Single Dad To The Rescue. Cari Lynn Webb

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       CHAPTER THREE

      I’M GOING TO SUFFOCATE.

      Brooke shoved aside the thick down comforter, smacked her bare feet on the wooden floor of the bedroom and lunged for the light switch.

      Light flooded across the unfamiliar four-poster bed, highlighting the rustic roses embroidered on the comforter. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to banish the nightmares of her past.

      She stumbled into the kitchen, slapped at the light switches. The night pressed against the windows. Her fear pressed against her chest, sucking away the air and her sanity.

      She should never have returned.

      The clock on the microwave glowed as if mocking her lack of bravery. Rick had given her a tour of the one-bedroom cottage behind the main house less than three hours ago. Welcomed her and her pets into the unit. And she’d believed—in that moment—everything would be all right.

      Lies. So many lies. You’re destined for great things, Brooke. Dream big. Reach for the stars, dear.

      She’d reached like her mom had encouraged her. Now she was alone, like she’d been as a child. The shy misfit scared of her own shadow.

      But the shadows haunted her now with a different intensity.

      You’ll always be safe with me, Brooke. Even Phillip had lied. Promises couldn’t be kept in a world where twists of fate took away the promisor.

      She turned on the lamps in the family room. Flipped the switch for the gas fireplace. Lit up the apartment as if that would steady her world. Prove she was safe.

      Brooke reached for her cell phone, her fingers slipping on the granite kitchen counter. She opened the city-map app. Typed in the address that tormented her and stole her good night’s sleep.

      Two-point-six miles. That was all that separated Brooke from the very corner where a drunk driver had taken everything she’d loved from her. All the promises shattered.

      Inhale into your stomach. And hold it for a count of five. So many therapy sessions and still she forgot how to breathe. The urge to run seized her.

      Instead her knees buckled. She had nowhere to go.

      She collapsed on a kitchen stool and stared at the blue pin flashing over the corner of Bayview and State Streets. The spot she hadn’t returned to in the past five years. She’d never again wanted to step foot two hundred miles from there much less twenty blocks.

      Deep breaths from your stomach. Increase the oxygen. Slow yourself down. She exhaled on a five count. Now repeat.

      Her gaze skipped around the open space, seeking something—anything—to focus on. The compact, modern kitchen encouraged even an amateur cook like herself to prepare a decadent three-course meal. The empty bar stools waited for friends to gather. The vintage couch and matching chair were worn and relaxed from years of conversations and comfortable use.

      Only one word echoed through Brooke: trapped.

      She was boxed in like the three crystal angel ornaments—Joy, Hope, Love—wrapped inside the wooden jewelry case handmade by her father. Her late husband had given her the angels on their third anniversary. Phillip had claimed the angels would remind her to laugh, to always find the good in everything and to never give up.

      There was one other option: her former in-laws, Ann and Don Ellis. Her mother-in-law had called and offered her their spare room, but she’d had shelter then. And surely, they didn’t want a constant reminder of their grief. They’d lost their only son.

      She rested her forehead on the cool granite counter.

      A wildfire had destroyed her house and land. She had her pets and her life—she had what mattered most. She should be grateful.

      Still, she wanted to yell at the universe: Why?

      And demand an answer for a seemingly impossible choice: face the city she feared or the in-laws she knew she could never apologize to enough.

      Luna sat beside her and leaned against Brooke’s leg. Brooke reached down and sank her fingers into the dog’s thick fur. The counter supported her cheek, stopping her from crumpling to the floor. Her gaze locked on the paperwork from Darla.

      That was a checklist for what to do after a fire. Not a checklist for what to do to rally courage.

      Brooke stared at the papers until her eyes burned. Until the chaos inside her settled into something less smothering. She never moved, only inhaled. Exhaled. Then repeated. The world became less forbidding, more approachable.

      A heavy knock on the front door startled Brooke. She straightened, rubbed her cheek and blinked. The first rays of the sun streamed across the kitchen counter like nature’s own alarm clock, announcing the arrival of a new day.

      Another knock rattled through her. Brooke signaled Luna into a stay position with the shift of her hand. Then cracked open the front door.

      A younger version of Rick in a paramedic’s uniform grinned at her. Except for the blond that softened his red hair, making it lighter than Rick’s deep auburn. His eyes would’ve been green if not for the intense copper swirls. His height and build would’ve been well suited for a football field but filled out his uniform perfectly.

      “I saw the lights on.” He lifted several cloth shopping bags and his smile, then added, “Grocery delivery.”

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