"Adam!" I hear shrieked from the other side of my door.
I fly off the couch and onto my feet. I must have fallen asleep at some point. My head is groggy and my eyes struggle to adjust¸ but the sound of a woman’s scream permeates through the darkness.
"Please. Open the door. Please!" The frantic words send ice through my veins.
I rush to the door, but before it is even completely open, my neighbor squeezes past me.
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask roughly, still unable to truly grasp this sort of shocking wake-up call.
"Someone just broke into my apartment. I..." She fades off as she slides down the wall to the floor. It's only then that I notice the gun shaking in her hand.
"Jesus Christ." I walk over and reach for the gun.
She doesn't immediately release it. Instead, she tilts her head back, looking me directly in the eyes. Holy shit—her eyes. Gone is the plain brown. Now they are so blue that they are almost clear. They're mesmerizing, and it takes the sounds of her crying to snap me out of my trance.
Her lips begin to quiver. "Please tell me you won't hurt me." The combination of her words with the assumption that I would startles and disgusts me.
I squat down in front of her and gently pull the gun away. "I won't hurt you. Ever. You're safe with me." It's the only thing I can offer, and they seem to be the words she needed to hear.
She drops her head into her hands as loud sobs ravage her body. I can only stand and stare. She was odd when I met her earlier, but this is more than that. This is the remnants of a broken woman. Anyone could recognize that, but especially me.
"What happened?" I ask gently, inquiring about more than just tonight.
"The...um, window by my bed was broken. I don't know if they came in. I didn’t wait around. I just grabbed the gun and bolted," she tells the floor.
"Did you see anyone?"
"No."
I move to the door and glance around the breezeway. On the brick are a few sloppy graffiti tags that were definitely not there earlier. I’m sure it’s probably just a bunch of kids looking for trouble, so I close it back, locking both the deadbolt and the chain just in case.
"It was just some kids," I say, reassuringly. I crouch back down in front of her, and it pains me as she recoils. Not that I would ever dream of touching her, but I understand that reaction, and it kills me to witness it firsthand.
"How can you be sure?" she whimpers.
"I can't. This neighborhood may not be the nicest, but it is relatively safe. The spray paint leads me to believe it’s only some bored teenagers with slightly less than average artistic abilities." I try to make light of the situation, and for a split second, it works.
Her eyes lift to mine, and I can’t stop the gasp that escapes.
"What?" she whispers as concern once again crosses her face.
"No, nothing. It's just... Your eyes. They're amazing."
"Don't look at me." She covers her face with her hands.
"I'm sorry. It just surprised me. That's all. Earlier, they were brown, but now... Why do you cover them up?"
"I forgot my phone in the apartment." She changes the subject, ignoring my curiosity.
"You can use mine if you want." I offer her a smile, but it's not from kindness. The truth is I just want her to look back up so I can see her eyes again.
"I can't. I need mine." She finally lifts her gaze back to mine, and it's actually painful. Her eyes are beautiful, but this time, I see more than just the awe-inspiring color. I see the fear and innocence in the red rims. There is a dark shadow of false strength, but what really has me reaching forward to touch her is the hopelessness. My hand doesn't even get close before she quickly slides out of my reach.
"Hey. I'll go get it for you. You're safe." I repeat the one phrase that seemed to ease her earlier.
"Why are you being so nice?" She turns her head suspiciously.
"I don't have any reason not to be nice to you. Besides, you remind me of someone I used to know," I answer, and she immediately goes stiff. Her eyes begin to frantically travel over my body—scrutinizing my every inch while desperately searching for something. "My mom. You remind me of my mother," I finish, and she holds my eyes, giving only the slightest of nods.
"Why do you live here?" she asks, and I chuckle at her random question.
"Why do you live here?" I throw right back at her.
"Will you walk back over there with me?" She once again changes the topic.
"Yeah, of course."
I offer her a hand to stand, but not surprisingly, she doesn’t take it. She pushes to her feet on her own.
I head for the door with her tight on my heels. I suddenly turn, and she takes a quick step away. "You never told me your name," I question, and her eyes light before dimming completely.
"Riley," she says flatly.
"Nice to meet you, Riley."
She finally offers me a weak smile that never even gets close to her eyes.
"Oh, let’s not forget this." I pick up the gun she came in with and pass it back to her. I immediately regret returning it. This woman is a mess right now. Arming her doesn’t seem like the brightest of ideas. "Do you even know how to use that?"
"Yeah, I do. But I hate it." She reaches forward, taking it from my hands. She doesn’t grasp it. Instead, she holds it flat on her palms as if it were a ticking time bomb ready to explode.
My lips twitch, and I force myself to turn away to hide the smile.
"Come on." I walk to the front door, pulling it open for her to lead the way, but she stands silently, waiting for me to exit first. I take the five steps to her door as she follows closely behind me.
She never touches me, although for some strange reason, I can’t say that I would mind if she did.
"You want me to look around?" Adam asks when we reach my door.
My heart sinks, unsure of the correct answer. Do I want him to look around? I’m still not completely convinced that this guy isn’t dangerous. Yet there was something in his expression when he told me that he wouldn’t hurt me that made me believe him. It was something deeper than just a superficial lie. I would recognize one of those; I tell them all the time. Honestly, what choice do I have right now? He’s had two opportunities to kill me if he wanted to. Both he let pass him by. He is either a normal guy or the world’s worst hit man.
