Fall (Roam Series, Book Two)

by Kimberly Adams

  “I…”

  My breath caught in my throat when a series of tiny, pulling sensations erupted in my abdomen. Gripping my dress, I covered my stomach and looked down.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching for me again. “Are you sick?”

  “No, I…” I lifted my eyes to his. “I think… the baby is moving.”

  His hands slid over mine as he widened his eyes. “Really? Can I feel it?”

  “I don’t think so… it feels so deep inside, and she’s really so small yet,” I murmured, holding my breath and waiting for the next tugging flutter.

  “She?”

  I shrugged, sighing deeply as the stir dissipated. “Or he.”

  We were silent for long moments, his fingers still covering mine. West was so far away, in another place and time, and I had no idea if I’d ever find him, or if Troy would find me first if I tried.

  I need him here…

  I need you, West.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to run as far as I could, and never stop running until I found him.

  “I can tell when you’re thinking about him.” Logan interrupted my thoughts as he reached past me for the door handle, his gaze still locked in mine. “You forget to breathe.”

  He opened the door suddenly, moving past me and into the kitchen.

  I exhaled, realizing that he was right.

  . . .

  That evening, we went to my house and brought leftovers for my dad. Morgan was sound asleep after shopping all evening. Logan’s mood had turned chilly after our talk in the bathroom, and when he parked himself next to my dad on the couch and slipped into a turkey-football coma, I went up to my bedroom.

  Curling on my bed, I reached for West’s shirt, pressing my face into the sleeve and closing my eyes.

  Sometime around nine, Logan’s ringing phone from downstairs woke me. After a few minutes, I heard him come in my room and kneel by my bed.

  I opened my eyes, an unexplainable sense of urgency taking over. “Bank, safety deposit box, pack and go,” I fired groggily, rubbing my eyes. “First thing in the morning. Okay?”

  He shrugged, glancing down at his phone for a moment before meeting my eyes. “Okay. Cam, I’m going to head home.”

  “You’re not staying?” I asked, fully expecting him to spend the night.

  He rubbed his neck tiredly. “No. I have a feeling that you’ll be fine tonight.”

  His tone was cold, a sudden change in the caring way he’d treated me over the past few days. As he began to move away from the bed, I held onto him, pulling him closer. Before I could think of the consequences, I pressed my lips to his.

  He stiffened, and I pulled away, searching his dark eyes. “I do love you, you know. I always will,” I promised. “Please just remember that when you dream tonight.”

  He sighed, giving me an unconvincing nod. “I’ll try. Get some rest… and don’t stay up all night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I watched him leave, quickly growing irritated. A headache festered between my eyes, and no amount of pressure from my fingertips made it go away.

  Packing for 1955 proved to be much more difficult than packing for 1977. Nothing in my closet was acceptable, and I ended up with mostly jeans. West had been right… jeans were easy and had worked for years.

  Sometime around eight, Morgan knocked. When I opened the door, I could tell right away that she was massively annoyed. “I’m dropping Dad off at some party at the bar, and then I’m going out with Jason.”

  I looked down, sighing. “At least he’s not driving.”

  “I don’t even want to talk about it,” she snapped, shaking her head disgustedly. “Anyway, his keys are downstairs if you need to go anywhere. Are you okay with me going out?”

  “Sure.” I reached for her, and she gratefully accepted my hug. “Are you okay? You sound really down. Other than with Dad, I mean.”

  She shrugged. “I’m fine. Jason is so amazing. I really see us going somewhere.” She squeezed me once again before heading for the stairs. “Get some sleep. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I watched them both leave from my bedroom window before continuing to pack. Fishing my iPod out from under my pillow, I switched back to the nineties playlist.

  No love songs tonight.

  Halfway through a Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You,” I shut the device off and shoved it into my packed bag. There’s no use bringing my phone to 1955, I thought, retrieving it from my desk. As I did, I noticed that Morgan had texted me.

  As I read, my lungs refused to work.

