This One Moment (Pushing Limits, #1)(54)

Once I arrived at the lake, I ran along the snowy path. The route wasn’t busy, thanks to the colder temperatures. Only the die-hard runners would be outside. Everyone else would be pounding away mile after mile on a treadmill. But since I spent my days working in a sports center, I preferred running outside as much as possible, cold or no cold.

The only sounds greeting me were the ragged panting of my breath and the muffled thuds of my sneakers against the snow. I felt more at peace out here than I had in a while.

A bird cawed loudly not far from me and I was startled, my breath tumbling out as a gasp. Then with a flap of its wings, the crow took to the sky.

A crisp snap of a branch echoed through the wooded area. I inhaled sharply the chilled air and surveyed my surroundings. I couldn’t see anything.

Another crack of a twig.

Again I scanned the area. I still couldn’t see anything, but unease spread through me. The kind of unease you get when someone you can’t see is watching you. But who’d be watching me?

I didn’t stick around to find out. I turned around and ran toward the snow-covered beach. But my energy stores started to drain from the near sprint. Even with the adrenaline rush, I couldn’t maintain the pace.

A heavy breath was the only warning I got before a large man hurled himself at me and shoved me to the ground. A scream escaped my lungs, but the impact of my body against the hardened snow cut it short.

Momentarily stunned, I fought to regain the breath knocked from me. But that couple of seconds was all he needed. He grabbed hold of my arm and yanked me to my feet.

“Where ya think you’re goin’, bitch?” a deep male voice said behind me.

I whipped around, but before I could fight back, I was slammed into the brick wall next to me. My head whacked against the hard surface, and the dark alley temporarily tilted in front of me. I closed my eyes.

Screaming, I kicked and squirmed and did everything I could to get away from the guy who had attacked me in Westgate. He was even wearing the same dark blue ski jacket he’d worn that night.

But he was too strong, and he half dragged, half pushed me to the steep ledge. With the rocks at the bottom, I’d never survive if I went over.

I dug my heels into the snow, resisting the forward movement, but he easily outweighed me. I continued struggling, twisting my body, trying to break free of his grip. He lost hold of my hand and I lunged at his face with my fingernails, clawing at his flesh. But I was wearing thin knit gloves. The attack on him was nothing more than a joke.

“Fucking bitch,” he growled, even though I’d done zero damage to his face. Far less than he planned to inflict on me.

He shoved me backward. By some small miracle, I stopped my momentum, barely, the ledge mere inches behind me.

Then without warning, the ground under my feet gave way and I screamed. All I had time to do was grab hold of a root sticking out from the cliff. Nothing else existed between me and the boulders below.

My gloves weren’t designed for this kind of abuse, and the knit fabric slipped against the root. I tightened my hold on it, praying it would be enough, knowing deep down it wasn’t.

My hands and shoulders ached at the desperate attempt to keep from falling. My feet searched for anything that could help me. I couldn’t even find the tiniest hint of a ledge to reduce the strain on my upper body.

Not deterred from his original goal, the attacker tried to pry my fingers from the root. I tightened my grip, but I couldn’t hold on much longer. My hands, arms, and shoulders were rapidly fatiguing.

Pain burned in my shoulder muscles, and I cried out. Like it or not, I was going to die.

And then the worst thing that could possibly happen did. He pried the fingers of one hand off the root, leaving me dangling precariously with the other hand. I screamed and frantically flailed my free hand around, trying to grasp hold of the root again. But it was now out of reach and there was nothing nearby to hold on to.

Grunts came from somewhere above, but I couldn’t see what was going on. I opened my mouth to call out for help, but was stunned into silence when the attacker stumbled to the edge. His momentum was too great, and before he could recover himself, he tumbled off the cliff a few feet from where I was dangling. Unlike where the ground had given way under my feet, there was nothing for him to grab hold of, even if he’d had the chance.

I didn’t dare look down to see what happened to him. I didn’t want to know. My fingers were sliding free of the root.

I screamed what would be my last scream.

A hand grabbed hold of my wrist, and Nolan’s concerned face looked down at me over the ledge, his body flat on the ground. “I’ve got you.” But he didn’t. My jacket slipped in his grip. I gasped. “Hailey, give me your other hand.”

I tried but couldn’t reach that far. “I can’t,” I sobbed.

“Yes, you can, Forget-Me-Not. You can do it.” He shifted his body further forward.

With what little strength I had left, I reached up. Nolan grasped my wrist and readjusted his hold on the other one. He pulled me up, inch by slow inch, until I was far enough that I could wriggle my body back onto the ledge.

Nolan pulled me back so I was solidly on the ground and threw his arms around me. He held me so tight I could barely get air into my lungs, but I didn’t care.

I was alive. Shaky. In pain. But alive. We were both alive and trembling.

“Is he…is he dead?” The hoarse words scraped against my raw throat and I winced.