Page 4 of Three Steps Behind

The frigid temps burned her lungs with each ragged intake of breath. Pain stabbed her cracked rib, stealing the air from her in a whoosh.

She shook it off.

You can do this. You have to, or you won’t survive.

Primal instinct had drawn her here. Now it was time to step out of the car. Her hand wrapped around the door handle as the ghosts whispered from the back seat. She refused to look, to see their shadows—the faces that had tormented her for blurred days on end.

Enough!

She shoved her door open, a groan wresting from the metal screws—the sound too similar to the screeching of that prison door.

You. Can. Do. This. You have to.

The bitter air seared her lungs. Snow and ice crunched beneath her boots as she rounded the car, then grabbed her presumptuous new duffel bag off the passenger seat. Again, Andi had assured her Deck would welcome her to stay, but would it be out of caring or pity?

Hurrying for the porch and what she hoped was safety, she slipped but righted herself, avoiding slamming onto the ice-slicked earth. Reaching the door, she held her trembling gloved hand poised over the doorbell. Deck wouldn’t hound her for answers, for details of her “ordeal,” as her parents called it when they pressured her to talk. Deck held his own secrets, his own demons, so surely, he’d let her have hers.

Forcing her hand, she pressed the bell and waited.

Footsteps and a shadow breaking the inner light through the cut-glass door moved toward her. She wrestled the overpowering urge to bolt but held immovable in fear.

“Harp,” Andi said, her voice a whisper as she leaned out and enveloped her with a hug, then pulled back, worry etched on her brow.

Harper had tried not to go rigid. Really, she had. But her body moved and reacted of its own accord now, and it terrified her.

Footsteps sounded behind Andi. Was it her bestie’s boyfriend, Christian, or—her breath caught in her throat—Deckard? The man she’d come to see. The man who’d keep her safe.

“Harper?” His deep voice echoed in her ears.

Deckard.

Warmth flashed through her—only for a second, but it was a second longer than she’d experienced since being thrust into that container.

She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of how he’d react to the bruises, to the forming scars, then on a sharp breath opened them. Concern clenched his jaw, an unknown emotion radiating in his eyes. It wasn’t pity, not like how her parents had looked at her.

The man was stunningly handsome. She’d forgotten how much so. His good looks next to her battered body and barrenness of soul marked a stark contrast.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lancing his raspy voice.

His question . . . Answer it. The words refused to come. She just stood there, frozen before finally managing a nod.

He struggled to get a read on her, his eyes assessing each bruise. But he didn’t freak out like her folks had at the sight of her. She couldn’t blame them on that count, but gratitude that Deck wasn’t losing it welled inside her. Anger held in the fists curled at his side, his shoulders broad, his stance tight. He wanted to take justice on who’d hurt her. But they were a world away. It was all that consoled her.

She shuffled her feet on the de-iced porch—gravel-like pellets shifting and grating beneath the soles of her boots. “Can I come in?” she asked, the sound small. She couldn’t even keep the hurt from her voice. Beyond embarrassing.

“Of course.” Deck stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Please,” he said with a sweep of his arm.

Moving inside, he held out his arms, indicating a hug. They always hugged hello and good-bye.

He wrapped her in his arms, and she tried her best not to stiffen, but . . .

Epic fail.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” she pushed on, trying to diffuse the confusion and concern in Deck’s light blue eyes.

“Don’t be silly.” Andi moved to wrap her arm around her shoulders, and she jerked back. Again, not of her own accord.

Andi frowned but quickly masked her disappointment.