  Morgan: Sorry I’m so pissy. Reed called me and actually wanted to get together. Of course, now that I’m finally happy with Jason. MEN!

  Reed?

  Troy…

  As I read, another message came through.

  Morgan: Oh! He said that he would come over tonight, but I told him not to bother. So if he does just don’t answer the door. Love ya sis.

  I dropped my phone, gripping the back of my desk chair.

  Breathe… breathe!

  I couldn’t.

  He found a way.

  Troy found a way to return, but West didn’t.

  The panic set in before I could stop it. The nausea churned, and my ears filled with blood. Trying to fight the cloud seeping over my mind, I gave into blackness.

  When I woke, I was sprawled ungainly on the floor, propped against my bed. I carefully prodded my scalp, deciding that I hadn’t smacked it on the nightstand.

  As Morgan’s text flashed through my mind, I moaned, rushing to my feet before my blood had time to reach my brain.

  Troy is here, he’s coming here…

  My fingers were clay as I fumbled for my phone, trying to call Logan. Finally, I held down the voice prompt, nearly screaming Call Logan! My phone obliged, and I hit speaker as the ringing began. Two… three… voicemail?

  Growling out loud, I grabbed my bag and West’s, running from my bedroom. Two steps down I slid on the carpet, falling hard on the third step. My eyes darted frantically to the dark windows by the front door and near the living room. I panted, my back already feeling bruised from the fall.

  Is he here?

  My jacket became a foreign object, my fingers refusing to operate the zipper. Finally pulling up the tab, I left the bags by the door and ran for my father’s car keys. When they weren’t on the microwave, I checked the hook by the door.

  A sliding sound upstairs, directly above my head, gave me the urge to vomit.

  “Hello?” I choked, and then silently cursed myself for being stupid.

  I stepped lightly to the garage door and slipped into the garage, breathing evenly. Don’t react, act. The words of my kickboxing instructor surfaced as I continued to count, calming my nerves.

  Run. Don’t be a victim.

  Pressing the button to open the garage door, I widened my eyes as the motor refused to begin the lift. Broken. I’d forgotten the motor had died over a month ago. Hurrying to the man door, I fumbled with the deadbolt before it finally released.

  My boots were still by the front door, but at least I had my coat. My thigh-high stockings were warm, but my feet were instantly soaked and freezing as I ran through the snow toward the road. The moonlight reflected off the drifts, lighting the night around me.

  Heavy breathing and loud footsteps closed in on me from behind.

  Keep running and get attacked from behind, or turn and fight?

  I was confident that I could defend myself a little, but I wished for something, anything, to serve as a weapon. The keys in my hand were my only option. I grasped them, stopping suddenly and turning around.

  As I moved, my foot slid on the wet snow and I went backwards, landing hard on my hip and elbow.

  He was on me in seconds. I screamed as he caught my hand in midair, the sharp key ready to plunge into his eye.

  As I finally focused, my heart stopped beating.

  West gazed down at me, releasing my arm and slippi
ng his hands behind my head, through the snow.

  “Baby, are you okay?” he hurried, his cold fingertips pressing into my scalp. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Is it you?” I begged. My voice wavered, the inevitable tears thick in my words.

  His dark blue eyes caught the silver flecks of the moon. He lowered his lips to mine, and I blinked away the scalding tears as they mixed with the falling snow. “Roam. God, I thought I’d never see you again,” he breathed against my lips.

  I cried, unable to believe he was holding me in his arms. He had a full beard, something I could have never imagined on his smooth jaw. “How are you here?” I gasped, the warm heat of his body, the taste of his mouth, and his even voice sending me into a frantic calm. “How?”

  “I figured it out… the numbers, the fountains. Cleveland.” His mouth circled over mine, and I remembered our first kiss on the basement floor, exhaling against his searching lips.

  “West,” I breathed, reaching for his kiss.

