Fragile Hearts (Poplar Falls #4) - Amber Kelly Page 0,67

he says angrily.

“I-I had to get the horses out. They were trapped in there,” I begin to explain.

“You saw the barn was on fire, and you ran to it and went in. Into a fire.”

“Brandt, son,” Pop calls to him.

“You could have died, Bellamy,” he continues.

“I didn’t. I’m right here,” I remind him.

“You could have been killed. You ran into a fucking building that was on fire,” he roars.

I look up to Momma for help.

“Brandt, come here.” She pats the ground between us.

He looks from the spot to her and then to me.

“I have to go,” he mutters, more to himself than to us.

“Okay,” I say.

He looks at me one last time, and then he stomps off to the driveway behind the fire trucks.

Tears prick my eyes … or is it rain?

The sky opens up, and the rain starts to pour. I just sit there and let it soak me again as I watch the firemen fight to put out the flames. They cheer when the rain shows up, aiding their efforts.

Brandt

I pull into the house. I’m too worked up to go home to the apartment. I slam the truck door and walk to the entrance. The rain is beating down on me.

I fumble with my keys in the dark until I find the one I’m searching for, and I let myself in. I click on the light and look around. So much progress has been made. New windows were cut and installed this week. Bellamy was right; the natural light makes all the difference. The kitchen is modern and functional yet oddly still fits with the Colonial feel of the two-hundred-fifty-year-old home. It’s perfect on the surface, but inside, it’s empty. Just like me.

Seeing Bellamy running from the burning barn and collapsing on the ground shook me in a way I hadn’t thought was possible anymore. The feeling of absolute uselessness suffocated me as I hid in my SUV and watched as the ambulance pulled off with her and her mother inside.

Fuck. How did I get here again?

I kick off my shoes, and I make my way upstairs. I empty my pockets, and then I pull my soggy clothes off and drop them on the tiled floor of the bathroom. I turn back, and I practically face-plant on the bed, naked.

I lie there a long while and listen to the rain against the roof. Then, I climb under the covers and fall asleep.

I walk up on the scene once again. The same one that plays through my mind most nights. I stand helplessly as I watch Annie pulling on her coat as she leaves the restaurant in a huff and starts to walk out to the parking lot. My attention snaps to the dumpster on the left, and I brace for what is coming next as a shadowy figure huddles close to it, watching her as she opens her purse and starts fishing for her keys.

Look up, Annie. Look at your surroundings.

She finds the keys and clicks the button to unlock the car doors.

No, don’t do that. Don’t unlock them until you are there.

She swipes at the angry tears falling from her lashes.

I look at her beautiful, sad face one last time before it happens.

The dark figure stands and runs to the passenger side of her car. She is distracted by her phone—by my text messages—and she doesn’t see him.

Look up, Annie, please.

The man comes around the car, and he dives for her. He latches on to her purse handle that is on her shoulder and yanks.

Don’t fight him. Let him take it. Let him have whatever he wants. None of it means anything.

She grabs for the purse and starts to struggle with him. She tugs the strap back on to her shoulder, and it slips from his hand. She backs away from him. A look of pure terror on her face.

Scream, Annie. Scream and cause a scene, anything to get attention, and he’ll flee.

She does none of that. She just stares at him in shock.

He runs for her as he pulls a switchblade from the pocket of his dirty coat, and he stabs her in the stomach. She goes down to a knee. Still holding on to the purse. He pulls the knife back and wildly slashes in the air.

That’s when I arrive, and I watch as he slits my Annie’s throat from ear to ear. She lets go, and her hands go up to hold the slash. He yanks the purse free of her and takes off