Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(38)

The last turn came and went.

At the end of the four-mile loop, muscles screaming, breaths coming in ragged gasps, I pushed my body to its breaking point; I forced my legs to sprint toward the imaginary finish line, marked by the trailhead’s large information board.

Still running over the packed-dirt surface, I shot my arms up into the air and spun around, jogging backward. “Haaa!” I shouted into the wilderness. My echo followed.

Darren jogged down the trail, a slight smile on his face.

As I ran in place, claiming my victory, my heel caught on something.

A split second later, the ground slammed into me. Hard.

“Ow.” I groaned at a flash of pain in my head.

“Shit. Kiki, you okay?” He hovered over me in an instant, blocking out the sun.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyebrow. “Don’t know yet.”

He pulled off my sunglasses. “Open your eyes.”

The moment I did, he stared into them. Clinically.

“Pupils are good.” Leaning forward, he palpated my head, running his fingers over my scalp.

“Ow!” I winced as fresh pain lanced through my skull.

He eased the pressure, but still rubbed his fingertips over a bruised spot. “No concussion. But you’re gonna have a good-sized knot there.”

“Cade always says I’m hardheaded,” I muttered.

“Your brother knows you well.” He stared at me, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

I slowly dropped my head.

He cradled the back of it until it rested on the ground. “What about the rest of you?”

Still breathing hard from my finish-line sprint, I gingerly pushed myself up.

He nodded toward the straps of my Camelbak. “The water bag protected your spine.” But my black yoga pants had dirt scuff marks on my right hip. He tugged down the waist of my pants until a bleeding scrape appeared.

I leaned forward enough to see it was superficial. “That’s not so bad.”

“Nothing a Band-Aid won’t fix.”

“Have one of those handy?”

He gave a short nod. “Got a first aid kit in the truck.”

When he held out a hand, I took it, then winced as my elbow brushed against my side. After pulling both sleeves up, I found two more scrapes: a matching set, one on each elbow.

“Can’t believe I bit it at the end. With all the sprinting up boulders and negotiating down rocky crevasses, I have to fall at the very end…jogging in place.”

He let out a slow breath as he raised a hand toward my face. With a gentle touch, he held my chin with his forefinger and thumb. He searched my eyes, intensity shining in his steadfast gaze. “You let your guard down.”

“Yeah.” Exactly what I was so damned afraid of.





Darren…

Saturday night. Another two days of silence from Kiki.

Except for a text from her that morning:



Skipping run today



No explanation.



You okay?



About ten long minutes later, her reply popped up.



Yeah



Wasn’t sure what irritated me more, my disappointment or her lame-ass reply.

“Fuck it,” I bit out under my breath. I shoved off the couch and jogged up the stairs, following the sounds of Nirvana’s “Lithium.”

Logan had left her door open a crack. She never did that. Typically it was closed and locked. I flattened a palm on the center of it and pushed it halfway open.

I let out a slow breath and just stood there, watching my sister sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed, arms wrapped around her bent knees. Eyes wide open, she stared blankly at a spot on the flowery comforter two feet in front of her.

Loud music thumped around us, her on her bed, me in the doorway. I wondered how many times she’d been holed up behind a closed door, totally zoned out with music hiding her pain.

My heart ached for her.

I felt like an intruder. But maybe me barging into her space was what she needed, the open door a hint.

Unwilling to stand unnoticed any longer, I knocked.

Her only response was a heavy blink.

I cleared my throat, raising my voice a notch above the bass decibels. “Logan?”

A few more blinks followed. Then she grabbed the remote, turned down the volume, and turned her head toward me. “Oh, hey, D.”

“You okay?” The themed question of the day.

“Yeah.”

Oh, hell no. Enough with my girls and their pat answers. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I’m good.” She shrugged. “Just bluesy again.”

“Again? What about the meds? And Doc Jamison? Didn’t you say she was helping?”

“I stopped taking the new stuff. It made my heart race and my hands shake.”

Fucking drugs. “So, you’re off the meds?”

She gave me a nod.

Part of me was relieved. She’d burned through them with no real improvement. But the risky alternative scared me shitless. “And Doc Jamison? Does she know?”

“I’m going to tell her on Tuesday. She already told me if I couldn’t handle it to lower the dosage. I just stopped taking it.”

“And you’re feeling better?”