badly that I drop the note, and it flutters quietly to the ground in front of my feet. Oh God, oh God. I spin around and eye the hallway around me. Empty. My entire body is trembling, and it takes all my effort to bend over and retrieve the note, cramming it into my purse, then walk back to my car.

Every nerve ending has roared to the surface of my skin. I’m just waiting for Roger to jump out and grab me any second. The walk to my car takes a year, and it doesn’t help that I’m feeling lightheaded. It takes me far too long to get the key in my lock, but I finally do and dive into the driver’s seat, locking the car doors and gasping for air.

I’m on autopilot as I pull away from the parking lot. I drive in random patterns for a good half hour, looking to see if anyone is behind me every thirty seconds. I don’t think I’m being tailed, but I’m so scared that I can’t be sure.

Roger is out there somewhere. He knows where I live. He’s found me, and I’m in real danger now, because me running away like that surely angered him beyond reason. I know him—he’s going to make sure I am fully aware of how he feels.

When I’m pretty certain that I’m not being followed, I use GPS to navigate me to Outlaws. I park two blocks down the street on a residential road, then practically run the whole way to Smith’s entrance.

I bang on the door, praying he’s here, glancing around me.

I hear thudding as someone walks down the stairs. The door open, and Smith stands in front of me, looking sleepy and disheveled, his hair mussed on top. He blinks when he sees me. “Hey, what’s—” He stops talking and jerks to full attention, staring at my face. “What’s wrong, Aubrey?”

The knot that has been slowly building in my chest gets so big it’s unbearable, and I feel myself unravel. Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes, slide down my cheeks. “I…I’m scared, and I didn’t know where to go—”

That’s all I get out before Smith jerks me inside the doorway and locks the door behind me. He has my hand in a death grip and tugs me up the narrow stairwell to his apartment. I follow him, my palms clammy, clenching his hand so hard I’m almost afraid I might break his fingers off.

He sets me on the couch then takes a seat between my legs on the coffee table. Grips my shoulders and makes me look at him. “Aubrey. What. The fuck. Is going on. I need you to tell me everything.”

I sniffle and feel another sob erupt from my chest. I try to suck it back. “I…” I shudder and swipe my hands across my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” Deep breath, Aubrey. “I’m scared. I didn’t know where else to go.” I sob again, and again, and then I can’t stop crying.

With a move that happens so fast I can barely blink, Smith scoops me into his arms like I’m a doll and shifts us so he’s sitting on the couch, me on his lap. I wrap my arms around him and breathe in his scent, let the feel of his strong arms around me comfort me. My tears come, hot and heavy, and we sit there as he lets me cry for a few minutes. He says nothing, just silently stroking my hair, my back.

I accept his comfort and nuzzle into his neck. I know I’m getting him wet from my tears, but I try not to be self-conscious about it. Finally the tension in my lungs releases, and I can breathe again. I find myself drawing in a slow gulp of air, then releasing it.

Smith kisses my brow, and the tender gesture eases the pain in my heart. “Sweetheart, let me help you. Please. I’m worried.”

I swallow and sit back, looking him in the face. I swipe my eyes again to clear the tears. When I go to move off his lap and give him room, he frowns and clenches my hips to lock me into place.

I give a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m…really tired. And I came home to find a note from my ex-boyfriend on the door saying he’s found me.”

“I’m guessing that’s a bad thing,” he says quietly. “I need you to tell me why.”

I squirm a little, discomfort blooming in my lower belly. I bite my lower lip and look away. I don’t want to look at him while I tell what happened. “Roger and I met at a party. He was really sweet and attentive at first. Totally into me. He told me he felt connected and vulnerable in a way he never had, and I was drawn to it. I’d…” I clear my throat. “I’d only ever been with one man before him, and he was an emotional dud. So I found Roger’s focus flattering and compelling.”

Smith doesn’t say anything, just lets me continue. His hand rubs soft circles on my back, soothing me in a silent gesture. I close my eyes and let the sensation give me strength to confess.

“Things moved fast. Roger thought we should move in together a month after we dated, but I managed to hold him off another couple of months. I skipped out on my lease and moved in with him, because his place was bigger and he felt it was a good start for us to grow. That eventually we’d find a home together.” Images of those early times flash through my mind. Roger’s gentle coercion to get his way. How he made me feel that what he wanted was best for both of us.

“Roger grew more…controlling as time went on. It started with him chastising me about how I spent my money and spare time. He tried to make it sound reasonable at first, like he was just giving me advice and I was overreacting for getting upset. But then it became that he wanted to mesh our bank accounts together. Which I stupidly did.” I can feel the old, familiar sickness over my stupidity swirling in my gut.

“Go on,” Smith urges me. I can’t tell what he’s feeling right now; his voice is even and quiet. I’m kind of afraid he’s probably questioning the wisdom of being with someone like me, but I make myself continue.

