Finding Him (Covet 2)

Mom: Fine. I love you!

Me: I love you too.

I set my phone down and looked around what would be my home for the next month and realized in that moment that I hated the silence. I needed a TV on or something that would make me feel anything but as lonely as my heart reminded me I was.

How was I supposed to write our story? My story with Noah? When all I could focus on was the fact that I was there, living his dream, while he was in the cold hard ground.

Tears welled in my eyes.

“Goodbye is just that, a really good farewell,” he wrote out with a shaky hand on the notepad I’d been forced to give him. His hand dropped the pen and reached for my cheek, then fell away lifeless against the white duvet.

I spent a lot of time watching him sleep wondering if he would wake up again and continue our conversations about death. I had imagined the end would look different, but when Noah died it was as if he realized it was time to go and, like a bird, took flight.

I swiped hot tears from my cheeks and turned toward the large living room windows just in time to see headlights drawing closer to the cabin through the snow that had started coming down like a freaking blizzard while I took my trip down memory lane.

Headlights?

Out here?

If it was Mom, I was going to kill her.

If it was Mom and Dad, I was going to lose it.

At least it wasn’t a helicopter, which meant I was safe from Gene.

It was too dark to see anything but the headlights and the black of the car. I moved closer. Maybe the owners decided to check up on me? That had to be it.

Then again, no one mentioned that possibility when I put down my deposit.

A cold chill trickled down my spine when I realized how alone I was out here. I had cell service, but it wasn’t like I carried a weapon on me; I was completely defenseless.

I ran back to the kitchen, my eyes darting around for something to grab that wasn’t a mixing bowl or bottle of whiskey. I jerked a serrated steak knife free from the butcher block and turned toward the door. The cabin had an open floor plan for the living room and kitchen. I was at least twenty feet from the door as the sound of a key sliding through metal had my blood chilling even more. Then the knob turned as I hid my knife behind my back and had my free hand on my cell ready to call for help.

The door was shoved open.

I sucked in a sharp breath as a man made his way through carrying an expensive-looking camel-colored leather bag and another smaller suitcase.

His eyes roamed the room and landed on me.

The knife in my hand nearly clattered to the floor as I gaped.

Male. Perfection.

I hadn’t noticed a man, any man, since Noah.

But this man demanded notice.

It was in the air around him, in the way his green calculating eyes took a person in, like he was measuring every single thing about those he encountered and deciding if they were worth his time—all within the span of one blink.

His hair was tousled to the right of his head, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, and his jaw was so chiseled and his cold cheeks so handsomely ruddy that I almost looked away in embarrassment. Staring longer than a few seconds without speaking was creepy enough.

“Clever,” he said after a long pause, his tone bored, as he dropped his bags on the floor in supreme irritation. “And no, I won’t give you a story, so you better just leave.”

“St-story,” I repeated, trying to figure out if he was sane or not, as I gripped the knife like a lifeline. Ted Bundy was gorgeous too. Remember Ted Bundy! “What do you mean story?” I backed away slowly, waiting for the killer smile, or the comment about my looks that almost always started with “Do you model?” If he was a Ted Bundy, he’d hit on me, right? Make me feel safe?

“You’re with the media?” His right eyebrow arched mockingly. “I mean you look like hell, what did you do? Drive all day just to get the scoop?” I almost argued with him. I looked like hell? He looked like he’d misused a blow dryer, not that it made him look bad, quite the opposite. “I didn’t talk to anyone at the funeral and I’m not going to talk to anyone now. Fucking. Leave.”

His harsh language jolted me and I glared. “I’m not the media, I’m a person, and I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.” Good one. “And I rented the house for one full month and paid ahead, so if anyone’s leaving, it’s you!”