  Oh, God, the moment that his mouth crashed to mine, my world resumed its natural spin. The snow melted against the heat of my tears, the burn of his kiss, and the fire raging through both of our bodies.

  He kissed me even as he lifted me into his arms, and I gripped his neck with all my strength, pressing my face to his chest.

  “Don’t let me go,” I whispered brokenly, my torrent of tears breaking against his warm skin.

  “Never again,” he promised, carrying me back to the house.

  Chapter Eight

  Once inside the sobering kitchen light, he gently lowered me to a chair. I watched him as he kneeled before me, removing the wet stockings from my feet.

  Something about him there, on his knees, his hands moving over my skin tugged at my memory. I reached for his face, and he lifted his eyes to mine, rising to kiss me again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again, his hands, always his hands, smoothing over my skin. I dissolved beneath his loving touch.

  I gazed at him, unable to admit to myself that he was real. His dark blond hair, longer than I’d ever seen it, almost curled at his neck. His strikingly handsome face was covered in that full beard and was a shade slightly darker than his hair, somehow making him even more attractive. He leaned back, dropping my stockings to the floor and reaching for my jacket.

  “Yes,” I assured him.

  He unzipped my jacket, and his heavy sigh caught in his throat as he reached my stomach. His fingers grazed my abdomen, and as soon as he felt the hardened swelling of my belly, he groaned, lowering his face to my stomach.

  “Roam. Christ, I can’t believe this, I can’t believe I’m holding you both again.”

  I tangled his hair in my fingers, closing my eyes as his lips pressed against our child. “I’m almost twelve weeks… and…”

  I stopped speaking as he lifted his eyes to mine.

  Tears turned his sapphire gaze to mirrored glass.

  “Let me see your arm,” he said, shaking his head disgustedly. “I just chased you down. Goddamn it. Does it hurt? Can you extend it?” He slipped the sleeves of my coat down my arms, gently gathering my elbow in his hands.

  “I’m okay. Really. West,” I begged, pressing both of my palms to cup his face and pulling him to me. “Please just kiss me.”

  His mouth claimed mine, his hold on me tightening as his tongue dove. With each thrust, I gripped him tighter, wrapping my arms and legs around him.

  He groaned, standing, taking me with him. His strong arms locked on my back, and his mouth never left mine.

  I couldn’t get close enough to him. I thought of the ocean, of the cottage, and of the way that he’d made love to me for endless hours. Every fiber of my body stirred with wanting, and I moaned softly with the uncontrollable need that he fueled inside of me. He created a need that could never be extinguished with time, or change…

  Or Logan.

  “Roam,” he hushed, pulling away. I could feel his reluctance to go slow with me as he continued to hold me protectively in his arms. “How do you feel?” he asked, flattening his hand on the small of my back. I basked in the way that he tasted as his lips continue to find mine between words.

  “I was sick for a while, but the nausea has finally stopped,” I told him, sighing deeply. I needed to be nearer to him than I was. “How did you get into the house?” I asked between breaths. He chuckled, kissing my nose.

  “Always, questions,” he said affectionately, moving his lips to my forehead. “I tried the front door, but you didn’t answer. I got worried and broke the sliding glass door in the dining room.”

  Listening to his words, a shiver stole through me, and I gripped his shoulders, pulling back to look at him urgently. “West, Troy is here… he called my sister and told her he’d come here tonight,” I cried, glancing around the empty house. “I was trying to run. We have to leave, we have to-”

  He lowered me to my feet, brushing his thumb over my lips to silence my panicked cries. “I know that he found the way through. We fought,” he explained, gathering me against him. “He was going to my house, and I let him think you’d be there. I knew you were here, Roam. I called Logan.”

  The phone call. I realized that would have explained Logan’s sudden change in behavior when he came to say goodbye to me.

  Frozen, I held my breath as I realized where Troy was going.

  “No… Violet is at your house!” I cried, covering my mouth in horror.

  It took less than a second for him to process my words, and his eyes turned to ice. He glanced at the door, gripping my hand in his.

