is familiar except the scent of our skin on his sheets, but I find that I’m comfortable here. It’s not like visiting a distant relative and worrying about being caught looking too long at something that doesn’t belong to me.
I don’t worry about getting in trouble for picking up and inspecting the framed pictures on the mantel, but I do make a mental note to get more of Rick and Colton together. Like I imagine any busy, single father would, the pictures are more plentiful when Rick was younger, tapering down as he got older. They need more physical proof of their lives, and that’s one thing I know I can help with.
I grin at the most recent picture, one of Sally and Franklin with Colton and Rick. Rick doesn’t look pleased to be in what can only be described as an ugly Christmas sweater, but what makes it hilarious is the fact that they’re all wearing the same one, the only difference being the bow on Sally’s wool reindeer head.
What makes it perfect is that we have a picture almost identical to this at my house, only it’s my dad with discomfort-filled eyes. As a career Marine in matching footie pajamas, I think he was a very good sport, but there’s seldom a time when he tells Mom no if she has an idea.
I could walk around this house all day long and learn a million things about the men that live here, but I also have a ton of things to get done if I want to be back by the time Colton gets off work. I don’t want to miss a single second with him.
I can’t fully regret the nap I took after my shower because the bed was too inviting to pass up. Colton didn’t seem disappointed with the pictures I sent to him either. My dad would lock me away if he found out I sent digital images. I know Colton wouldn’t share them, but there’s always the risk of someone else getting their hands on his phone.
My nipples bead against the soft t-shirt I’m wearing, reminding me that I still need to get clothes from home as well as check on Izzy. Her entire world has been turned upside down, and I know she was still working out a way to tell her dad about the baby when her truth was spilled long before she was ready.
Keeping on the t-shirt and sweats I took from Colton’s drawer, I slide my feet back into my sandals. I start a running list in my mind for all the things I need to grab. Colton may regret offering up closet space after I return. If this is where we both want me to be, then I’m going to need some comforts from home. I grin as I grab the spare key from the kitchen and swirl it on to my own key chain. I wonder how he’s going to feel about my fluffy robe and the worn slippers I like to wear on the weekends. I add long pajamas to my list, remembering that there’s someone else in this house besides my guy.
I’m light on my feet, filled with utter happiness when I open the front door, only to have that elation blasted away when a masked man grips my face in a gloved hand and shoves me back inside.
I falter. Even after all the training and conversations I had growing up about what to do, my mind can’t decide whether to run or stay and fight. Either option seems viable, so why do I just stumble back in shock, as if the masked man will lift the bottom of the mask and reveal himself as Colton.
I know it isn’t him in the split second my brain tries to catch up to the situation. He doesn’t smell the same. This man’s build is smaller in size and rounder in the middle.
I can evaluate all of that, but as I fall on my ass in the entryway, crying out from the pain the impact causes in my tailbone, I still haven’t figured out what to do next.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
I scurry back, my fingers not keeping up with my legs, which makes me land flat on my back, head bouncing off the hard wood under me.
Oh Jesus. Being on the ground is the worst position to be in. He’s not as big as Colton, but he’s still bigger than me, and basic physics say that he can overpower