Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(28)

She doesn’t want to go to a movie or dinner or anything, Hardeep.

If we let her hermit, she’ll stay in here forever.

So?

Hardeep had sighed. There’s no use in coddling her.

Jas’s lip curled. Coddling was such an infantilizing word for respecting the wishes of an adult and encouraging them to take things at their own pace.

He scrubbed his hand over his face. Look at him, dwelling on the past. Must be the novelty of being in this house where so much had changed.

It was time to head to bed. He tested the front door one more time, ensuring that it was secure. Or as secure as it could be.

He wasn’t sure what made him glance over into the living room as he headed to the stairs, but it was the mantel over the fireplace that made him stop.

So not everything had changed.

His steps were leaden as he made his way to the fireplace. When he’d been young, it would have been impossible to reach, but now he easily pulled down the shotgun hung up high in a place of honor.

It was old and worn, from his great-grandparents’ time. Hung for décor, not function. It was unloaded, and there wouldn’t be any ammunition left carelessly lying around the house.

He ran his hand over the old weapon, searching out the scratches and nicks. He’d grown up around guns, had known how to use them safely well before he’d headed to the armed forces.

He swiped his arm over his mouth. His upper lip had broken out in sweat. Jas hadn’t touched a weapon more lethal than a Taser in years. That did make him an oddity in his field, but he’d learned to compensate for the lack of a gun.

He pivoted and made his way back to the front door, removed the security bar and jerked it open. He had the presence of mind to close it behind him, even though he wasn’t going far, just to the SUV parked in the driveway.

He opened the trunk and dropped the shotgun inside, concealing it with a blanket and the luggage cover. Once it was enclosed in there, the tightness between his shoulder blades eased.

He was so exhausted he almost walked into the room he’d placed Katrina in, but turned away at the last second. That would be a true disaster.

Jas settled into his grandparents’—well, his now—bed. The bedding might have all stayed the same, but the mattress had been changed at some point. This one was memory foam, which he hated. Give him those old springs any day of the week.

He placed his phone next to his head, as was his habit, so he wouldn’t miss any notifications. Or if Katrina needed him.

Really, it was the second thing he cared about most.





Chapter Eight


KATRINA WOKE UP in slow degrees from her sleepy cocoon. Without opening her eyes, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. She needed to get up soon. Read her paper, feed her sourdough starter, go make breakfast, get to work.

She groped next to her for her phone to check the time, but nothing met her hand. Katrina frowned.

The sheets didn’t smell like her sheets. She’d used the same detergent and fabric softener combination for longer than she could remember. She ran her fingers up the cotton, which was rougher than her high-thread-count stuff. Wait. This wasn’t her bed.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her eyes flew open and she rose up on her hands and clambered to her knees.

The place looked like it had been ripped from another time, with old wood-paneled walls and sturdy furniture hand-carved out of oak. The blue and white quilt she was tangled up in was clean, but deeply loved, the fabric worn.

Holy Laura Ingalls Wilder, where am I?

Not her room.

Because you’re not at home, remember?

Jas’s place. His family’s farm. She breathed out through her nose, then did it again. That was right. She was safe.

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself. “I know this is out of the ordinary for you, it’s not what you’re used to, but you’re fine.”

She wrapped her arms around herself to give herself a hug and took her time examining the room. It wasn’t her bedroom, but now that the confusion had worn off, she could see that it was quite nice and tidy. There was an inviting, well-used fireplace in the corner and a stack of firewood next to it.

You’ll like this place. You came here to feel better.

She inhaled and exhaled, letting the knee-jerk fear leave her completely. She reached into her jeans pocket, where her phone was uncomfortably wedged. She vaguely remembered staggering up here, but she must have only taken her shoes off before sleeping. This particular prescription always left her groggy.

Her thumb hovered over her Twitter app. She’d downloaded it yesterday, for this nightmare. She had little use for social media, and this hadn’t made her want it. She got her news from print papers, connected with others who had similar panic issues on online forums. Social media was exposure.

She almost opened the app, but then backed off. She didn’t need to be in a fetal position immediately upon waking up, now, did she? Twitter and fetal positions could wait. For a shower, at least.

Her bag was next to the door, and she made her way to it and pulled out her toiletries and jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She’d packed cool-weather clothes. A girl liked a nice blanket scarf and boots every now and then.

The hot shower revived her, as did her morning skin care routine. Each product she dabbed onto her face and neck felt like an extra protective layer, even if the essences and serums were watery and light.