  “You have keys? For your father’s car?”

  “Yes, and those are our bags-”

  “Hurry, baby,” he urged, grabbing my boots and lining them up as I slipped them on. “Jesus Christ, I sent him there, I sent him right to her,” he murmured furiously from under his breath.

  I shook my head, nearly falling as I tried to shove my feet into my boots. “You didn’t know she’d be there! She just got here this morning,” I rushed, following him out the door to the driveway. My dad’s pick-up was parked near the garage door. “Are you sure that he went there?”

  He shoved the key into the ignition of the old Chevy. “Buckle up,” he fired, backing up and speeding out of the driveway. When he hit the brake to change gears, the end of the truck fish-tailed in the snowy road. “Is she alone? Is Logan with her?”

  “She’s alone.” My hands shook, and I kicked our bags away from my feet. “West, he’s going to kill her,” I whispered, battling the surge of tears burning in my eyes. “He’s going to kill her-”

  “Stay calm,” he ordered, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he took turns at dangerous speeds. “I want you to stay in the truck when we get there. No matter what happens,” he commanded, grabbing my hand and holding it tightly. “Be ready to drive. Go straight to Logan.”

  “I can’t lose you again!” I cried, my words trembling with unshed tears. “I’m not leaving there alone!”

  His fingers threaded through mine, and he turned our hands to cover my middle lovingly. “You’re not alone, Roam. You have to protect yourself and our baby.”

  I shattered.

  There was no way that I could hold back the tears any longer. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing his shirt as I tangled the lap belt in my fingers. My shoulders rose and fell in relieved sobs, and he struggled to hold me and drive at the same time.

  “Shh,” he whispered, pressing kisses to my hair. “Don’t cry. Roam,” he urged. “I love you. I’m didn’t come all this way to lose you again.”

  “Please stay with me,” I whispered tearfully, smoothing my hands over his face. He nodded, taking my hands and drawing them to his mouth.

  “I’m going to get Violet. I have to. None of this has anything to do with her. Troy is probably waiting for me.”

  He swerved onto the back road leading to his house, sliding over the icy bridge. I composed myself, wiping at my tears with the back of my hands. West fli
cked the truck’s headlights off as he pulled into his driveway.

  I saw his Pilot first…

  And then I recognized Logan’s Camry.

  “I thought Logan wasn’t here?” The urgency in his voice was clear as he turned to me quickly.

  I sat back against the seat, staring at his car.

  My first thought, my trusting, loving instinct, was to believe the obvious… that Logan had left my house when West had called him and decided to go be with Violet.

  That made the most sense.

  The second scene began with a series of years throughout time, with Logan holding me as Troy shoved a knife in my neck in the middle of a forest in France.

  With Logan pressing my tortured body to the scum-covered dungeon stone, raping me.

  Murder, night after night, for centuries.

  These past two months, I would wonder what it’d be like to kill you…

  Now.

  “Don’t trust Logan,” I breathed, not capable of handling the guilt that took over my body with a sudden impact.

  I turned and jerked the truck door open to vomit into the snow. West reached for me, holding my waist to keep me from falling forward as I gagged.

  “You think he’s working with Troy?” he asked, his tone careful.

  I turned to him, covering my mouth with my shaking fingers. I couldn’t bring myself to say the betraying words.

  That there was a possibility that Logan had been corrupted by the dreams and was there with Troy.

  He pressed his lips to my forehead, and I hugged him with every bit of strength I had left. “I’ll wait for you,” I promised. “Come back to me.”

  He nodded once before he slipped out of the truck and disappeared into the darkness.

  Seconds became hours. I stared so intently at the darkened house that I began to imagine that I saw things moving in the windows or on the porch. There were no lights or sounds, only absolute silence.

  From the driver’s seat, I had an unobstructed view of the front of the house. I ran the wipers to dust the falling snow away repeatedly, and my fingers began to ache before I realized that I had been twisting them beyond their abilities.