Jenny

Matt's bedroom door opened with a quiet snitch of a hinge, and I stilled. I'd left my door open because I hated enclosed spaces, especially while asleep and defenseless. I hoped the light or my movements hadn't woken him. He didn't move for several beats, and then his footsteps padded on the hardwood floor.

As he came into view, my heart pounded. Stupid, but it was my visceral reaction to him every time. Twelve years and it hadn't evaporated. Especially when he ...