My boots slapping against the sidewalk is the only sound that can be heard as I make my way to the studio. Looking around, I scan my surroundings. I hate this place at night.

James Edward Hospital is the number one hospital for trauma patients in Texas. The all white structure and beautifully cared for gardens give this place such a bright and welcoming feel. But looking at it now blanketed by the night sky, the beauty gives way to the hauntings that these walls help to overcome. Living here as a patient for the first seven months after being rescued will forever be embedded in my mind. The screams and cries I heard at night are something I can’t even begin to describe.

You can practically see the ghosts that haunt this place lingering in the dark. Hurrying past the main building, I follow the path to the studio. My nerves cause my body to tremble. Am I making the right choice?

Ever since the first time I saw him, I have wanted to approach him; to see his eyes hidden under his hood, to ask why he follows me. But I never have. I’ve always been scared that the answer will be more than I can take.

Knowing this will be my last chance… that this is it…I have to. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and steel myself. I can do this. I have to see him one last time…

With shaky hands that betray my internal pep talk, I unlock the door and walk into the dark and quiet room. The smell of paint overwhelms my senses as I inhale the calming scent. This building has been my place of healing.

Flipping on the light, I look around at the large room and soak in the many canvases, tables and supplies that are littered everywhere. Walking down the aisle I run my hands along the surfaces, letting the memories of my time here play like a movie in my head.

Every memory that I painted, every tear that I shed…it was all a part of healing. Art gave me that.

I sold every painting I ever made. It was cleansing… Each one held a story that I can’t fully remember. They were all glimpses of the past that have haunted me in my dreams.

Cold rooms with various weapons, a dark stage that held nothing but a single chair, rows of children kneeling with their heads down, and the deepest painting… the only one that caused me to backtrack, the only one that overpowered my recovery, a painting of a boy.

I don’t remember who he is but I know that somehow he saved me. I know that he meant something to me, and I know that the reason my mind refuses to remember him is because that’s all he would be, a memory.

My heart stops…don’t go there, Emmalyn.

The sound of the door quietly opening and closing draws me away from my mind. The ever-faithful electricity consumes the room raising the hair along my neck.

He came. My pulse quickens as my heart races.

We have never been alone in a room like this before. In the four years I have been seeing him, this is the most private we have ever been.

Not turning to face him, I draw in a shaky breath and move to sit at one of the easels. Grabbing a paint brush, I let my hands take on a mind of their own, the action calming. Just what I need.

It only takes a few moments before the echo of his shoes lets me know he’s coming closer. Butterflies erupt in my stomach and awareness shoots through me. It takes everything in me not to turn around.

This is it…

“Did you come here on purpose?” his deep voice asks, breaking the silence. Shocked, my eyes squeeze shut. The familiarity forcing my hand to pause.

Oh, my God…

Get yourself together.

Clearing my throat, I open my eyes and force myself to continue with the painting. Whatever my hands are creating is overlooked as everything blurs to the background, my focus only on the man standing behind me. “Yes,” I answer, sounding out of breath.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to see you one last time.” The words spill from my mouth, coming out stronger than I feel.

Silence lingers for a few seconds before he answers, his voice taking on a wary tone. “Last time?”

“I’m moving,” I answer. “Out of Texas.”

“Where are you going?”

His voice…

Not paying attention to what my hands are painting, I answer without a thought, “California.”

I hear his breath catch and I can’t help but turn and look. Placing the paintbrush down I turn and face the man behind me. I’m not surprised to find him in his usual hoody and worn-in jeans, his eyes hidden from view. Sitting before him, he towers over me, his broad shoulders squared off and his hands clenching and unclenching, like he is forcing himself to stand still. Intense power rolls off of him. It’s like he is capable of anything.

I should be afraid… but I’m not. I’m drawn to him by a force that can’t be seen. Only felt.

“What’s in California?” he asks.

Staring at his full lips and the scruff along his defined jawline, the word slips out, “Answers.”

My hands ache to pull back his hood, to see the face of the man who has been following me all these years. But at the same time something in the back of my mind warns me that if I were to do that, it would be life changing. There would be no going back.

As he takes an unexpected step toward me, my breath catches at his closeness. The smell of motor oil, sunshine, and something so familiar clings to him; it’s intoxicating. Leaning down he reaches out and places his finger on the heart of my necklace. The touch is felt all the way to my soul. Goosebumps spread across my skin and my breathing escalates.

Who is this man?

“I hope you find what you are looking for,” he whispers, not taking his finger off my necklace, the thickness in his voice causing tears to clog my throat.

