Worth Any Risk

Ch. 17 Wrong Encounter

*** trigger warning: contains violence against women ***

*Jordan

It seems almost pointless to go on with my day as if nothing was different. The world was a new place and I was no longer the prisoner of my past, stuck in the same place, repeating the same, lonely days. I was going to leave. I was going to be free and with Cole. But I ran a few errands to pick up necessities and get extra materials, and a research book for my work with the kids at the Center.

The kids. I loved those babies, and they need me. I'm going to have to hand in my notice, though, and say goodbye. I tell myself they'll be just fine. They'll hire another worker who will be great.

I thump the heavy book in my hand and then hand it to the lady at the cash register. There will be other kids who need someone like me wherever I'm going next. With Cole.

I will have to sell the house. If Cole wants to leave soon, I'll have to sell it as is, which will bring the price way down. It needs work, and no one will want to deal with the old furniture. I'll have to figure out how to set up a forwarding address.

And what about Reese and Amber? A cold stone settles in my gut. I don't even have addresses for them—just emails neither has answered for years.

My last memory of Reese is the two of us standing on the porch. I ask her again about the day our father died. She doesn't answer. She won't even look at me. She doesn't even say goodbye as she walks off.

I leave the store and climb in my car and close my eyes. I don't even know how to contact my sisters to tell them I won't be here if they ever come home.

And Emma. My baby. This was the home she knew. This town and the house was where she was born, and I'm cutting myself out of it.

I make another stop at the hardware store to check prices on paint for the porch and wallpaper in the kitchen, the areas that could use the most spit and shine. I wind up spending way too much time debating between cashmere blue and apple green for an accent wall in the breakfast nook, and finally leave with an armful of rolls of wallpaper in faded paisley for the upstairs bathroom and green for the nook.

I'm almost home before I realize I've forgot the paste and should have taken the cashmere blue for the kitchen. The green would be strange with the backdrop of the forest through the bay windows.

Slapping my forehead mentally, I load up on all my bags and slam my car door with my foot. I can stop by the store on my way home tomorrow. I hear someone tinkering with the Ford in the car port, which is strange because I don't see a car. Cole must have parked his camper in the back of the house, as I suggested when he left.

I skip to the open archway, ready to sneak up on him.

There's a man hunkered down in the driver's seat, a wrench in the hand propped on the steering wheel. It's not Cole. I step back, hand diving for my phone in my purse and he lifts his head.

"Hey, Jordan," Brandon says. I'm rooted to the spot, every muscle tensed, but frozen. "Can we talk a minute?"

"Why are you in my car?"

"Garage door was open."

"There is no door. It's a carport."

"It's a joke, Jordan. Whatever happened to your sense of humor? You used to be fun to hang out with." He slides from the car like a spider and swaggers towards me. I want to run. I want to call the cops or Cole to come and save me, but I can't move.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Your new boyfriend, of course. Since you and I are old friends, going way back, I wanted to clue you in to a few things. To warn you."