The Girl Who Survived(133)
His teeth flashed in a roguish grin. “And it’s been a great year.”
“It has.” She straddled him then, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and kissing him. They’d become lovers the night that he’d returned from the hospital, something that just happened between them, a spark fueled by adrenaline, trauma and the knowledge that in one single heartbeat, a life could change forever.
Rhapsody whined, begging for more attention. “Oooh. Duty calls,” she said, pulling away and climbing off the chair. To the dog, “You want to go for a walk?”
“I took her out not an hour ago.”
“But it’s Christmas and she wants to go again.”
“You want me to go with you?” he asked, and there it was again, that unspoken need of his to care about her, his worry about her mental state. Not that she blamed him. She’d been a frightened shell of herself a year ago. And to this day she still counted door locks each night, even though she lived with Tate and he was in the house. It was just a habit she hadn’t quite broken, “Nah, I’ll be fine.” She snapped on Rhapsody’s leash. “It’ll be a short one.”
“I’ll hold you to it. And I’ll order Chinese for dinner.”
She couldn’t help but grin. Pointing a finger at him, she said, “Do that. Let’s make it a holiday tradition.” Donning her jacket, she headed downstairs again, the dog’s toenails clicking loudly on the steps.
Outside the wind had picked up, not much traffic on the streets, darkness pressing in, streetlamps glowing through the pelting rain. Holding the leash tightly, Kara jogged to the edge of the river and stared at the ever-moving depths as Rhapsody sniffed at the sea wall. Between the lampposts, strings of colored lights winked in the rain. Only a few cars passed, their tires noisy on the wet streets.
Turning from the river, Kara looked up to the corner windows of Tate’s loft. She found his silhouette, a haloed shadow visible next to their Christmas tree, a twelve-foot Douglas fir gleaming in lights and tinsel.
Her heart swelled and the words One Day at a Time rang through her mind. He was right. The last year had been a good one. It had started out awash in painful, heart-wrenching memories. The worst was of Marlie. She missed her sister each and every day and probably always would, but she had to admit, each and every day this past year had been better than the last. She crossed her fingers. Hoped her luck would last.
Smiling, she waved up to Tate, then tugged on the dog’s leash. “Come on, Rhaps,” she said, jogging back to the loft, “We’re going home.” Ridiculously she blinked against a sudden wash of tears, then repeated, her voice catching, “We’re finally going home.”