Kicking and screaming, I reach for the gun. He slams on top of me. His reach is longer, but as he pointed out, I’m younger and stronger. I throw him off and grab the gun while rolling over on my back. He lands on top of me and I feel the recoil in my hands.
He looks at me in surprise and then falls off. “You’ve shot me,” he whispers in hoarse surprise.
With my hand to my mouth, I cover a gasp of horror. “Oh my God.” The red stain is spreading. “I didn’t mean to.”
“If you hadn’t I would have,” I hear a grim Jake say behind me. He holds his phone to his ear. “I need an ambulance and police car. My girlfriend shot an intruder.”
It’s then that I pass out. I deserve it, I think, as I lose consciousness. It’s not every day I gain a boyfriend and shoot my therapist.
“It’s a beautiful day out here,” I say to the man standing at the end of the sidewalk. His feet are planted shoulder width apart and his arms are folded across his chest. The one hand looks like it is covered in a dark leather glove, but upon closer inspection, one would see it’s a fully articulated hand made out of special carbon fiber polymer. It’s attached to a special forearm that has wires connecting to electrodes implanted in the man’s arm and attached to the ulnar and median nerves. Those wires and electrodes provide sensation, like temperature and, I blush, vibration.
“It is. A little windy but the breeze feels good.”
The wind ruffles his hair and then mine. I don’t bother to turn away from the wind. Instead I face it, enjoying the flick of my hair as the breeze blows the strands across my face. “Feels real good.”
We stand there, silently, as I take deep breaths. I tilt my head up to catch the sun’s rays and the man’s breath stops.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says.
I smile with my eyes still closed. I know what will happen next. He steps closer and then that special hand wraps around my waist while the other hand tangles in my hair. He presses his lips against the hollow of my neck and then the underside of my chin and finally my mouth. Feels real, real good.
My eyes flutter open to see him watching me, his gaze full of love and joy. A discreet cough behind me reminds me we are not alone. I disentangle myself from the man’s embrace, but keep his special hand tucked in mine.
“Do you want to walk another block?” Lindsay, my new occupational therapist, asks. Her job is to walk with me on Mondays. This is my fifth week since I shot Dr. Terrance, and I’m now standing three blocks from my home. It’s a really good day.
“Yes, just one more, though. I don’t want to stretch my good luck,” I say, squeezing my man’s hand. He lifts our joined hands to his mouth, where he presses a kiss to the back of mine.
“It’s not luck, sweetheart. It’s all you.”
“That’s right,” Lindsay interjects. “This is the result of your hard work, not any luck.”
I look at Jake Tanner and the fact that his hand is entwined with mine. Did I win him as the result of hard work? No, it’s luck. Or good fortune. Or some sort of destiny. I didn’t deserve him, but he’s mine anyway.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs. “Or I will be the one who can’t walk an entire block.”
My gaze drops to his pants and I see the faint outline of a hardening arousal. I swallow a giggle. “Don’t tempt me,” I say.
Lindsay is used to our flirting and walks ahead of us, mumbling something about how we’re like newlyweds. Not yet we aren’t, but soon. A beam of sunlight bounces off the new shiny ring on my left hand and forms a circle of tiny slivers of rainbow on the ground, granting us a thousand new opportunities to hope.
“I’m proud of you,” Jake says, as we walk along, and I concentrate on the feel of his hand in mine and try to shut out the number of people around and the knowledge that I’m so, so far away from the safety of our home.
“I’m proud of me too.” I count the lines cut into the cement and the number of trash bags littering the sidewalk, waiting to be picked up. I may never be able to walk the streets of this city with ease. I may never get farther than five blocks from our house, but I’m outside. I’m no longer a prisoner, not in my home or in my own mind.
And most of all, I’m with Jake.
And in the end that’s all that matters.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First I need to thank my dear husband and daughter for their endless patience and nonstop encouragement.
Thank you to the wonderful Montlake team that made this book happen. To Helen, who invited me to be part of the family; to Maria, who has shepherded this project from birth to publication; to Krista, who pushed me hard to make this the best book I had in me; and to Jennifer, who helped me polish out the errors.
I also want to thank Daphne, who is a marvelous person in real life, for letting me borrow her name. Your emails and texts and phone calls are a constant source of pleasure.
Thanks also to Robin and Sunita, Jess and Meljean, Melissa and Lea, Elyssa and Kristen, Michelle and Lisa, for their support and friendship.
Finally, thank you to all the bloggers and readers who take the time to read my books. I know you have thousands of choices and it is a privilege that you allow me to entertain you in this fashion.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jen Frederick is the USA Today bestselling author of Unspoken, part of the Woodlands series. She is also the author of The Charlotte Chronicles, which appeared on the Kindle Top 100 list. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, who keeps track of life’s details while she’s writing; a daughter, who understands when Mom disappears into her office for hours at a time; and a rambunctious dog, who does neither.
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