His words hold a meaning and a promise that I want so badly to understand …but can’t.

“Me too,” I whisper back.

I want to lean into him, I want to see his eyes…

Hearing the obvious anguish in my voice, he straightens up and takes a step back. The sadness is quickly replaced with fear as I watch him take yet another step away from me.

Standing from my stool I go to move toward him but stop as he holds his hand out.

“Don’t go,” I all but beg, the emptiness I feel every time he leaves already beginning to sink in. How can this stranger make me feel so alive and so alone at the same time?

Bringing his hand back to his side I watch the muscles along his jaw work, an indecision obvious in his body language.

Please don’t go… I don’t want him to go.

Making up his mind, he takes a few more steps back before turning and heading for the door. My heart falls to my stomach as I watch him place his hand on the knob.

“Why??” I shout feeling desperate and hurt.

Freezing, he doesn’t move. “Why what?”

“Why do you follow me? Why is it always on the 26^th?” My voice chokes up with emotion as I force the last question out. My hands move to my necklace. “Why do I feel like I can breathe when you’re around and I can’t when you’re gone? Who are you to me?”

Silence ticks on as I watch him place his forehead against the door. My body trembles with emotions.

Why does it feel like if he walks out that door he will be walking out with a piece of me?

With jerky aggressive movements, he turns around and stalks back toward me. My body tells me to cower but my heart tells me it’s okay.

He doesn’t stop until we are toe to toe. I look up, barely getting a glimpse above his cheekbones.

“Do you really want to know, Emmy?” he grounds out, his jaw clenching.

Of course, he knows my name.

Searching for the answer I just stare…

Do I really want to know?

Am I ready?

Blurry memories that are just out of reach cause a sheen layer of sweat to build across my forehead and I have to squeeze my eyes shut. The ever-looming signs of a panic attack threaten to take over.

Why can’t I be stronger? Why can’t I just remember?

Feeling the soothing touch of his hand on my chin, my eyes snap open.

“You’re not ready yet baby, but one day soon you will be.” His voice is calmer than before, soothing the anxiety that threatened to take over.

A tear streaks down my face as I whisper, “But I won’t see you again.” The truth is almost too much to bear. Maybe I am making the wrong decision.

Catching my tear, he runs his thumb across my cheek and answers, “You will never get rid of me. I will always find you.” Leaning down he places his lips to my cheek and I stop breathing. Time stands still as he lingers there. “Stay strong, Emmy. You will never be alone.” Letting me go he turns and storms out of the studio, leaving me breathless.

How?

His words hit me like a truck. My chest heaves as I try and make sense of what just happened. Looking down at my necklace, the tiny heart still resting in my hand blurs as tears slide down my face. A memory of my last day living at the hospital floods in. I remember one of the nurses handing me this necklace that I had no recollection of owning and telling me those very words, “Stay strong, you are never alone.”

Spinning back to my canvas, time stands still yet again as I’m nearly brought to my knees. Looking at what I subconsciously painted, I see the bluest eyes I have ever seen staring back at me.

The same eyes that protect me in my sleep.

* * *

Shutting the door behind me, I lock up. Gripping the key tight, I turn and lean my back against the door. My head thuds against the hard surface. Shutting my eyes I breath in the cool night air.

I’m not one to ignore what is right in front of my face. I know there is a connection between my hooded stranger and my painting. I know there is more than just history between us.

The way he makes me feel… it’s like I can finally breathe; like I could be anywhere on earth and as long as he is there with me, it’s where I belong.

But with that knowledge comes fear… fear of the unknown. The hows and whys; the what ifs and what now’s the truth of it all is what stops me from remembering. It’s what stops the pieces from coming together.

Shaking my head, I push off the door and start for the main hospital building. It’s late and most of the patients who stay here should already be in bed, which is a good thing because I don’t think I have the strength to interact with anyone.

Walking into the bright lobby, I see a few familiar faces.

“Emmalyn! What a surprise, I was told you left already!”

Smiling to the older lady at the front desk, I rest my elbows on the cool marble. “Not yet, Ms. Anny, we leave first thing in the morning. I just wanted to spend one more night in the studio.” Handing over the key, she pats my hand before turning and locking it away with the others.

“We sure are going to miss you here, Emmy. It won’t be the same without you.” Her genuine smile is contagious and I smile back.

“I will be back, I promise,” I say, the reality of the move fully sinking in. “I owe you – everyone here – and this place everything.”

Sniffling, Ms. Anny’s eyes shine with tears. “Next time you come here, it will be for a whole other reason and I can’t wait to see the woman you become.”