"Uh, yeah, that would be great," I answer.
"Just stay here." He looks down at my hands and the way I’m holding the gun. "And give me that. You look like you’re serving up drinks."
I snap my head up, startled by his sudden attitude, but when my eyes meet his, he’s smiling. His expression slightly falters when his eyes lock on mine.
He gently shakes his head, seemingly trying to clear his mind. "Yeah. So, I’ll just have a look around."
"Can I get my phone out of my room? I really need to make a phone call."
"Let me just have a look around real quick."
I stand in the freezing cold while a stranger searches my apartment—a scenario that, only a few hours ago, would have thrown me into a tailspin. But as Adam’s massive body confidently walks around, checking every room for any possible sign of trouble, an unusual feeling washes over me. A feeling only one man gives me.
I snatch my phone off the nightstand and dial Dave’s number. It goes straight to his voicemail and my stomach drops. He never turns his phone off. I’m not even sure I knew that Dave had a voicemail. If I call, he answers. Plain and simple. A million different possibilities race through my mind. None of which have a positive ending.
"Hey, are you okay?" Adam walks over, and only then do I realize that I’m staring at my phone with tears running down my face.
"Yeah. This whole thing just scared me. That’s all," I skillfully lie.
"Well, I think it’s just your window. Everything else looks fine. I’ve got some tape at my place. I’ll grab it and patch that window so you don’t freeze tonight."
"You don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it—"
"I’ll be right back. Put this away." He hands the gun back to me. "Preferably somewhere locked up—where you can’t reach it. I saw the way you held that thing. I think the entire city would be safer tonight if you just threw it in the river," he teases, and I can’t stop my lips from tipping into a small smile too.
For the next few minutes, Adam uses cardboard and tape to patch up my window. It will need to be fixed soon, but I’ll have to wait for Dave to get back. Where the hell is he? I repeatedly call his phone, desperate to hear his voice. But every time, it goes straight to voicemail—skyrocketing my already climbing anxiety.
"Do you have a broom?" Adam asks, surprising me.
I suck in startled breath and jump back. My foot catches on the edge of the bed and I slip, landing less than gracefully on my butt. "Shit!"
"Shit!" he echoes behind me as he rushes over. "Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you."
"Jesus, I’m making a real ass of myself tonight."
"No you’re not," he says with a smirk that tells me otherwise. "So. Broom?"
"Please, you’ve done more than enough. Don’t worry about it. I can clean up the glass."
"Well, yeah, the glass too, but I was going to clean up your eggs."
"What?" I ask, confused.
"I’m not sure what you have against eggs, but you have single-handedly killed two dozen today. I’m guessing you trampled them on your way over to my place."
"Damn. I didn’t even see them.
"It’s okay. Nothing a broom and dustpan can’t fix." He smiles again, and for the first time since I laid eyes on Adam, I really see him.
He’s a good-looking man. I noticed that he was tall and muscular right off the bat. But as I look up at him now, I see the whole mouthwatering package. His hair is clipped short, the front just long enough to allow him to style it. His eyes are an unusual combination of brown and green, making them appear almost golden. They’re undeniably beautiful. His nose is slightly crooked, but it doesn’t distract from his good looks. His smile is wide, but still timid. It’s as if he knows what a wreck I am and he’s trying to walk on figurative—and apparently literal—eggshells around me. His white teeth are not perfectly cookie-cutter straight. It’s obvious that he did not have the torture of years of orthodontics like I did. But these slight imperfections just make him look sexy and rugged. He must catch me staring because his confident smile fades as he quickly looks away.
"Really. I can get the eggs and glass. Thank you for everything. You know, letting me freak out on you. I get a little worked up about stuff sometimes. It won’t happen again."
His eyes immediately lift back to mine. "If you need anything, Riley. You just let me know. Okay? Anything at all."
"That’s really sweet of you, but I’ll be okay. I just have a tendency to overreact. That’s all." I brush off my behavior as no big deal, but it’s clear that he isn’t buying it.
He turns his head and gives me a knowing look that is just patronizing enough to be annoying but sexy enough for me to let it go. I don’t say another word as he heads to the door.
Just before he walks out, he turns back to face me. "Anything you need, Riley. Even if you think it’s silly. You know where I’m at. Don’t be afraid to come to me," he says, and the honesty in his voice forces me back a step. There is a glimmer of something in his golden eyes, but before I can really figure out what it is, he steps over the mess of eggs in the entryway and closes the door behind himself. And just like that, I'm completely alone once again.
I shake off whatever weird exchange Adam and I just had and grab my phone to call Dave again. He has to pick up. He just has to. I mentally run over all the plans we have made in the past, trying to remember how long I’m supposed to wait before calling it in that he’s disappeared. Twelve hours. Twelve long hours. I scroll through my call log to find the time of our last conversation. Four hours ago he was safe, alive, and laughing at me.
Eight more hours. I roll over to the clock on my nightstand. Seven hours, fifty-nine minutes. Please, God, let him be okay.