“Having access to my spending gave him more control over me. He was constantly harping on how much money I blew. If I drew cash out, he wanted to know what I was spending it on. I had to start keeping receipts to prove it.” I duck my head in shame and stare at my lap, fiddling with my fingertips. “A big source of contention for us was that I didn’t want to quit my job. He wanted me home, taking care of our place, but everything I did was wrong. I folded towels wrong. I didn’t buy the brand of toilet paper he wanted. One time I forgot to check the pantry and brought home duplicates of things we already had. I came home from work that night to find all the duplicates lined up on the dining room table. It was his way of shaming me. Making sure I know the he knew I fucked up.”

As I confess all of this, I find my old anger at Roger surging up in me again. My breathing gets quicker, and the blood pounds in my veins. “I wanted out, but I felt stuck. Our lives were intertwined. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he controlled everything. He’d taken over paying all the bills, including mine, so I had no idea where it all was. He’d even started doling out cash to me for spending money to ensure I didn’t go crazy. I told my friend this at work one night and she said he was abusive and I needed to get the hell out of it.” I swallow, thankful once more for Michaela. She helped me understand just how bad our relationship was. “She pushed me into getting my independence for a couple of months, and I quietly started searching for another job, casting my nets out of state, even.”

I pause. Smith is stiff, not saying a word. I wish I could read him. I turn to look into his eyes and he stares hard at me. A long moment passes.

It’s difficult, but I make myself keep looking at him as I reveal what happened that night. “When I had a lead on a position in a different state, one that seemed promising, I finally gathered my courage and told Roger that I was done. That I don’t love him and I want us to break up and separate all our entanglements. Upon retrospect, telling him when he was drinking wasn’t my best idea. He got super angry with me, called me a whore, asked me again and again if I was cheating on him and leaving him for another man. Said he’d followed me at work and had seen me talking to men when I was there, or running errands. I…was shocked.” All the tension from learning about that reveal came back into me, and I started to shake again. “He’d put keystroke detection on my laptop and was monitoring everything I was saying. All this time, Roger had been watching me. Checking my text messages on my cell phone when I wasn’t looking, seeing who I was talking to, reading my emails.”

I close my eyes. “He grabbed me hard and shook me. I tried to get away from him but he wouldn’t let go. I got scared and shoved at his chest, and he screamed at me to stop fighting him, that I was making a mistake leaving him. That he’d make me sorry if I thought I could walk away like this. That he had a say in our relationship and he wasn’t done yet.” I press trembling fingers to my stomach and make myself breathe. The horror of that night, the overwhelming fear I felt, shudders through me. “So I stayed, because I was petrified. I stayed for another couple of weeks. During that time, Roger was his usual self—and why wouldn’t he be? He got his way. I was still there. Until one day, my cell phone rang and I got the job offer from here. I accepted on the spot. Then the next day, I waited until he was at work and I packed everything I owned and left. I drove to the bank and took out enough money for me to live on. When I made it to a friend’s house, I contacted my bills. Turns out Roger hadn’t paid any of them. He was hoarding my money and keeping me indebted to him. I worked out a payment plan to get me back on track.”

Shame burns me all over. I get up and move from his lap, and he doesn’t stop me. The rawness I’m feeling hurts so badly. Telling him that story, confessing it all, makes me realize what an utter fool I was with Roger. How did I let him control me like that? What is wrong with me?

I go to a window and press my forehead to it, looking down. I don’t see anyone out there who looks like Roger. No cars parked nearby. I finally let my guard down and Roger came back into my life, destroying everything again. And now that I’ve finally found someone I connect with, someone who excites me and stimulates me, he ruins it all.

I hate him. So deeply.

And I kind of hate myself for being stupid and weak.

Soft hands touch my upper arms, then wrap around me, and Smith tugs me to his chest. He’s holding me tightly, pressing small kisses to the side of my brow, then he turns me in his arms and grips me.

I can feel his body is so tense he seems like a live wire, and it makes me pause.

“If this fucker ever tries to harm you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” he says in such a cold, furious tone, it takes me aback. “I will protect you from him, I swear it. You will never have to be afraid of him or anyone else.” His words are breathed against my forehead, rustling the small hairs there. “I will find him and make sure he knows he will leave you alone for good.”

Listening to Smith, I’m convinced he means it. Some of the fear dissipates from my body, and I sag against him. He grabs me and scoops me into his arms again, carrying me down a dark hallway, kicking open a door. Then I’m delicately laid on a bed, and he’s curled up behind me, cupping me. My back is warm against his chest.

“Sleep, baby,” he tells me in a gentle tone. His hand rubs my hair, my back. “Trust me. I’ll protect you. Sleep.”

I didn’t think I could, but I find my eyelids drifting closed. I’m so tired, and crying made me even more fatigued. Between the low hum of the fan above us and Smith’s steady warmth, I find myself drifting into a dreamless sleep.