Saying my last goodbyes, I walk out the doors one final time. I have come so far since my first day here… even with the emptiness that rests in me since he walked out of the room, I know I have to do this.

Completely lost in thought and not paying attention to where I am going, I’m thrown off guard when I accidentally run into someone. Hitting hard enough it almost feels as if I’m pushed, I fall to the ground.

“I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” I apologize.

Not looking up, I scramble to my knees trying to get to my feet, when a firm hand lands on top of my head halting my movements. The chilling touch freezes me in place.

Whoever I ran into leans down, bending at the waist and places his lips against my ear. “You will always belong on your knees princess,” he rasps.

My spine stiffens at his words and fear as cold as ice shoots through my veins.

“Soon,” he murmurs, inhaling my scent.

Standing back to his full height he lets go of my head and walks past me, the sound of his shoes clicking against the ground cracks like thunder in my ears.

I can’t move. Kneeling there on my knees, I fight for consciousness. I need to get up…

“Emmalyn!” The shout of my name causes me to jump.

Drawing closer I can hear Buck rushing over. Yanking me from the ground, he holds me up. His eyes furiously look me over.

“Jesus! What the fuck happened, Emmalyn? Why the fuck are you out here by yourself at this time of night?”

Wide-eyed and still shaken up, I just stare at him, searching for something to say.

Noticing my obvious fear, he goes on full alert. “What happened?” The urgency in his question only adds to my fear.

Blackness dots my vision as I try to catch my breath.

Don’t go under… I am no longer a victim… I am in control.

I am no longer a victim. I am in control.

Pulling me into his embrace, Buck holds me tight, just like he has done anytime I start to lose it.

I am no longer a victim…

Dragging in a couple deep breaths, I open my eyes and look around before looking to Buck.

“What happened?” he repeats.

Swallowing hard I try to clear the scratchiness from my throat. “I think a patient was just wandering around,” I manage to get out, my body still shaking. “He uh … he just scared me is all… his words triggered something,” I say. But the man’s haunting voice lingers like it’s more than that.

“What did he say?” the seriousness in Buck’s voice leaves no choice but to answer.

“He said that I belonged on my knees… and he called me princess.” The pet name feels like vile coming out of my mouth. The same pet name that landed me back in the hospital years ago.

Buck gives nothing away as he abruptly pulls out his phone and quickly types something on it. Shoving it back in his pocket, he reaches for my hand and drags me to the parking lot where his truck sits.

“Why the fuck are you out here on your own at this time of night, Emmy? You know the kind of people who roam this place at night. Did you walk all the way here?”

Not wanting to lie, I just opt for apologizing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, hating the fact that I disappointed him.

Opening the truck door, he picks me up and lifts me in. Gripping the seat belt he leans over and buckles me up. The protective gesture that usually annoys me, this time calms me.

Shutting the door, he stomps to the driver’s side and slides in.

What a fucking night…

The short ride back to the house is quiet and a million things run restlessly through my mind. My body shakes heavily with the aftermath of my near panic attack.

Pulling up to the house, I watch Drifter come out and stand on the porch, his arms crossed and a frown plastered to his face.

Great, I pissed him off, too. Letting out a sigh I unbuckle my seat belt, the task harder than it should be, my arms feel like sand.

“Emmy,” Buck calmly gains my attention. “I need you to know that you can come to me for anything. I will never lie to you, you just have to ask.”

Meeting his eyes, I try to get a read on what he is thinking but like usual, his impenetrable mask is in place. “I know, Buck.” Hesitation hangs between us. “Is everything okay?”

Looking away from me, his gaze goes out the windshield. “A lot of changes are heading your way. I can’t promise that it’s going to be easy, cause it won’t. And I can’t promise you that it won’t hurt, cause it will.” Turning back to me, he continues, his stare so intense I can’t look away. “But Emmalyn, I can promise that I will always be here to protect you. My way of doing things may not always be right, but I will do anything to keep you safe.”

Something in his voice catches my attention but I brush it off, focusing only on his words. “I know, Buck,” I whisper and place my hand on his arm.

“I love you.”

Disbelief reflects in his stare but it quickly vanishes at the sound of Drifter approaching the truck.

“Let’s get you inside. Tomorrow is going to be a long day,” he says letting out a sigh. Opening the door, I watch him climb out and meet Drifter’s advances.

So many emotions run through me. The events of the night make every part of my body ache.

Buck is right. There are a lot of changes coming my way. It won’t be easy, and I have a feeling that at times it is going to feel impossible.

Watching Drifter and Buck talk in front of the truck, assurance consumes me.

But I won’t be facing anything on my own.

I am never alone.