“Have you talked to Kenzi or Tor?”

“They called me last night to check on me, and I told them I was staying here to wait for him. Tor said he talked to Asher for a while. I haven’t told them he hasn’t come back, though. I don’t want them to worry.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she assures. “Men need time to be alone and blow off steam. Even a man like Asher. Try not to worry. Everything will be okay.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ll be home soon.”

“He’ll probably be home by the time you get here. If I hear him come in, I’ll send you a text.”

“Thanks, Sarah.”

As soon as I end the call, I burst into more tears, burying my face in the starchy pillow and hugging his leather jacket. I can still smell his special scent on it, even after all these years.

I miss him. I’d do anything to feel his arms around me. I want to snuggle into his chest and feel butterflies. I want to go home and see Teddy and thank Asher for bringing Teddy’s memory alive for me. I want the happy, hopeful feelings back for both of us.

Last night, I thought I was a sexy, confident woman who was in control of her life and could make serious decisions all on her own, and everything would be okay. How could I have been so wrong?

It turns out I’m not as in charge of my new life as I thought I was.

I’m still just a woman who fell off a cliff and lost everything she loved.

Chapter Fifty

Whack!

Someone turned the lights out.

On the entire world.

Stumbling to the ground, I grab the back of my skull, stars flashing behind my eyes in a dizzying twirling motion.

The fuck?

Where did up go?

Huge rats scuffle around me, gnawing on each other, grunting and growling.

Something metal thunks and rolls.

Shaking my head, I force my eyes open to a bright light in a black ceiling.

Confused, I blink rapidly, and my vision gradually refocuses.

I’m flat out on the cold ground, staring up at a streetlight.

Wincing, I slowly sit up and turn to the ruckus of the rats farther down the dark alley.

Only it’s not rats. It’s two guys in a fight, wrestling in a tangle of arms legs and obscenities, until one is standing over the other, holding a long object, with his boot planted on the guy’s face.

What the—

“Get the fuck outta here, asshole,” the guy standing says. “Or I’m gonna kill you with your own bat.”

The guy slowly rises and runs toward the other end of the alley, and I watch as the other guy hurls the bat at him from at least twenty feet away. It flies and spins through the air, heading straight for the running man like a torpedo until it nails him in the back of the head.

“Fuck!” The man goes down hard, then rises again a few seconds later. I’m dumbstruck as he scales the fence at the end of the alley and disappears.

The other guy turns, putting his hand out to help me stand. “You okay, man?”

“Think so.” I snap my head to the side and crack my neck. “What the hell just happened?”

“That motherfucker tried to knock you out and mug you.”

“Shit.” My heart races with alarm and shock, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Wow.” Did this guy just save my life? Or at least from a trip to the emergency room? “Thanks…for what you did.”

“No problem.”

“I was just standing here—” I begin to explain.

He smirks. “You were standing in the wrong place. Not from around here, are ya?”

“Not really.”

I run my hands through my hair, over the back of my head, searching for blood or gashes. I don’t feel anything, not even a bump.

“He didn’t hit ya that hard, he heard me coming, and it threw his aim off. You weren’t even unconscious. It just stunned you for a few seconds.”

“Good to know.” Could this night possibly get any worse? What’s next? Maybe I’ll get run over crossing the street as an encore.

“You got a light?”

Blinking back to reality, I turn to the guy who just beat the shit out of someone who actually could’ve made my night a whole lot worse. “Think I lost my lighter,” he says as he searches his jacket.

I reach into my pocket and toss him my box of my wooden matches. I won’t need them since right before I got hit in the head, I smoked what will be the last cigarette of my life. After tonight, I refuse to soothe my pain with bad habits.

“Thanks.” He strikes the match and cups his tattooed hand around his mouth to light the Camel hanging from his lips. He’s surprisingly calm, like he fights in alleys on the daily.

I nod at him. He could easily be one of my roadies. Thirty-ish. Faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Lots of ink. Longish hair. Short beard. Tired eyes.